An Honorable Man: the Romance of Cluny Ramm

In late afternoon at this time of year the fog of creeps over the rolling hills from the coast thirty miles away and settles over the area. It usually burns off by mid-morning.

Dix was up at five a.m, his usual hour for rising on Saturdays and Sundays. The fog had not completely lifted, but it was thinning out in town and was no longer a problem for drivers. He put on his sweatpants, shirt, and running shoes and drove the eight blocks from his house to the high school, parking behind the football field.

The side gate was always open, and Dix joined about a dozen other runners pacing themselves on the mile track that surrounded the field. He often saw the same eight or nine men and three women doing their morning wakeup runs. He pulled alongside Geno Matteo, owner of the local men’s clothing store. They paced each other for a quarter mile, exchanging comments between breaths as they ran. Then Dix felt warmed up and set a fast pace, rounding the track ten times, lapping the other runners as he did so.

That was one of Dix’s morning ritual. Running five miles every weekday morning, taking a longer run on Saturdays and Sundays, and working out in a gym for an hour after work. He also swam whenever he could, but he could no longer dive. His favorite swim occurred once a year when he, along with other hearty souls, swam from Alcatraz Island in the middle of San Francisco Bay to Fisherman’s Wharf. His body thrived on the physical demands and exertion.

After his run, he went home, showered, and dressed in Levis and a collared tee-shirt, and then stepped out for breakfast. Sunday morning breakfast at Mary’s Café was another ritual for Dix. The café was located in what was once a small auto parts store on the far side of a lot on which there was an old Seaside gas station.

The café counter was L shaped and had twelve stools with backs, six on each side of the L, and no tables. The walls were painted a light green. A large clock graced the side wall, and was the only décor. Business was steady all day.

The café was the favorite of the locals and served the best breakfasts and hot beef sandwich in town. It was open from five a.m. to midnight. Mary waited the tables at the counter while Duncan, her husband, did the cooking. Relief help served during the afternoon. Duncan was a jealous man and he kept watching for a customer to make a false move toward his wife. No one ever did, but they sure enjoyed the view she presented.

Dix ordered a short stack with a fried egg on top and three slices of bacon, crisp. Mary was her usual charming self, waiting on customers and flirting just a little.

After breakfast, Dix drove the four blocks toward home, and as he neared his house, he saw an ambulance parked next door at the O’Brien residence. He parked in his driveway and quickly walked toward the O’Brien’s front door. Just then the ambulance crew came out the door carrying the stretcher.

George O’Brien was lying there apparently unconscious. He was an energetic man in his seventies, but now looked drawn and tired. His thick graying hair was falling in all directions. His wife, Jackie came out right behind them and followed the stretcher to the ambulance. She was in her late sixties and had a natural beauty and a youthful zest for life, but now looked anxious. She was told that there was not sufficient room inside to accompany them, but that she could follow them to the Riverton General Hospital.

As the ambulance drove away, Jackie looked to Dix and raised her arms as if to ask what she could do. She looked frightened and confused. Dix went to her side and gave her a hug for support and asked what had happened. George had either a heart attack or stroke. She wasn’t sure. The ambulance driver told her not to worry, that the doctors were waiting for them at the hospital and they would do whatever was necessary.

I need to go to the hospital, Jackie said.

Let me drive you, replied Dix.

No. I’ll be okay. I can drive myself. I’ll just get my purse and go up there.

Is there anything I can do for you?

No…yes. Will you call our daughter, Cluny? She’s in the book. Cluny Ramm in Ultumia. She has the Ramm’s Head Inn. Thanks.

And with that, Jackie was off. Dix went into his house and looked the daughter up in the phone book. Nothing under her name, Cluny Ramm, but there was the Ramm’s Head Inn. Dix called and asked for Cluny.

This is Cluny. How may I help you?

Cluny, my name is Dix Monroe. I live next door to your parents.

I know who you are. What’s wrong? Why are you calling? she responded quickly. Her voice sounded tense.

Your father was just taken to the hospital. He apparently had either a heart attack or a stroke. Your mother just left to join him.

Oh, my God. What hospital? How was he? Did you see him?

Cluny, calm down and we can talk. I didn’t see him. They took him to the Riverton General. Just eight blocks from here. The doctors were waiting there for him to arrive. They’ll do what’s necessary.

Oh, my God. Where are you?

I’m at my house. Next door to your parents. If you come to their house, I can drive you to the hospital, or you could go directly there.

I’ll be there in twenty minutes. She hung up.

Dix didn’t know if she meant that she would come to her parents’ house or the hospital. And twenty minutes? Ultumia was twenty-five miles west of here and the roads were windy and narrow.

Dix went outside and sat on his front porch steps to wait for whatever. He thought how difficult that must be for both Jackie and Cluny. Suddenly George is stricken, not knowing with what, and if he will recover. And if he does, in what condition will he be? Their lives could change in the coming hours or minutes. And Dix reflected on how he knew about life-changing moments. But then he also knew that no one promised him or the O’Brien family a rose garden.

In twenty minutes a 1958 Chevy Bel Air drove up and parked in front of the O’Brien house. A woman in her late twenties emerged quickly and looked toward Dix.

She was wearing baggy gray sweatpants and a green sweatshirt, both of which failed to hide the sensuous curves of her figure. Her dark auburn hair was tied in a pony tail.

Dix walked to meet her. Cluny, I’m Dix.

They hugged. It was spontaneous on both their parts and it was natural. They parted, but still held on to each other’s arms momentarily and looked each other in the eye. Dix felt a hot flash or quiver, and he felt flushed just for a few seconds.

Finally, they separated and Dix said, Hi Cluny, I’m Dix Monroe. I’m so sorry, but…

No, don’t say it. Don’t you tell me that it is going to be all right.

I wouldn’t say that, replied Dix. I would never say that, but it never hurts to hope.

Cluny started to respond, and then paused and gave Dix a curious look. She took a deep breath and said, You’re right. Thank you.

Do you remember the way to the hospital or do you want to follow me?

I think I remember where it is, but I’ll follow you just in case.

The got into their respective cars, and Dix led the way the eight blocks to Riverton General. They parked next to each other near the main entrance and rushed inside. Jackie O’Brien was sitting there in the lobby. She rose immediately and she and Cluny embraced. Both began crying.

Finally, Cluny said, Mom, what happened?

I don’t know. We had just finished breakfast. George got up and started toward the living room. He stopped suddenly, stumbled, and fell. No warning. He couldn’t speak. I quickly called 9-1-1, and here we are.

What do the doctors say?

Dr. Scully came out a few moments ago and said George had a small stroke, but they got him here in time and he should recover most of his faculties. He said it was too soon to know for sure. He’s resting now under sedation.

Can we see him?

Not until later, after he wakes up and seems lucid.

Dix watched the two women talk to each other. What a lucky man George was to have two women love him so much. He could see that Cluny and Jackie were close as well. He could also tell that here was a special love that existed between Cluny and her father. He thought about his own family. He always knew that his mother loved him. She told him and she showed it. He felt sure that his father did, but he was not the type to demonstrate it, and Dix missed that. Dix had made a pledge with himself that when he had children, he would always let them know that they were loved, unconditionally.

Jackie came over to Dix, and they hugged. Dix, thank you so much for your help and for coming here. I know George would appreciate it too.

Jackie, you know that I am here for you and George. Whatever I can do. You just ask.

I know, Dix. I know. You’re a good man. And she began crying softly and sat down next to Dix. Cluny sat next to her mother and held her hand.

They all sat there for over an hour waiting for some further word of George’s condition. Finally, a doctor came out and spoke to Jackie. Apparently, George had suffered a mild stroke, as he thought, but has responded well to treatment and the prognosis is very positive. Jackie and Cluny breathed a sigh of relief; and Cluny took her mother’s hands and kissed them. She said, I think he’s going to be okay, Mom.

After a few minutes Dix said, I better go. I’ll check with you tomorrow on George’s condition. I’d like to visit with him as well.

As Dix stood to leave, so did Jackie and Cluny. They each gave Dix a hug.

It seemed the natural thing to do under the circumstances, yet Dix felt a surge of warmth as he hugged Cluny. She smelled so good. A light lavender mixed with her own scent. He was moved beyond any carnal feelings to some deeper emotional satisfaction.

He tried to make sense of his feelings. They were mixed. He was there to console them about George, yet he was drawn to Cluny by altogether different feelings. He’d sort them out later, but for now, he knew that he was not ready to become involved with a woman, any woman. That was the last thing he needed at this point in his life.

But that scent of lavender lingered on. It followed him home, and as much as he tried to dismiss any thoughts of Cluny, that surge of warmth remained.

Once home, Dix put two LP records on his phonograph in an effort to change his emotional focus. The first record included some oldies by the Clyde Thornhill band, while the second LP was Artie Shaw’s Gramercy Five’s, Summit Ridge Drive.

And then he took a Pabst beer from the refrigerator and settled back to relax in his easy chair to reflect on the day’s events.

Chapter 2

It was seven-thirty Monday morning when Dix Monroe parked his 1964 Chevy Impala coupe in the reserve lot behind the county justice center in the northern area of Santa Lisa. The center was one of several buildings in the county’s government complex that served as the seat of government for Romano County, a thirteen hundred square mile largely rural county in northern California.

Monroe strode quietly toward the rear door of the Center, and reflected on the enormity of the building as he walked toward it. The sound of his spit-polished brown leather-heeled harness boots marked his pace like the four- count rhythm of a metronome.

The justice center was a large two-story rectangular structure built and dedicated in January 1966 as one of seven large county buildings located on forty-seven acres just east of the 101 freeway in the northern section of San Lisa. The county bought the land and built the complex of buildings to centralize county government.

There was a large open quad in the justice center around which courtrooms and offices were built. The county jail was attached to the rear of the sheriff’s office. The courtrooms and offices formed the four walls, and the corridor around those rooms faced inward to the quad below. There was a large pond with a fountain in the center of the quad.

Monroe used his key and entered the back door of the probation department, walked past the large room which doubled as a board room, coffee room, and lunch room, and went to his desk. It was a standard-size light gray metal desk with file drawers on one side, accompanied by a four-drawer gray metal file cabinet standing next to it. There were two rows of six identical desks and file cabinets. Spanning from near the conference room to the partition separating the deputies’ area from four interview rooms was a large open area where the stenos and secretaries worked, and where the public had an entry into a small lobby.

Monroe shouldered his sports coat over the back of his swivel chair and placed his field book, a small binder, on his desk, and then went back to the conference room and started a pot of coffee. That was the responsibility of whoever arrived to work first. He put his homemade lunch in the small refrigerator next to the coffee table. He noticed several stacks of folders, probably someone’s caseload, spread lengthwise along the walnut conference table.

Monroe then walked back to his desk and noticed that he had forgotten to change the month on his calendar so he reset the page to August 3, 1967. Then he straightened the nameplate he had placed on the front of the desk. The name plate read David Dixon Monroe.

He was named after David Dixon Porter, the noted navalist and second admiral of the United States Navy during the Civil War. After the war Porter was appointed Superintendent of the Naval Academy in 1865 where he sought to rebuild that moribund institution to achieve an acclaimed status on a par with West Point. His mission, as he defined it, was to send honorable men from this institution into the Navy.

Monroe’s father, William Evert Monroe had attended the Naval Academy long after Porter’s passing and had taken pride in the education he received. He had studied and admired the writings and legacy of Admiral Porter while he was there. He considered himself to be an honorable man, well prepared for life in the Navy. He wanted that theme to live on. Hence, he gave his first-born the David Dixon handle. David, however, answered more often to Dix, a nickname he assumed while in high school.

Dix’s mother, Marybeth, had worked as a music teacher and an occasional concert pianist with a local symphony in locations where the family moved as Navy brats.

He always thought that he got his organizational mind set and assertiveness from his father and his tenderness and compassion from his mother.

Much of Dix’s father, Captain, and later Commander Monroe’s, time was spent at sea, first as commander of the cruiser U.S.S. James Ballantine and then the carrier, U.S.S. Madison.

After many years of moving from naval base to base, Dix’s mother wanted the family to have a permanent and stable base while the kids were in school and while his father completed his tour of duty. Consequently, the family settled in Riverton, a small town at the south end of Ramona County, population 8,000, when Dix was fourteen. They family purchased a large three-bedroom, two-bath house just two blocks from downtown. It had once been the manse of the local Congregational church.

Dix graduated from the Riverton High School, and from the local Ramona Community College and then went on to the state college in Sacramento.

He had never aspired to any particular career, but after graduation from college in 1958, he applied for a job with the Sacramento Police Department on a dare from Holly Trent, a classmate whom he was dating at the time and who also joined the police department. They competed for top honors in the academy class during the ten weeks, graduated together, and went on patrol at the same time.

However, after three years on patrol, they decided independently that the routine and paramilitary structure of the job were not their cup of tea. Also, their romance had recently devolved to friendship, without the usual benefits they had previously enjoyed. Eventually, they drifted apart and went their separate ways.

Holly longed for more adventure and intrigue in a job, so she went to work for BNE, the state’s Bureau

of Narcotic Enforcement.

Dix decided that plainclothes detective work would be more rewarding, but that he would have to be on patrol for another five years before such an opportunity arose. At about the same time, his father died of heart failure, so Monroe decided to resign from the police department and move back home to help his mother. He actually moved in with her.

After two months of idleness, he was feeling bored and useless. And his mother was adjusting well to her new situation in life. That’s when he decided to join the Navy, whether out of guilt at not having followed in his father’s footsteps or from a sense of obligation to help his country in their time of conflict.

Regardless of the motivation, Monroe enlisted and was sent to Navy boot camp in San Diego in August 1961, where he graduated near the top of his class. He wasn’t an action junkie, but he did like adventure and variety in his work. He heard of a naval Special Forces team being formed in January, which was named SEAL, to train men for sea, air, and land combat. Men were chosen from the existing Underwater Demolition Teams and new members who could qualify. Monroe applied.

UDT had their origin during World War II in deactivating harbor mines and related guerrilla combat. Dix was accepted into the first team established at the Naval Amphibious Base in Coronado. A second team was established later in Little Creek, Virginia. They were the first units formally dedicated to preparing naval men for combat as SEALs.

The months of training were long and hard. They were trained to take direct-action missions against military targets, as well as conduct underwater reconnaissance and the demolition of natural or man-made obstacles prior to amphibious landings. Training also included hand-to-hand combat, both armed and unarmed, using techniques derived from jiu jitsu, judo, Kraw Maga, and Mauy Thai, a method that evolved in Siam over many years. They were also trained for sniper missions and in foreign languages, for those who had the talent for languages.

Dix excelled at the physical training and equally well in underwater training and land warfare. After completing all the advanced training, he was ready for mission assignments.

The first mission of his unit was deployment in 1961 from a submarine positioned off Cuba to carry out beach reconnaissance in preparation for a possible invasion of Cuba by the United States.

In March 1962 his unit was deployed to South Vietnam as advisors and trainers of South Vietnamese commandos. Then in early 1963 he participated in a CIA- sponsored program named Operation Phoenix that targeted key North Vietnamese Army personnel and Vietcong sympathizers for capture and/or assassination.

They hid the Zodiac rubber reconnaissance craft in a small cove near the border between North and South Korea. During the next three hours Monroe led their team of five SEALS around the outskirts of several North Vietnamese villages looking for Viet Cong strongholds. The air was humid and still, but there was a smell of death lurking just ahead. The first four villages we observed were deserted. The locals were either driven out or killed by the Cong. The fifth village appeared deserted initially, but as they lay among the brush that fronted the village, they heard noises in one of the huts. Then a young Vietnamese woman walked out the door with a small child in tow and walked toward them, as if she knew they were there. Monroe’s orders had been, Don’t shoot unless I give the signal. They watched the girl to determine if she was alone and where she was going, Suddenly, Markley raised his sniper rifle, aimed, and shot before Monroe could react. The young girl fell dead in the street, pulling the child down as she fell. The child got up and started crying, and Markley fired again, killing the child. Monroe was shocked and sickened at what Markley had done. He grabbed Markley by the collar and flipped him back over onto the ground next to him, took the rifle away from him, and drew his own Colt M45 pistol. He shoved the gun under his chin and said, You knew my orders not to shoot. Why did you shoot? Why did you have to kill that girl and that child?

Monroe wanted to pull the trigger and blow his face off, but someone pulled his arm down and said He isn’t worth it, Lieutenant, and some inner control pulled Dix’s finger off the trigger and laid it alongside the trigger guard. Then Monroe vomited. How could he kill that girl and child without any hesitation or care?

"Well, Lieutenant, she was just another geek to me. She was probably walking toward us with a bomb under her skirt. She was the enemy and I took her out, like I was taught to do." responded Markley.

The men looked back at the village. No sign that anyone else was there and no one responded to the shots fired.

Monroe ordered the men back to the boat, and they made it back to their base near Incheon. He immediately made written and oral reports on Markley’s actions to his commander and requested Markley’s arrest and court martial. He was arrested, but the proceeding was delayed on some pretense. Next thing Monroe knew he was transferred out of my combat unit and sent to the underwater demolition training unit. It was thought that Dix lacked the necessary commitment to the needs of combat.

Most of the balance of Monroe’s time in Nam was spent around Na Nang training the South Vietnamese commandos in combat diving, underwater demolition, and guerrilla tactics.

Dix felt physically and emotionally fulfilled as a Navy SEAL. However, he still felt sickened on those occasions when he thought of some of the needless killings, the causalities of combat. Nevertheless, he thought he had found a home in the Navy, as had his father, and every action he undertook was helping his country’s cause. Or so he thought at the time. He was on Cloud 9. And then it happened.

Early one morning in October 1964, he was training a group of South Vietnamese commandos in underwater demolition at one of the local harbors. They were only forty feet under water, but one of the commandos panicked and turned for the surface, and somehow triggered the explosives they had just set. Most of the commandos were killed in the explosion. Monroe was back far enough from the target watching the commandos’ efforts to avoid death, but the explosion sent out intense sound-wave pressure that blew out his right eardrum and rendered him nearly unconscious. He drifted to the top, breathing automatically from his scuba tank. He was quickly rescued by other