Pleasures of the Harbor

And the girls scent the air

They seem so fair

With paint on their face

Soft is their embrace
to lead them up the stairs

Soon your sailing will be over

Come and take the pleasures of the harbor

                                                                                              Pleasures of the Harbor - Phil Ochs

          I've always been a hopeless romantic, although some might be inclined to leave off  "romantic" and let it go at that. Nevertheless, I always try and find something beautiful and wonderful in my surroundings, wherever they may be. I also like to experience a lot of things and events, perhaps just once, but at least experience them. The fact that I am actually doing "this", whatever "this" is at the time, gives me a sense of satisfaction and adventure. A player on the stage of life in casting himself in lots of different scenes.Being in Jungle School was no different.

          Fort Sherman, where Jungle School was based, was actually very nice, located on the Atlantic coast at the entrance to the Panama Canal at the Gaton Locks. It was tropical, had nice warm beaches and at night you could look out on the water and see the lights on the many ships waiting to go through the Panama Canal. Across the water the lights of the city of Colon were beckoning and on a still night the sounds of music from the clubs could be heard. All very romantic and under the right circumstances could probably be very enjoyable. You know, moonlight walks along the beach, making love on a blanket under a palm tree and afterwards sipping chilled wine while watching the ships with their lights as they wait their turn to pass through the locks and continue on their way to adventure in foreign lands. Like I said, a hopeless romantic and dreamer. Every evening after chow, Army talk here, I'd stand on the beach, by myself and just lose myself in this scene, a young Lieutanant in a foreign land on his way to a war looking out over the tropical waters. It was my escape. Looking back, maybe I was confusing the phrase "hopeless romantic" with "out of touch with reality". Always have, though.

          Tomorrow was the individual daytime navigation exercise, where they dropped you off somewhere in the middle of the jungle with two canteens of water, a few C Rations, a compass and a directional reading and it was up to you to find your way out. It was also my 22nd birthday. Birthdays always have been very special to me and I wasn't going to let a little thing like this ruin it. Again, dreamer or delusional, you pick. So on my 22nd birthday at 0730 hours, I was rappelling down a rope from a hovering UH-1 Huey into the middle of the Panamaian Jungle. But to me it was the perfect day. It was my birthday and I was on an adventure. After the chopper took off and I could no longer hear it, I just stood there in a clearing. Beautiful sunny day, not too hot, puffy clouds and a vibrant blue sky. I could hear the sounds of the jungle all around me, I was not an intruder. I felt very much as peace. In a tall tree ahead of me I watched a couple of monkeys swinging between the branches. They stopped and we made eye contact for several seconds and connected, not in a threatening way, but in a knowing way. Again, peace in this most unlikely of all places. How cool was this, me standing in the middle of the jungle on my birthday looking at wild monkeys, not knowing where the hell I was, and not caring. An escape. Of course there was no one popping me with a pellet gun or otherwise shooting at me so that made a big difference. Dreamer but not stupid. I found my way out in about 3 hours which was good despite stopping along the way several times to take in the beauty and experience of what I was doing.

          The next day was Saturday and at noon we were off until roll call Monday morning. We had made it through 14 straight days of Jungle School and were due for a break. So what could a bunch of young Lieutenants about to go to Vietnam possibly want to do on their day and a half off? Lets see, the choices were (1) stay in Ft. Sherman and enjoy the beach, (2) take a tour of the Panama Canal, or (3) catch a train to Panama City and hit the brothels. Damn no brainer, as far as I was concerned. What an experience this would be, swaggering as a soldier in a foreign land into an international port city, drinking and hitting the brothels. My imagination was in high gear and my sense of adventure demanded that I do this. So at noon on Saturday, a couple of my buddies and I caught a taxi to Colon and bought round trip train tickets to Panama City. The train ride was fascinating, right through the middle of the jungle, took about 2 hours, since Panama City is where the canal empties into the Pacific at the Miraflores locks. Also rolling into Panama City by train fit in well with my fantasy which I was creating as I went along. You know, the old train, the sound of  steel wheels on the rails, old wooden windows lifted up and open letting in the warm tropical air, gently swaying cars, and heading to Panama City to see the girls after two weeks in the jungle. Doesn't get much better than that. I was in character playing a scene from a Henry Miller novel. Or so I imagined.

         
          We arrived at the Panama City station, took a cab to the Hotel Intercontinental Miramar which we heard was the best, checked into a very nice 3 room suite, took quick showers and headed downstairs for what we imagined would be a very memorable night on the town. Despite the bravado, none of us had ever done anything like this before. But like my experience on my birthday, I felt very much at ease and thoroughly enjoying the scene as it was unfolding, and being written, and watching my performance in it. We had the name of a couple of "houses" which were supposed to be pretty good, or so said most of the staff at Jungle School. At least they were probably safe enough since they wanted us to all come back more or less in one piece. The cab we caught was an old Caddy with worn red leather seats, swaying around corners and bluegrass music blasting from the speakers.The cabbie knew exactly where we wanted to go. You couldn't write a more perfect script.
          After about a 15 minute ride, we pulled up in front of what looked like an old hotel, which is exactly what it was. Painted baby blue with yellow trim around the windows. It's funny the details of that day that I remember. It was late afternoon maybe 6 o'clock or so. Walking up to the front door which was open. Music coming from inside. Perhaps a little nervous now, like any actor gets before a big performance, right? But I was ready and I knew my lines, or so I thought. We walked in, break a leg, it's showtime!
          Of course, I was the first one to walk in, no hesistation, like I've done this many times before. Nicely decorated, bar to the right with lots of stools, to the left was a lounge area that was probably the hotel lobby at one time. Very nice furniture, overstuffed chairs, a few couches, walls painted the same blue as outside, old Spanish architecture. Nice and comfy. Nothing sleazy about it. And the girls, ah yes, the girls.We all bought a beer at the bar and then had a seat in the lounge area, me and my Jungle School buddies.Then I saw her approaching me. She sat down on the arm of my chair, put her arm around my shoulder and just smiled. Slowly she slid down the arm of the chair and was soon pressed against me with her leg now across my thigh. She was very cute, no, make that beautiful. Not just imagining that - she was. She was wearing a red mini skirt and a white partially unbuttoned blouse that left very little to the imagination. No words were spoken, none needed, which was probably just as well since she didn't speak English, nor I Spanish. She and I were oblivious to my two friends seated nearby who didn't yet have any, uh, company. She had chosen me. I remember the way she smelled, her perfume. I remember the softness of her thigh placed across mine, the firmness of her breast as it pressed against me. I was into it, playing the role very well. All systems go. I treated her like a lady, not a port city prostitute which I'm sure she got a lot of. I remember kissing her cheek and again taking in her scent. It was all unfolding exactly as I had imagined it would. Ready for Scene 1, Act 2.

  After maybe 10 minutes, we looked at each other knowing what was next. In cute broken English she said, "We go?'' I nodded and willingly followed wherever she was to lead me. She took my hand and led me to the stairs. At the top of the stairs sat an old lady in front of a small table with a cash box. She looked very unhappy. It was here the financial transactions took place. The price was $12. I gave the gatekeeper the money and she gave my friend a key with a room number on it. My arm around her waist and hers around mine, we walked down the dimly lit hall to our room. The room was very small and well lit. It was also clean. There was a single bed in the middle of the room with a small sink and toilet off to the side. There was a red bedspread. We sat on the bed side by side. I ask her name, she replies, "Marisa". She is from Colombia. We undress each other. She then leads me to the small sink and gently washes my now very erect penis in warm water which besides being hygenic felt really nice.We return to the bed. We had sex and all the variations thereof for maybe 30 minutes. It was exciting and wonderful, a fantasy realized.

          
          It was all that I imagined it would be and more. But I found myself coming out of character at the end. I was no longer the detached actor in the Henry Miller novel. I was in a small room in Panama with a young girl from Colombia with whom I had just had sexual intercourse. At this moment, we were just two young people, strangers and worlds apart both culturally and geographically, both of whom didn't want to be where they were. Afterwards, lying together on the small bed we looked at each other and knew.We just lay there and held each other for a long time. It was a moment I'll never forget. It was not how I imagined the final scene. There was a last minute re-write that I didn't see coming. An alternate ending.
          When it was time to go, she again washed me, we dressed and returned to the lounge. My two buddies were there waiting, having long ago finished whatever it was they did. Marisa and I again looked at each other and then hugged for what seemed like minutes.We looked into each others eyes and said goodbye.         
          Me and my buddies went to one more house that evening but it just wasn't the same, don't even remember the young girls name that I was with. I was thinking about that brief connection with Marisa. We returned to Ft. Sherman the next afternoon and finished our last week of jungle school. But I found that I was no longer an actor playing out scenes. This was my life, it was very real and unfolding before me regardless of what role I chose to play in it.Cinema verite.

Epilogue

That was then, this is now, almost 40 years later and I often find myself thinking about that night. But not from the perspective of an immature 22 year old kid who was living out some fantasy, fully absorbed in himself. When I think of that night, I don't recall the sex or excitement of the moment. There is no Henry Miller novel. No, I find myself thinking about a young and beautiful girl in a Panama City brothel named Marisa. The knowing eye contact we had and the long hug goodbye. I think about the life she most likely had and how in a way I contributed to it. And I am not too proud of that. I hope she is still alive today, but I doubt it. Statistically she was lured there under the pretense of a good paying job which turned out to be prostitution. She was trapped and had no way out. She saved what little money she made and tried to send most of it home. She did not tell her parents what she was doing. My sweet Marisa, how many backstreet abortions did you have, how many STDs did you get and were they even treated? How many of the dozens of men you were with each week abused you?  You deserved so much more. If today I were to re-write the play in which I was acting back then, I would take you away from all of that, give you enough money to go home to Colombia where you belong so you could be courted and fall in love the way a young beautiful girl such as yourself should. But none of us can turn back time. We go on hopefully having learned from what we have done in the past. My sweet Marisa I am sorry.