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This book is not intended as a literal account or an exact portrayal of any persons living or dead. Obviously, it has been important to the author to protect the identity of some of the characters in this story, and for that purpose, names and descriptions have been changed.
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Preston Cunningham was drafted in March of 1968 certain of an assignment in Vietnam.
With less than two weeks before deployment to the war zone as a draftee, Preston chose the Army’s new four year enlistment program. He was given the opportunity to decide on Spain, Italy or Germany for his entire forty eight month enlistment thus - avoiding Vietnam.
Following a brief 16 months of civilian status in Germany and a lack of personnel in his occupation (top secret cryptography), Uncle Sam acted in disregard of his contract and Preston was assigned to the jungles of Vietnam.
West Brookfield, Massachusetts - June 1989
Preston Cunningham drove into the picturesque New England town of West Brookfield, Massachusetts bound for the charming ‘town common’. It was here thirty years earlier, where he and Arvie were to take part in a key race. They were the best of friends, and it was the best of times in 1959. Arvie’s dad was their scoutmaster and it was Mr. Silverberg, who instituted many of the social and ethical principles Preston would later on incorporate into his life.
As with most teenagers, his viewpoint was set on the great inquisitiveness the world had to offer. In 1959, the town had not quite enough industry with which to provide for its residents.
There was the Fleishman Yeast Factory, a wire manufacturing plant and charming Lake Wicquaboag (Wick-a-bog), a preferred vacation destination for the prosperous from Boston to the Berkshires.
Even with the need for more business, the three hundred year old town was rich in colonial custom with its church suppers and lawn parties. Special character that made New England unique.
The windshield wipers were stressed to their maximum; melodiously flip flopping to remove the sheets of rain from a surprising early spring rainstorm. Preston could hardly make out the old mesh backstop to the baseball diamond as his mind flashed back in time to the day of the race.
Lex Carroll, the local Chevrolet dealer, a most generous man was the sponsor for the race. In addition to providing the pace car - a white exterior with red leather interior 1959 Chevy convertible full of options. Mr. Carroll also supplied the trophies. The youth of their town were so often the recipient of Mr. Carroll’s charity.
Several days prior to the race Preston and Arvie were placed into the proper age group, and assigned numbers to be pinned to their shirts. The path of the race would take them on a three mile race - a total of three laps around the town common. In the Colonial period, the area of land in the center of town served as a ‘common’ meeting place - thus the term town common.
On the day of the race, a modest crowd assembled at the starting line (which would also serve as the finishing point). The pace car was proceed by the town’s only police cruiser. A woof of the bullet shaped chrome siren on the roof of the cruiser, a wave from the flagman and the contestants were in motion.
The adrenalin raced through Preston’s body as two dozen young men were about to reveal their marathon skills. Arvie and Preston were approaching the end of the first lap when this scrawny skinny kid raced from behind and won the first trophy. Another was just as quick to pick up the second trophy.
Preston and Arvie managed to take a quick look at each other laboring to catch their breath between steps. It was at this critical moment when they decided to end the third and final lap on the same foot - and at the same time! The thought never occurred to either of them that in the event of a tie they would be asked to run a fourth and final lap to decide the winner.
They extended their hands to shake on their promise. The muscles in Preston’s legs began to tighten and he could see that Arvie was also in pain.
“Don’t lose your stride!” Arvie shouted, gasping for breath.
They were certain of the win! Along the route there were shouts of encouragement and support.
Lex Carroll actively thrust the last trophy above his head. For a moment, thirst overwhelmed any desire to finish the race as agreed. Preston was anxious for a drink of water. It was an effort just to breathe. They made eye contact one last time, extending their hands in anticipation of a mission well done. Success for this pair was definite. They were now only fifteen feet from the finish line.
Then, unexpectedly Preston tripped falling to the ground! Arvie crossed the finish line, and Preston had experienced the agony of defeat - and a bruised knee. Arvie sprinted back to ask if Preston was OK, but all Preston wanted was water!
Although proud of his triumph, Arvie was eager they both share in the trophy - and refused to take no for an answer. Not only was Arvie humble as he displayed the true meaning of friendship, but more significant, he demonstrated the pride that comes with doing your best.