The Year of the Cow
In which Teófilo brings his South Dakotan narrative to a close.
That Accident on New Underwood Road
We've had a very early day in one of the G-sites. It could've been longer, but thanks to the technicians, it was not. I was looking forward to an early arrival at home. Our conversation turned light.
"What would you do if you were to hit a deer with this vehicle?" - asked one of the guys.
"I would step out and using one of the steel, barrier poles we carry, I would end its misery." - said another.
Laughter ensued. I added,
"We should be careful what we ask for, as we may get it." - I sentenced, wise guy that I was.
We were driving on New Underwood Road, heading south toward I-90. We drove on the gravel section, up one hill down another. We reached the paved section that announced our proximity to the interstate highway. Up one hill. Down another. Then up one hill and, as soon we cleared it, there it was. A cow. Right on the middle of our lane. Our driver applied the brakes too late. We hit it head on. The hood popped open. Something hit the windshield, forming a spiderweb-shattered pattern. I felt glass splinters showering me. My weapon jumped from its rack and hit me on the back of my head.
"Watch the ditch!" - the tech on the front passenger seat shouted. "Don't roll it!"
We came to rest on the side of the road, half of the vehicle was going into the ditch, the other half was on the road. That gave us a sick inclination. The broken radiator was spewing its steam all over the place. The engine continued running.
"Minute Control, Minute Control!" - the team chief called Ellsworth's transit center. "We've had, I repeat, we've had a major accident on New Underwood Road! The vehicle is out of commission. We hit a cow.
An animated radio conversation ensued. Then, another maintenance team that had been driving on the same road ahead of us, said:
"Was that the cow that was in the middle of the road? We almost hit it."
Thank you for letting your colleagues know, friends.
The truck laid on the side of the road, its front side broken and pushed inwards.
The cow was laying down on the other side of the road with God knows how many internal injuries. The rancher, once informed, came to inspect his cow. Then he took out his long-barrel, .38 caliber revolver. He shot the cow on her head thrice. The cow rolled-over her eyes and died.
Another death for me to witness.
They took me to the base hospital. It appears that I imagined the glass splinters showering upon me, as the nurses found none. Neither did the back of my head show any visible injury.
It was all a miracle.
Believe it or not, this event would come into play again, in 1996. But that lies ahead still on this narrative.
Mom, again.
Mom reached out to us not long after Chris was born. Whether she had Israel, her husband, call us, or he called on his own initiative, I'll never know. He asked me if I would talk to her. I said "of course." I don't recall the exact words we exchanged, but it was obvious she wanted to be a part of her first grandson's life. Her tone was cautious and flat, as if expecting my rejection. I gave her none. This restoration of our relationship would endure until two years ago.
In fact, they came to visit us in our mobile home at the same time Madma was staying with us. Recall that Madma was my Mercie's principal mother figure and role model. It's not that we had a lot of space, and Mom and Israel had to stay at a local hotel. Later on, Israel pulled me aside and asked me what I didn't toss away Madma to accommodate Mom. He left me speechless.
As I feared, Mom and Israel would divorce in 1991. I'd kept my fears buried and hoped for the best. Mom's narcissism and prior experiences with men had had an impact. She was never able to love any other with full surrender. Once she felt she was reaching that point, she would retract with great violence and disdain. Israel had his own issues too. Their union was toxic from the beginning, even though they married in the Catholic Church. This taught me, again, that grace only fructifies when it's used by those receiving it. When unused or resisted, grace might as well be absent.
After their grand US tour, Mom returned to Florida. Upon her divorce, she returned to Puerto Rico and went to live at Papi's second house. This is the same house Papi used to live with Esperanza. who had passed away by this time already. Mom's self-declared, sworn enemy of the 1970's had become her main benefactor by dying. Quite the irony, I thought back then.
Another religious experience mediated by science
I applied to myself to my Physics II studies which I found wonderful. I did very well in class. I remember the final test had a bonus question which required two things from me. First, I had to intuit the answer. Then, I had to build the answer through mathematical integration. When I did, I had a religious experience. I noticed how one could explain the nature of things by intuition and mathematics. The solution was elegant and an exercise in discovery. Not that I discovered anything new, I'd discovered something new for me.
In the tenth grade I'd had a religious experience by watching chloroplasts cycling away inside a euglena cell. The cycling movement enthralled me with the beauty of life. Now, I was able to discover the inner nature of reality. I was able to describe it through mathematical symbols. My description was as much a reality as the chloroplasts cycling.
"I care little of other's denials" - I thought. God exists. His reason suffuses the entire universe. "If you can't see this, you're blind." I would come to question this later, but the same answer would resurface, as you'll see.
Anyway, I got an "A" in the class. The graded test hung up by a magnet on our refrigerator door for a while. I didn't know it then, but this came to be my last formal, academic foray into physics in my lifetime.
A wonderful episcopal consecration and an encounter with Fr. Francis
On July 26, 1988 I had the privilege of attending the episcopal consecration of Charles J. Chaput as Bishop of Rapid City. As soon as I found out that Bishop Chaput was a Capuchin Franciscan, I knew my Father Francis also would be there. I just knew it. I called the Chancery and, wouldn't you know, he was! He was staying at Rapid City's Ramada Inn. I drove over there as soon as we could. He opened his room's door. He smiled broadly. We embraced.
We had Ft. Francis as a guest in our house and he met little Chris. I felt I had come full circle. My Father saw we lived in holy matrimony. He got to see the first fruit of our love. I felt good for him, and for all of us.
Bishop Chaput would become later Archbishop Chaput, first of Denver and then of Philadelphia. He also became one of the principal voices of normative Catholicism in the nation. He retired from his see not long ago. He remains a very influential voice in the American Catholic Church.
This would not be our last encounter with Fr. Francis either. We’ll meet again numerous times until his transit to Our Father’s house three years ago.
Our Computer Era Begins
It was right about this time I became a serious computer enthusiast. I first acquired an Atari 800 XL with all the peripherals and a slew of games in floppy disks of the larger kind. I programmed. I gamed, and I started my exploration of the online world by means of my 300 BPS analog modem, the kind that had to use one’s phone line to connect.
Later on I swapped the Atari for my first IBM computer, a Tandy with an 8088 processor. I also purchased a 1200 BPS analog modem and I thought I was flying. I had two 3.5 inch floppy drives with it. It also came with a 4-color monitor. I used it intensively and also purchased educational software for little Christ to play and learn with. Little did I knew where this new hobby would take all of us in the near future.
A New Beginning
My first enlistment was coming to an end and I was nowhere close to what I needed to be job wise or academically. I went to my Career Advisor in search of the possibility for cross-train, that is, to change into a new job in the Air Force. It was then that I found this one: Language Cryptologic Linguist. That was right up my alley, I thought. I applied, took a battery of language tests which I passed effortlessly, and made the cut. My days as a Missile Security Specialist began to draw to a close. I was to report to Goodfellow AFB, in San Angelo, Texas, during the summer of ‘89. The countdown began.
I read everything about intelligence I laid my hands on, starting with The Puzzle Palace, by James Bamford. I also began reading Tom Clancy novels which were very popular back then.
Saying goodbye to people and worst, to Mercie, was the worst. She found herself in the unenviable situation of having to deal with the move by herself. She would drive from Ellsworth to San Angelo with baby Chris and Mama, in the Fairmont car. We would be months apart, the first time since we were married. The separation was the first one of many that would suffuse our future together. It never got any easier.