A World Apart: Writing From the FrontBy John Crawford
"Wheres everyone at?" I asked, hastening to get the party started. "Over there in the beer tent, of course. Cmon, we got you guys some seats saved," said my old friend Rick. Wed grown up together playing war in the woods. The beer tent was the center point of the Blue Crab Festival, Palatka Floridas equivalent of Labor Day, Veterans Day and Disney World all rolled into one. In reality the whole charade was set up for this alone, a circus tent full of beer dispensing vixens and worn out bands playing worn out hits.
No Crying in Baseball: Letter from a GI in BaghdadBy John Crawford
The satellite phone was hot against my cheek. It was barely ten a.m. and already the temperature was soaring into the triple digits. On the fourth mechanical ring, a barely audible hello came through.