List of titles by author Oliver F. Chase

I grew up on military bases throughout the country and like all boys, we played good guys and bad. Coaxing me into an afternoon of baseball, hiking the Southern California’s hills or paddling a North Carolina backwater didn’t take much unless a book grabbed me first.

My best friend and I joined the reserve Marines and go to college. Herb left school finding stumbling blocks that seemed insurmountable. A year after graduating, I stepped onto a sweaty tarmac with a manual typewriter not far from where Herb died. Fate sometimes has a way of putting day-to-day frustrations into a cruel perspective.

Thirty-one guys and I flew days and nights in the mountains trying to keep the world safe for … well, that’s not really true, is it? The only reason we ever went into those dark, frightening places was for our friends, some of whom we’d never met before that long night. The phrase emergency medevac at two in the morning still haunts me to this today, that damn radio calling my name, a siren song of youth, waiting for me and biding its time.

After grad school, I spent some time wandering. Lots of us did in jeans torn at the knee from wear, not style. Our cars were old or we used the local bus stations. Hotels meant a friend’s couch. I never slept in the park, although many did. Some of us found a way out of the maze, others did not. I was one of the fortunate ones, and believe pulling the right ticket has to do with luck, too.

I did a bit of teaching, a few years with the cops and other things that used letters to identify themselves. I lost track of the old manual typewriter when I bought my first computer, a Zenith. I switched to a Mac, then settled on PC’s. A little Lenevo travels with me now, comfortable in my duffle, catching my thoughts. I’ve often wondered if the Smith sits in a closet somewhere or maybe on the shelf of a thrift store in Bangkok. I’ll never know. He traveled great and I wish him well.

I grew up on military bases throughout the country and like all boys, we played good guys and bad. Coaxing me into an afternoon of baseball, hiking the Southern California’s hills or paddling a North Carolina backwater didn’t take much unless a book grabbed me first.

My best friend and I joined the reserve Marines and go to college. Herb left school finding stumbling blocks that seemed insurmountable. A year after graduating, I stepped onto a sweaty tarmac with a manual typewriter not far from where Herb died. Fate sometimes has a way of putting day-to-day frustrations into a cruel perspective.

Thirty-one guys and I flew days and nights in the mountains trying to keep the world safe for … well, that’s not really true, is it? The only reason we ever went into those dark, frightening places was for our friends, some of whom we’d never met before that long night. The phrase emergency medevac at two in the morning still haunts me to this today, that damn radio calling my name, a siren song of youth, waiting for me and biding its time.

After grad school, I spent some time wandering. Lots of us did in jeans torn at the knee from wear, not style. Our cars were old or we used the local bus stations. Hotels meant a friend’s couch. I never slept in the park, although many did. Some of us found a way out of the maze, others did not. I was one of the fortunate ones, and believe pulling the right ticket has to do with luck, too.

I did a bit of teaching, a few years with the cops and other things that used letters to identify themselves. I lost track of the old manual typewriter when I bought my first computer, a Zenith. I switched to a Mac, then settled on PC’s. A little Lenevo travels with me now, comfortable in my duffle, catching my thoughts. I’ve often wondered if the Smith sits in a closet somewhere or maybe on the shelf of a thrift store in Bangkok. I’ll never know. He traveled great and I wish him well.

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