Flashbacks when zoning
A memory flashed as I zoned out - I remembered feeling a chill when I saw the names of the class that had graduated the year before at the aviation school I was attending in Daytona (ERAU). The name Wolcott would become synonymous with "Elvis" a few years later in my journey. By that time, I knew that specific kind of chill would be a signal for things to come and a message to begin paying closer attention to my surroundings. So, the next day was a welcome day for vivid recollection.
I asked my college roommate to help me find a tattoo artist to do the dragon on my shoulder. We were paired together being Amerasians and had a great time with quite a few adventures – Kamikaze nights being some fond ones. Since we were both young, new to the area, and unfamiliar with the local businesses, we requested the aid of our resident advisor. Of course, his solution was successful. The journey to get to an ink parlor was quite the adventure for an 18-year-old that was culturally naïve, fresh from a long stint in South Korea, and an impulsive one who couldn't wait to reach the age of consent for a tattoo.
Our RA had a vehicle, so we were in luck. He said, "Let's hit up a biker bar and ask for references." We went to the Boothill Saloon.
A few college kids walk into a biker bar on a hot and sunny day in September 1990. Our RA approaches the bar counter to get the attention of the bartender wearing an eye patch as he is cleaning mugs and glasses. My roommate looks like a China doll out of place in a dark, dusty, and sandy old pub where every spot of wood has initials, dates, and names carved into it with lots of old lingerie hanging from every spot of the rafters above.
"Look for a guy named Crow, tell him Willy sent ya", was what the bartender said to our RA as he passed him a postcard with the directions to the tattoo parlor. I think I saw it signed "One-eyed Willy" with a cyclops happy face. I believe the saloon's signature quote on the postcard was "Come on in, have a drink and a seat - it's better than being across the street." Boothill Cemetery is in view when you step out. My memory can get fuzzy at times so you'd have to ask my old roommate the date he put on the postcard she had saved, but it may have been 9/11/1990. Asa Lee Crow III was my tattoo artist that day.
A little tidbit that made some sense to me years later — I used to play tennis on the campus courts with another student who was the most respectful and gentlemanlike male I had met until I met my hubby. I learned through some other students that he is a member of the House of Saud so that tracks.
Three years and a month later, my friend Elvis was killed in Somalia during Operation Gothic Serpent along with several other Night Stalkers I had bonded quickly with in the Army due to our proximity (my first husband was in the same unit) and shared passion in aviation.
If people understood what we knew at the time and the true nature of our presence in Somalia, they would perhaps understand our anger and why some of us don't want to hear "Thank you for your service" from white Christian nationalists and MAGA.
G5