Dad's Dreams

Lt. Col. Samuel E. Fields
An Officer and a Gentleman

Dad always wanted nothing but the best for his 5 kids. One of his "dreams" was to see all his children go to college. Maybe another one was for his sons to join the military (preferably the Air Force). I know that at times I was a disappointment to him. I had the opportunity to join the Air Force, and "chickened out" at the very last minute. Since my grades in high school had been marginal, I decided that I should probably wait a year before I tried college. So I got a full time job. Then, (we were in Florida at the time) I got hooked on the power of the almighty dollar, and put college off for another year. Then the State of Florida made a big mistake: they dropped the (legal) drinking age to 18. I was already 19 at the time it happened, so I must have felt that I needed to make up that year I had "lost". I moved out on my own with another friend from high school. We shared an apartment that was too expensive for us, and proceeded to party. I was fond of saying that our experience in that apartment was just a "four-month housewarming party". There was always drinking and partying going on. Why just four months? After all, we had signed a six-month lease on the place. My roommate lost his job and we broke the lease. We were later sued for damages to the apartment in addition to the two months' rent we were legally obligated to pay. I paid my portion and got on with my life. By this time, I was a fairly accomplished welder. I was able to pass all the required certifications for working on defense contracts. There seemed to be a prerequisite for being a welder: smoking, drinking, and cussing. Like I said, I was a good welder. Years later, after my second divorce, I lived in my pickup truck through a summer and into the fall. As winter was fast approaching, I knew that I needed to find a roof to put over my head. I started checking the classified for "roommate wanted" ads. I found one and called the person. I set up an appointment for that afternoon. In the meantime, I went to a friend's house to help him re-tar his roof. Up on that roof, next to the tar pot, it was kind of warm, so we had some beer to help keep us "hydrated". Then at the appointed time, I left to meet my prospective roommate. I found the place, a nice double-wide trailer in a trailer park. I knocked on the door and introduced myself. He asked if I would like something to drink. I asked for a beer, but all he had was liquor. So, I asked for a bourbon and water. When I tasted it, it was like rocket fuel. Really strong. Even for me. After probably 30-45 minutes, I noticed a baby grand piano. I don't "play", but I can read music and pick stuff out by ear. The guy asked me to play something. About that time, I felt like I had been hit in the head with a baseball bat. I got really dizzy, and I couldn't hit any of the piano keys I was "aiming" for. He suggested that I sit back down on the couch for a little while, and handed me another drink. That was the last thing I needed right then, but I had a few more sips of rocket fuel while resting. Then, and only then, did he tell me that he had already "filled" the vacancy, but that he had wanted to meet me anyway. I stood up with some difficulty, and prepared to leave. He then made (homosexual) advances. He stuck his hand in my pants. By this time in my life, I had earned a 4th degree black belt in karate, but right then, I couldn't have punched my way out of a wet paper bag. I stumbled out to my truck and remember thinking that I needed to find someplace to pull over and take a nap. As I pulled out onto the main road (a left turn), the centrifugal force laid me down on the seat and I was powerless to stop it. I pulled myself backup where I could see, and crashed into the back of a small car. I remember seeing the hood crumple. I rolled down my window and hollered, "Sorry!" Then, in my stupor, I felt like I should pull off the road. As I turned the truck, I crossed over into the oncoming traffic and hit another vehicle. By the end of it all, I had crossed through a busy intersection, and ended up in the parking lot of a Holiday Inn. I don't remember the trip there, though. Total score: Seven vehicles totaling $75000 in property damage, and $8500 damage to my truck. I remember being removed from my truck at gunpoint, (an off-duty policeman was one of the witnesses), and having blood drawn at the scene for blood/alcohol level testing. I ended up in the "drunk tank". I found a place to sleep, and passed out. When I awoke, there were many more people in the holding cell. I had a terrible headache, and a booking slip. The piece of paper said that among other things, I was being charged with two counts of leaving an injury accident. My alcohol level had been .28, which was 3 1/2 times the legal limit. I had no idea whether I had killed someone, or to what extent any injuries were. I had hit rock-bottom. After being bailed out by my boss, who had faith in me, I waited for my court date. I appeared on the specified day, and was told that I needed legal representation. I replied that I couldn't afford one and asked the court to appoint one. The judge knew how much I made, and informed me that I could afford one. So I found a DUI attorney, but he needed a $500 retainer before he would take the case. I didn't have that kind of money, I was paying child support to my first wife, and had been living in my truck because I couldn't afford an apartment and still keep myself supplied with beer. So I called Dad. I explained the entire situation to him. At this point in his life, he had been a devout member of the LDS (Mormon) Church for many years, as had I at one time. I knew how he felt about alcohol use. Nonetheless, he sent me the money to retain legal counsel. I know that at that time, (among others) I was a great disappointment to him. But he displayed Unconditional Love, like he always did. I vowed to make it up to him. I knew I would probably never pay him back the money, and so did he. But I really tried to regain my former level of esteem in his eyes. That was more important to me than anything. Prior to my final court appearance, it was "requested" that I meet with an alcohol abuse counselor. This counselor's recommendations would then be forwarded to the Court. The counselor asked all the standard questions, and then, in an effort to understand why I drank, asked how I felt about my mother and what my relationship was with her. Maybe they thought I hated my mother or something. I answered that I loved my mother and she was a good woman, etc. He then asked the same questions regarding my father. I looked him in the eye, sat up straight, and proudly replied, "My father is an officer and a gentleman." That said it all, as far as I was concerned.
I was sentenced to 180 days, suspended all but 5 days. This was due partly to a dozen or so letters of character reference from associates and friends, and I believe partly because of the counselor's recommendation. I "did my time" and started my climb back to society.

There were other occurances in my life that probably disappointed Dad, but he was always there for me and always had good advice for me. It was left up to me to decide whether to heed it or not.