Yes, there’s no Hunter Hall at the Naval War College. There is, however, a Hewitt Hall. And I thought this special episode in my life was such a good little story that I could hardly overlook inserting it somewhere. And as an author, I couldn’t name my protagonist after myself, no matter how suave and debonair he was. (Sarcasm off….) So I changed the name to protect the guilty and faithfully replicated the encounter I had with a very special person in the parking lot of the school. Minus the racecar, of course.
From Special Access:
Duncan Hunter showed his retired military ID card to the gate guard, who reviewed it suspiciously. After handing back the dark blue card, the guard provided verbal and hand directions to the appropriate parking area. Hunter drove away from the guard shack, negotiating the black truck and trailer combination through the concrete Jersey barriers; an old bright yellow Corvette race car rested atop the road weary trailer. After successive right turns and up a short hill was an elevated and near empty parking area that could hold about a hundred vehicles. For a Sunday, finding a place to park was quick and Hunter pulled into a slot which made it easy for him to pull straight ahead and depart. As Hunter stepped out of his truck, a short and rotund woman with heavy spectacles and in a long drab dress appeared from nowhere and passed in front of the truck. Hunter was startled at the woman’s sudden appearance and took the initiative for some directions.
“Excuse me ma’am. Could you direct me to where I need to check in?”
The lady paused and turned; her eyes drifted from the car and then to Hunter. She pointed at the large building near the bay and said, Hunter, two oh four.” She then turned and resumed her way.
Taken aback, Duncan called out to the little large lady, “Excuse me ma’am.”
Almost stopping; “Yes?”
“I’m sorry, um, but how did you know my name?”
She stopped, confusion on her face: “What‘s your name?”
A big smile and a chuckle—and she jiggled. “Duncan, you need to go to Hunter Hall, room 2 zero 4.”
A little flushed with embarrassment—“Thank you very much.” Duncan Hunter reached into the truck and extracted the black Zero Halliburton briefcase from behind the driver’s seat. When he stood back up, she was gone. Under his breath, “That lady might be big but she is fast.”
More to follow.