It
was 1965 and I was stationed with the Army
in
Germany. A fellow I had met earlier in the
week,
Wayne L. Terry, came to my room. He
asked
me if I had a pair of jeans he could borrow
for
the evening out on the town?
He
told me the only ones he had were stained
and
dirty. He would take good care and return
them
in the morning. I said, sure, but I’m pretty
thin,
and they may not fit you. I handed them to
him
and he smiled, “I am sure they will do.”
He
did as promised, returning them in good
shape
the next day. I’ll never forget Wayne, we
became
casual friends of sorts.
A
few months latter Wayne was crushed to death
in
a freak accident when his petrol truck slipped
off
its jack pinning him between the rear tires
and
the fuel tank bed.
The
medic, Bill Black, who attended to Wayne
after
they hoisted the vehicle off him just shook
his
head in horror as told me later, there was
nothing
they could do for him.
Everyone
in our unit mourned the loss of Wayne.
He
was a lighthearted and likable guy.
Some
55-years later, I still think of Wayne now
and
again. I fondly remember the day he bor-
rowed
a pair of jeans from me. They were gray
Levis,
several sizes too small for him. I recall him
struggling
to get them buttoned up. They were
way
too tight around the waist, but he wore
them
anyway.
-30-
Chris
Hanch 7-16-2020
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