The Richard Jackson Saga: Book: 9 Cold War

I was escorted to the Ambassador Club. A cup of coffee later I was taken by a back hallway to the plane. I mentioned to my escort that this service seemed over the top, that I wasn’t that famous.
“We have found that any famous person will attract attention. People will want autographs and slow things down.”
“That is nice that you are thinking of us.”
“We aren’t, really. We have had too many flight delays because of that.”
That put me in my place. It also made me feel better for some odd reason.
The flight to St. Louis and then on to Dayton was uneventful. I signed a few autographs on the flight but it had become routine for me. As usual, I tried to be nice to everyone as they were paying to see my movies.
One person asked me to sign a scandal sheet. It was the one with inquiring minds.  There was a picture of me holding a baby on the front page. It was titled, Ricky’s love child?
I wrote, “No,” and signed it. From the look of the baby Mark May, he was going to be a big guy. If his Dad was like that I hope he didn’t hunt me up.
We landed in Dayton on time and my car and driver were waiting as planned. We drove up to Bellefontaine. He took the new section of I-75 and then route 33 into Bellefontaine. It was a little longer but much nicer road then going through Springfield and Urbana.
Since it was after dark as the time zones were working against me, we checked into our rooms at the Fountain Lodge. My room was neat and clean, but basically a little block. When I thought of my rooms at the Plaza in London I had a hint of how much my life had changed.
Wednesday morning I had the driver take me out to the roadside area near the airbase and let me out for my run. I was getting to be such a wimp. I didn’t want to run up the hill on Sandusky Street.
After that, I cleaned up. Since school wasn’t in session I took a walk downtown. The stores were all the same. Looking in the windows the fashions looked a little dated. The stores themselves were in need of a good up-dating. They were shabby around the edges.
I ran into a few people I recognized and they said hello but there were none of my classmates around. Most of them probably had summer jobs.
I knew where some of the kids would be and had the driver take me up to the swimming pool on Summit Drive. The only person I recognized was Tom Humphries, who was working as a lifeguard. I didn’t feel like talking to him, so I had the driver take me out to the Country Club.
There I talked to the Pro, who wanted to know all about the US Open. I was able to say hello to Dr. Costin who was about to tee off. Other than that there was nothing there for me. Now looking out over the golf course, which at one time looked like the epitome of class, but now it seemed like a little cow pasture.
From there I was driven up to the High School. The doors were unlocked so I went in the entrance to the Trophy Room. My trophies were still on display. I was standing there and remembering the events which led up to them.
One of the janitors who had been there many years came up to me. He asked if he could help me, I told him no, I was just remembering past events.
He smiled and said, “I have seen many kids come and go. Some go to good things, some go to bad, most to what I consider a normal life but the one thing you all have in common is you can’t come home. Time passes and things change. You can’t go back, and would you really want to?”
“I guess not.”
“Richard, just because you can’t come back doesn’t mean we don’t remember you or aren’t proud of you. Heck, I have even bragged to my granddaughter who thinks you are the bee’s knees that I had you picking up trash for me.”
Bee’s knees, he can’t be that old, can he?
I laughed and pulled out one of my ever available publicity photos to sign a personal autograph to his granddaughter Janet.
After that I had the driver take us back to Dayton and where I rented a room for the night and took the first flight out in the morning. It was sad, but I learned you can’t come home again. Well, not true, I was on the way home.

Chapter 4
I goofed off Friday morning. At breakfast, Dad asked me what I planned to do with the rest of my vacation. I hadn’t given it a lot of thought but off the top of my head, I told him I would like to visit different cities in the US.
“How would you do that?”
“I suppose I could rent a plane or fly commercial.”
“How about using the new Cessna 320 sitting over at the Forest Service?”
“What!”
“Mum and I knew you would need or at least want an aircraft in the US so we went ahead and ordered one last year while you were at Oxford.”
“Wow, you bought me an airplane!”
My brothers and sister were sitting at the table and you could see wheels turning. Mary’s were whirling like a slot machine.
“We ordered you an aircraft. Your company paid for it.”
Just like that, the wheels stopped, except for Mary.
“Daddy does that mean my company can buy me an airplane.”
Have I ever mentioned that Mary can be wickedly sweet at times? Most people would say sickly sweet but with her it was wicked.