The Death of Santini: The Story of a Father and His Son (50 page)

“I believe it, Bull. You can fly with the best of them. You can lead men. But you’ve got to become an administrator. A politician even.”

“I know, Luther. I’ll be good.”

“When are you leaving, Bull?”

“Thirteen hundred.”

“Your gear ready?”

“Affirmative.”

“Will you give Susan a call when you get to Atlanta, Bull? She’s down in Dothan, Alabama, with her folks and she sounded a little depressed in her last couple of letters. You could always cheer her up.”

“I can’t do that, Luth. I don’t want to break up your marriage. Susan’s always been crazy about my body and I don’t want to torture her by letting her hear my John Wayne voice over the phone. No kidding, Luth, I’ll be glad to call her. Any other last minute directives?”

“Give Lillian a kiss for me.”

“Roger.”

“Same for Mary Anne and Karen. Tell Ben and Matt I can still whip both their tails with one hand tied behind my back.”

“I wouldn’t mess with Meecham kids. They’ll find a way to beat you.”

“O.K., Bull,” Luther Windham said, rising to shake hands with Bull. “Keep your nose clean and fly right. And remember what I said.”

“Did you say something, Luth? I must have been having a wet dream.”

“You son of a bitch. You’re living proof of the old saying, ‘You can always tell a fighter pilot, but you can’t tell him much.’ ”

“I’m gonna miss you, Luth,” Bull said. “It’s been great being stationed with you on this tub.”

“Well, we started out in the Corps and we finally got back together after nineteen years.”

“With you a colonel and me a light colonel. You’re living proof of another old saying, Luth. ‘The shit rises to the top.’ ”

“Have a good flight. What time are you due in?”

“Tuesday at 1530, Zulu time. I got a hop to Wiesbaden. Then one to Charleston Air Force Base.”

“Give that squadron hell in South Carolina. I’ll take care of the admiral for you.”

“Come see me when you get Stateside, Luth.”

“You ol’ bastard.”

“You cross-eyed turtle-fucker.”

“Adios, amigo.”

“Sayonara, Luth.”

And the two fighter pilots embraced fiercely.

Pat Conroy is the author of ten previous books:
The Boo
,
The Water Is Wide
,
The Great Santini
,
The Lords of Discipline
,
The Prince of Tides
,
Beach Music
,
My Losing Season
,
The Pat Conroy Cookbook: Recipes of My Life
,
South of Broad
, and
My Reading Life
. He lives in Beaufort, South Carolina.

Other titles by Pat Conroy available in eBook format

Beach Music
• 978-0-307-80473-0
My Losing Season
• 978-0-553-89818-7
My Reading Life
• 978-0-385-53384-3
The Pat Conroy Cookbook
• 978-0-385-53285-3
South of Broad
• 978-0-385-53214-3

Visit:
www.patconroy.com

Like:
www.facebook.com/PatConroyAuthor

For more information, please visit
www.nanatalese.com

Frances (“Peg”) Peek and Donald Patrick Conroy, just married, 1945.

Don Conroy at the time he was selected for the Navy Olympic basketball team, 1947.

Peg Conroy holding her firstborn son, Pat.

Just a small family at the time: Pat; his mother, Peg; and his sister Carol.

The boys with Peg. Left to right: Jim, Tom, Tim, Mike, Pat.

The South Carolina All-Star Team in 1963. Pat is kneeling on the left.

The whole family together in 1965. Back row: Jim, Carol, Pat, Kathy, Mike. Front row: Peg, Tim, Tom, Don.

A commendation.

Pat finally goes to college and attends The Citadel.

Pat graduates from The Citadel in 1967.

Pat and Barbara’s wedding, October 10, 1969.

A family picture taken in 1970 to send to Don, who was overseas.

Pat’s thirtieth birthday in 1975. With him are Marion O’Neill; Cliff Graubart, who owned the Old New York Bookshop; and his sister Carol, the poet.