Albuquerque II

As a college freshman, Munson's behavior was of such a bizarre nature that the rest of us failed to realize that his roommate Palmer, was bipolar.  In our defense, compared to Munson, nearly everyone appeared normal.  Palmer and I first met in a discussion group led by the Queen of Phlegm, Professor Silva Lake.  Once a week, groups of 12-15 freshmen gathered to reflect on the prior week's history of civilization lectures. 

We soon discovered that there were some pretty sharp students enrolled and that Professor Lake suffered from a lethal dose of consumption.  She couldn't go more than a few minutes without a violent fit of hacking, wheezing, snorting and coughing that ultimately climaxed with her depositing vile gobs of mucous into one of several handkerchiefs she carried with her.  During these fits, I couldn't take my eyes off Palmer who sat leaning forward with his mouth agape in disbelief. 

I went up to Palmer when the session ended and struck up a conversation that was the start of a lengthy friendship.  We agreed to return to the discussion group the following week in the hopes that Professor Lake would either make a full recovery, or pass away and be replaced.  Unfortunately, early on into the next week's meeting, it was clear that her condition had not improved.  That was the last discussion group I attended and the last time I saw Professor Lake.

I later learned from one of her religion students, that she had struggled with her health ever since she returned from a trip to Europe.  Despite their advanced ages, the previous year she and her husband had fulfilled a life-long wish to spend an extended vacation in Spain.  During the first week, her husband had tumbled down a flight of stairs in Barcelona and died.

Palmer soon soured on Occidental and transferred out.  He stayed in touch with Munson and me during our undergrad years and spent weekends with us in Los Angeles on occasion.  He later returned to Southern California to attend medical school at UCLA where he became head resident and the treatment he provided to one patient was significant enough to be published in the American Medical Journal. 

It was while he was attending UCLA and during the Viet Nam War that he received his draft notice.  Palmer was from New Mexico where his father's political connections had led him to a life-long expectation of privilege.  Upon receipt of his draft notice, Palmer had sent off a letter to General Omar Bradley.  The letter made clear that Palmer could make a greater contribution to the country performing research at the Walter Reed Medical Center in Bethesda, Maryland than he could by ducking shrapnel in a rice paddy. 

When he told me about this I said, "Very funny.  You're almost an MD, there must be some way around this."

Palmer said, "You're not listening.  My father knows General Bradley.  I think I even met him once with my dad when I was a little kid.  I put that in the letter too."

Now it was my turn to gape.  I said, "My Christ, you're serious."

Palmer said, "This is how these kinds of things are handled."

I said, "Just to clarify.  This isn't Irving Bradley, or Mortimer Bradley; this is the WWII Omar Bradley who directed the U.S. Army in Africa and Europe we're talking about."

Palmer said, "You don't believe me?"

I said, "I believe first of all that you are nuts; and secondly, that if Omar ever reads your letter he will be one pissed-off soldier."

Palmer said, "Don't worry, you just don't understand these things."

As far as I am aware, it wasn't until several weeks later that Palmer wrote his next letter.  It was delivered to Munson's house in South Pasadena and had been sent from an unspecified location in Southeast Asia.