Items related to The Cypress Creek Kid's Letters to His Princess
This epistolary novel is a series of essays in the form of letters directed to a fictional professional counselor.
"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.
About the Author:
Clinton Brooks was born in Ripley County Missouri in 1930. He entered the army at age seventeen and served as an enlisted man for twenty-one years.
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He served overseas in Korea and Vietnam, and two tours of duty at the Pentagon. He retired with rank of First Sergeant E8.
In 1968. After leaving the military he accepted God's call to the ministry and has been a Baptist min-ister for over thirty years and has been pastor of to seven churches, all in Virginia.
Clint does not write about the military, or his ministry, he writes about people. However, he hadn't been in the army very long before he was counseling young soldier who were away from home for the first time, some were scared, some who were too bold.
He is the type of person that people feel comfortable relating to, so as an ordained minister, he found himself helping people relate to their situations.
These essays are fictionalized stories inspired by and based on some of his ministerial experiences.
Essay 11: Down to Earth at Dover
Dear Princess;
You are right about my motivation for sending you the Eddy Arnold recording of You Don't Know Me. I wanted you to know me, yet I didn't want you to know the rough and tough me of the Ozark Hills, and I certainly didn't want you to know the me of Nam. I wanted you to know the minister who visited you in the hospital the day you were born, and the minister who quit as your parent's pastor before you learned to walk.
Of course I wanted you to remember the one who sent you corny cassette tapes by The Hoosier Hot-shots for a graduation gift. I'm sure you had tears in your eyes when you listened to Them Hillbillies Are Mountain Williams Now, and I Like Bananas Because They Have No Bones (which is the way many people want their theology nowadays.)
Princess, I know you are busy, but you did ask about the Dover experience, so here is more about the Cypress you don't know.
Because the secure area was only a few miles long, the Boeing 707 started climbing as soon as it left the runway of the Saigon airport. Within five minutes we were high above the leeches and frogs below.
We came back to earth at Dover Air Force Base, Delaware, just before noon the next day.
It amazes me that in twenty-two hours I went from the bottom to the top of the world. Believe me Nam was the bottom of the world for many others and for me. We arrived earlier than anticipated, so I had a three-hour wait for the truck from Ft. Deitrick, Maryland, which was to pick up the piece of equipment I had escorted from Vietnam. My morale was high because escorting this equipment brought me out of Vietnam two weeks before my scheduled year was over. Now I could spend Christmas with my wife and three sons.
My daddy always told me "You will go to hell for lying just as quick as you will for stealing"; however, when I turned in my weapon, I lied. I told them the bayonet had been lost. After all, if a person spends a year in Nam he ought to get at least one souvenir.
A walk in the cool December air will be nice; it's been a year since I experienced the luxury of cool air. I walked briskly for a few minutes, and then I sat on a bench and gazed off into space. How good it will be to see my family.
I gazed down the long runways and my thoughts drifted back to the year behind. I said, "I'm going to put all this behind me." A voice, I think it was inside, said, "If you are going to put it behind you, then get rid of the dammed bayonet."
I found a grassy spot, made sure no one was looking, and pushed the bayonet into the ground, leaving only an inch sticking up. I smiled at the top of the bayonet sticking up, but the voice said, "Drive it the rest of the way down, bury it completely."
I smiled no more; I jumped from the bench and began viciously stomping the bayonet with the heel of my boot; I stomped it until it was completely hidden; an observer would have though I was trying to stomp it all the way to Nam.
My jaws tightened as I said in my command voice, "I ain't going to wear this uniform anymore, the Cypress Creek Kid ain't going to keep on wearing this uniform." My jaws were still tight, but my voice was no longer firm. As I walked back to the terminal lounge my tote bag felt so much lighter without that bayonet.
I had a great Christmas with my wife and sons and then reported to my new assignment at Woodbridge, Virginia.
Shortly after I signed in at Woodbridge, there was a big celebration in Vietnam. In an offensive known as Big Tet, the Viet Cong simultaneously attacked fifty cities.
I turned in my retirement application and retired on July 31, 1968. Except on Patriotic Sunday when I wear the Bronze Star I received for valor in Vietnam, I haven't worn an item of uniform in over thirty years; and the undertaker isn't going to put one on me either.
They can play taps, they can fire the traditional three shots over my casket, they can fold the flag and give it to my wife, but dead or alive, The Cypress Creek Kid will not wear a uniform again.
I may win The Augusta National Frog-kissing Contest, but I won't wear the green jacket. Love,
Cypress
"About this title" may belong to another edition of this title.
- PublisherTrafford on Demand Pub
- Publication date2003
- ISBN 10 1553956168
- ISBN 13 9781553956167
- BindingPaperback
- Number of pages188
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