"I'm not crazy!"
"I never thought you were. You want crazy, I'll give you my mother's address. Take this for what's it's worth, but on the scale of crazy, this barely breaks a sweat. I've seen crazy and you're not in the big leagues. In fact, you barely make it into Little League!" He smiled at that, the first time I had seen him smile in weeks.
I talked to Tubb that evening, separately from Charlie, and explained what was going on. He told me the symptoms weren't really PTSD, but more likely some form of guilt and depression, all mixed up with a realization of what had happened. Since Charlie was getting out of the Marines in a few months anyway, none of us cared if seeking treatment would be reflected in his records. He got Charlie transferred to the Military District of Washington, and enrolled him in an outpatient counseling program at Bethesda. That seemed to help, a lot.
At the end of August, we had a very nice ceremony on the South Lawn, and decorated the heroes from Green Delta. The Marine Corps band was present, and we brought in everybody who was to be decorated, along with their families and guests. Charlie was over the worst of his depression by then, and he was the final recipient. The Marines got another ribbon for their battle flag, and the Tarawa group did so, also. There were a number of Purple Hearts, a few Bronze Stars, a couple of Distinguished Flying Crosses, and a single Silver Star. I personally pinned that to his chest, as Marilyn cried and beamed at him. Equally impressive was the French Ambassador, who showed up and pinned the Croix de Guerre on him, including kissing him on both cheeks. Charlie simply had that stoic Marine look plastered on his face, standing there in his Dress Blues through the whole thing.
After the ceremony, I asked him about the rescue incident. "What was that bit about you were the only one who needed to die? Since when did you get so self-sacrificing?"
Charlie looked at me funny. "What are you talking about?"
"When you were in Monrovia, and your buddy got hit, you told people nobody else needed to die but you."
"Huh?!"
It was my turn to look exasperated. "Charlie, I'm not making this up. We saw it on the video. Right after you rescued those two kids and were heading back, that other Marine tried to run back with you and got shot. Then you pulled him back and told the others to stay where they were. You were the only one who needed to die. I heard about that from a bunch of people! It was in the video!"
He stared at me for almost a minute, and then rolled his eyes. "Oh, you have to be kidding me!"
"Huh?"
"I never meant it that way! Sweet Jesus! I'm not that crazy! I was talking about Birdie, Tyrell Bird! I figured he had bought the farm! I didn't want anybody else dying like him!"
I stared for a second and then began laughing. "Well, I won't tell if you won't. I wouldn't want to ruin your reputation."
Lance Corporal Buckman flipped President Buckman the bird. That was captured by the White House Photography Office, but was not released to the press, but only to Charlie and me. A month later he was out of the Corps, older and wiser, I guess.
While our son was getting his act back together again, he went home to Hereford with us for a few weekends. That seemed to help, too. He met with some old buddies from Hereford High, along with Bucky Tusk. Bucky was just out of Wharton, and was working for Tusker and Tessa, who were now planning on a third and fourth sales office. Charlie went down to Tusk Cycle and spent some time working on bikes with Bucky, and then rode around for a bit. Bucky came home with him, and we greeted him warmly. It had been several years since we had seen my namesake.
When they roared up the driveway, we came out and greeted them. For the twins, it had probably been several years since they had seen Bucky. "Hey girls, how you two doing?" He revved his engine for a second, and added, "Want to go for a ride?"
Holly laughed, and said, "No! How you doing, Bucky? Long time, no see!"
"Yeah, I know. How about you, Molly?"
Molly surprised me by saying, "Sure!" Charlie handed her his helmet and our youngest climbed up behind Bucky, and they peeled off down the driveway, with a War Wagon following. We went to the pool, and around ten minutes later, the thunder of a Harley announced their return. "Thanks, Bucky!", I heard, followed by some more thunder, and Bucky was gone.
"Too bad he left. I'm firing up the grill and doing some burgers.", I told Marilyn.
"He might be back. Tusker and Tessa are coming over. I got out enough for all of us.", she replied.
Bucky returned with his parents, and he spent a fair bit of time talking to Charlie. After dinner, they both came up to us and announced that Charlie was going to try racing again, with Bucky handling the details and acting as a crew, sort of. They were going to become an actual racing team, like in the big leagues. Tusker and I looked at each other. "Why does this sound familiar?", he asked me.
"Remember what I always used to tell you?"
"Yeah, and you still do, too." He looked at the boys and said, "We aren't saying yes and we aren't saying no, but we want to see a business plan. I didn't pay for you to go to Wharton and not be able to write a business plan. You want our blessing and support? We want to see a business plan!"
They looked over at me, and I just pointed back at Tusker. "What he said."
Charlie looked at Bucky, who simply said, "Okay."
"And you keep working while you figure it out!", ordered Tusker. "It does not mean you come out here and hang out at the pool all day!" Tessa and Marilyn giggled at this.
I smiled at my old buddy. "Wow, where have I heard those words before?"
"I would throw a beer bottle at you, but the Secret Service would probably shoot me if I did."
"An empty bottle, I would hope.", I replied.
"I'm sure not throwing a full one!"
"You're smarter than you look."
By the time Charlie was out of the Marines, the two of them had cobbled together a plan that looked like it might succeed. They were giving themselves two years to make it happen. The plan was to get back into racing in smaller regional races and get back into the swing of things, begin winning again, and find a major sponsor. From that point, they could leverage up into the big leagues, so to speak, racing in the AMA Pro Championship series. If Charlie wasn't in the top tier in two years, he probably wouldn't ever be. The only way Charlie could actually make a living at this was to get a top tier sponsor who would pay him, and then land some endorsements. The initial sponsor was going to be Tusk Cycle, like when Charlie was still a teen. Bucky, the Wharton MBA graduate with a lifetime of experience in the motorcycle business, was working even longer hours at Tusk Cycle, as he opened a third sales center in Laurel and ran advertising and marketing for the entire company. What did Tusk Cycle get out of the deal? Lots of cheap ads with local hero Charlie Buckman!
They worked up cost projections for the two years, as well as a budget, and figured out an investment structure. Tusker and I reviewed it, sent it back to the drawing board a couple of times, ran it through our lawyers, and then pulled out our checkbooks. He and I split the investment 50-50. (Technically it was done through my blind trust. I had nothing to say about it. By the way, I have this bridge in Brooklyn, if you're interested.)