John "Trey" Robertson III, 1st Birthday, January 23, 1973

They nicknamed him "Trey" so as not to have him confused with his father or grandfather, with the same name.  This was his first birthday party, and they did not own a camera to take any pictures.  I took this picture with the last photograph on the roll of film I brought on the trip.

When I returned to California, even though the two of them were angry with me and made my last couple of days of my visit miserable, even when I came down with some kind of bug the day before I left, I had three copies made of this picture, one for them and one for each set of Trey's grandparents.  I mailed those copies off to them with a note of apology for my having upset them.

It was a casual remark about looming budget cuts now that the Vietnam War was entirely winding down.  I idly speculated that, perhaps, since the army would sometimes perform similar missions as the Marines, that the Corps might be seriously reduced in size or eliminated altogether as a separate branch of the service out of fiscal necessity.  I did not say it vindictively or even very seriously; but John's wife immediately became incensed with me, even telling the infant Trey in the car at the gas station, "Trey, hit him."  I was shocked.

Later, when I tried to clarify what I had meant, John bitterly told me, "You probably said that because you couldn't make it at Marine OCS."  That, of course, was entirely untrue.  I could have graduated with the rest of our platoon had I wanted to, just as John could have had he wanted to.  He and I simply had not wanted to complete the program, for not dissimilar reasons--neither of us wanted to become career Marine officers.  He wanted to be with his family and finish his enlisted time as quickly as possible.  I knew it wasn't for me and had other things to accomplish in my life.

At this point, realizing that what I said had become totally distorted in their minds, I did not even bother to try to further explain what I had meant.  I dropped it.  However, even with sending the three copies of this photo to them so that they would have a memento of Trey's first birthday, as well as including a letter of apology with the pictures, I never heard from either of them again.  Not even a thank you note for sending the photograph to them.

I had gone out of my way to be a good guest during my entire stay.  I had attended a Baptist church service with them even though I no longer attended church and had been a practicing Catholic when I did go to church before that.  I consumed the grape juice and soda cracker during communion because they were devout Christians, and I did not want to offend them.  When John's wife told me that she did not even allow John to lay on the couch and watch TV, as I was doing, I moved to the floor without comment.  When I was feeling bad the day before my flight and asked if I could stay an extra day to recover before flying back to California, I agreed to leave when John explained that they did not want Trey to get sick with what I had come down with because Trey had been sick before I arrived (I stayed in his room the entire time and probably had picked up whatever bug he'd been sick with).  When his wife remained so angry with me and did not look at or acknowledge me while I uncomfortably waited for the taxi in their living room, as I finally said goodbye and thanked her for having me stay with them, she did not even respond with a "You're welcome."  And, of course, without protest, I took the expensive taxi ride all the way to Dulles airport from Quantico even though it cost me about $90, a hefty sum in those days when I was unemployed.       

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