The Last Time I Saw Charley (In memory of Charles Peck)

The last time I saw Charley (In memory of Charles Peck)

1967
Charles, quiet, unassuming and reserved, shared one of my classes. He was one of those students in the background always writing in his journal, in study hall, sometimes in classes, at the library and while waiting at the bus stop, constantly writing stories, hoping to publish them someday. One unique thing about him was his walk. It was close to the "keep on truckin'" walk. His legs were a step or two in front of his torso.

The last time I saw Charley in Charleston was in front of CHS right after graduation. I asked him what his plans were and all he stated was that he was looking forward to the summer. I left Charleston for Sacramento, California in June of 1967. The path of my future laid out before me like a road at night disappearing into the fog of the unknown, while my past slowly vanished behind me. I knew, sadly, that I would never see most of my classmates ever again.

1969 (…a little background )
On campus, I was volunteered for the job of editor of the SDS (Students of Democratic Society) newsletter. I was the reporter, photographer, and editor. No one would take the job, because everyone before me was expelled from campus, arrested, or investigated by the FBI. (Ronald "Ray-Gun" was governor…)

I traveled between Sacramento and Berkley to cover different events. Eldridge Cleaver, who wrote "Soul on Ice" was speaking at Sacramento State and I had to attend to finish the latest issue of the newsletter. Cleaver stood on stage with armed Black Panthers to his left and right and spoke of socialistic ideals to a sea of students. It was a ridiculous and disappointing display. Not at all what I had expected.

Afterwards, I was followed by men in suits and wearing sunglasses, as I walked out to the parking lot to my car. They wrote down my license number on their little pads as I drove off campus.

The day was warm and bright, a typical spring day in Sacramento. I drove along the meandering road, lined on both sides with Black Oaks, as "All Along the Watchtower" blasted on my Chevy's radio. God, I love that song, it brings back so many memories.

I received my notice to report to Oakland Induction Center in the mail that day. I pondered all that was happening and decided to call a friend of mine. After a few days, the both of us went down to the local U.S. Army Recruiter Office and volunteered. I didn't want to be drafted. I wanted a some control of my situation.

A month later, as I exited the bus in front of the Oakland Induction Center as one of many inductees, news reporters with cameras and police lined the pathway from the bus to the doors of the building. I was spit on and called baby-killer by the anti-war demonstrators. As we entered the lobby, we were greeted by a gung-ho Marine Sergeant in his dress blues, wearing a black eye-patch, missing his left arm and leg and supporting himself on crutches, declaring how anxious he was to get back into the action. I asked him aloud, how many more limbs would he have to loose before he would reconsider.
( A time of absurd contrasts to say the least. )

1971
I was attached to CINCUSAEUR Campbell Barracks, Heidelberg, W. Germany. Among my normal duties, I was working after hours with the USO stage productions as sets design and lighting. After opening night, the cast and crew had dinner in a small village, thirty kilometers outside of Heidelberg. While having an after dinner cigarette out in front of the Gesthaus, I noticed someone walking on the other side of the parkplatz. "I know a guy in West Virginia that walks just like that," I stated as I watched the stranger from a distance.

After watching him, I yelled from across the way, "Peck!" Charles Peck, stopped and turned on his heels. It was him !

Charley had joined the U.S. Army and was attached to a unit only a mile from me. A small world indeed! I met him and his wife for dinner the week after.

During the next few months, he and I got together quite often. He would always ask if I wanted to go flying to Frankfurt or other places, and could easily arrange it. I declined, saying that I may be able to fly the next weekend, and that I would call him at work.

I entered the BX for coffee on Monday, as I always do every morning before work. The day was to be very chaotic and I wasn't looking forward to it. As I sat sipping my coffee, I lifted the paper and on the front page was a photo and article about a helicopter crash on the autobahn near Frankfurt. "God, I hope Charley wasn't on that," I
said to myself, as I read further on the incident and found no
information of who was involved.

When I got to my office, I immediately called his home phone and no one answered.

The next day I found that Charley had died in that crash.

Last Modified: 02/07/2010