Goodbye to the Mother Road

The silver Quonset huts of the Marine Corps Logistic Base, Barstow, glistened in the sunshine of the Mojave Desert. Jake Sanford sat on an old picnic bench alongside Route 66 and waited for the 10:00am bus to Barstow. Jake pulled out orders received in the mail and reread to make sure he got all the details right. He was being assigned to the 9^th Marine Expeditionary Brigade in Da Nang, Vietnam. The orders were dated June 10, 1969. He would land in Vietnam on Friday the 13^th.  

His time at MCLB Barstow introduced him to the monotony of logistics. Every day the same thing routine was king. He mentioned to his Sargent that he would like to transfer to some place with a little more excitement. He stared down at the damp paper orders he pulled from his sweaty marine utilities and sighed. This was going to be way more excitement than he bargained for. Jake heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Peat Morales.

“Jakey, I almost missed you, man. Sarge gave me a hard time about saying goodbye. I told him to shove it and left.”

Jake laughed and said, “I know that’s a lie, or you’d have a size 12 boot print on your six.”

They both laughed, grabbed hands, and patted each other on the back. Pete joined Jake on the bench beside an old Route 66 sign. They sat in silence and watched the parade of cars going in both directions on Route 66.

Peat said, “Do you ever wonder where all those people come from, and where they are going? It blows my mind.”

Jake looked at him and said, “I know. How about all those in the past that have taken this road? Where are they now, and did they do any better?”

Pete said, “Didn’t they call this the Mother Road?”

Jake answered, “Yeah, in The Grapes of Wrath, Steinbeck said ‘66 is the mother road, the road of flight.’ It was the way people escaped from the dust bowl of the Midwest to the fertile valleys of California.”

Pete said, “Were their lives any better after they reached California?”

Jake said, “Some did okay. The road symbolized opportunity, and it gave over 200,000 people a chance at a new life.”

Pete put his hand on Jake’s shoulder and said, “How about you, Jake? Will you be better off where this road is taking you?”

They heard the groan of air brakes and the smell of diesel as the local bus headed their way. Jake kneeled down and picked up something off the road. He stood, threw his Sea Bag over his shoulder, and shook Pete’s hand. As he boarded the bus, he thought, would he be better off, or would he be just a number on a casualty list?

Six months later, on a chilly December morning, Pete Morales stood in formation for mail call. He caught a package the Sargent tossed to him. He looked at it and could tell it was from Vietnam. A lump formed in his throat. The only person he knew in Vietnam was his friend Jake Sanford. Pete placed the package in his locker and finished the day. After chow, he went back to the barracks and plopped down on his rack. He held the package wrapped in brown paper, taped and tied with brown twine to make the trip from Vietnam to Barstow. Pete removed the twine and sliced the end of the package. Sitting up, he pulled out the contents and laid them down in front of him. There was an envelope with his name on it, a plastic bag filled with something and a small American flag.

Pete opened the envelope and read:

Dear Pete, if you’re reading this, then I’m on the wrong side of the grass. I set this up in case I didn’t make it back to our bench on the 66. You need to know that our talk the day I left made me think about life and the way things work out. All those people over the years that traveled Route 66 were real. We will never know them, or know how they felt, but they left a little of themselves by the rubber from their tires and the sweat from the heat of the desert. They lived and died and did the best they could do. Same with me. If you’re reading this, I never made a big splash, but I did the best I could do.

When I left that day, I took a piece of broken pavement from Route 66, and I placed it high on a hill above Da Nang Air Base. In the bag I sent to you is a hand full of dirt from the same hill. I want you to pour that dirt out at the edge of the road by the bench where you and I said goodbye. Now there will be a connection, a link from Route 66 Barstow all the way to Da Nang, Vietnam. You asked me if I would be better off where the Mother Road took me. The answer is yes; I am better off. I have met great people over here and met the love of my life at the base NCO club. At this moment, I am the happiest I have ever been in my life. So, no matter how much longer I live, I will live every moment like it’s the last. Pete, I pray you will do the same. Say goodbye to the mother road for me.

Your friend Jake.

Pete bowed his head as a tear fell on the bag of soil. In a moment of silence, he thanked the good lord for Jake's friendship. Pete took a walk to the old picnic bench with a bag full of dirt from Vietnam and a small American flag. He kneeled down and found the place where Jake had picked up the chunk of pavement. Pete opened the bag and filled the divot with soil from the hills of Da Nang. Planting the small American flag in the soil, he stood at attention and saluted. He brought the salute in slow and reverent to honor his fallen friend. Pete placed his hand on the old Route 66 sign and said, “Mother Road, one you sent off says goodbye.” Wiping away a tear Pete headed back to the barracks determined to take Jake’s advice and live every second as if it were his last.