An Evening at Joe's (2 page)

But for this book, all bets were off. I told our contributors to write whatever they liked—any style, any length—exploring the world of Immortals. I promised them they would not be edited, other than standard proofreading. Each person's vision would be published just as he or she wished it to be. Perhaps different writers and directors would have different ideas of the nature of the Quickening? Perhaps two authors would write contradictory histories for Methos or Amanda? On the series, those differences would have to be "fixed." But in this book, you will see firsthand the individual, unadulterated visions of some of the key people who made
Highlander
what it is: Composer Roger Bellon, who wrote the music for five seasons out of six; Producer Ken Gord, who oversaw production for the same number of years; Director Dennis Berry, who was there from season 1 to the end of season 6, working in both Canada and France.

Actor Peter Hudson, who played MacLeod's recurring nemesis James Horton, was the first person outside the writing staff to turn in a story. Swordmaster F. Braun McAsh was the second. Their two stories could not be more different—and yet each amazed me in its own way. To each of them I owe a great debt of thanks. It was their early commitment and great talent which proved this book could happen.

Each of our contributors surprised and delighted me by turning in something different from anything that had come before. Some of the actors explored more deeply characters they had portrayed on the show; others did not. More than one writer was inspired in their story by actual real-life events, with a "What if Immortals were real" spin—but no two stories are alike.

In putting together this project, I contacted whatever
Highlander
crew members I could find, many of them scattered to other shows after
Highlander
was shut down. If I could have found everyone who ever worked on the show in six years, I would have issued invitations to each and every one of them, for as far as I'm concerned, every one of them—Wardrobe Mistress or Transportation Coordinator, Director or Director of Photography—is equally qualified to contribute to this project. For without each and every one of them,
Highlander: The Series
would not have been what it was.

Gillian Horvath

September 1999

Letters from Viet Nam

by Jim Byrnes

The fourth-season episode "Brothers in Arms" revealed that Joe Dawson is a Viet Nam veteran. And although Joe, and Jim, had been a part of
Highlander
for two years by that time, that episode was also the first on-screen mention of his cane or his limp. In a powerful flash-back to young Joe Dawson's days in combat, we learned that he lost his legs in the war. In his "Letters from Viet Nam," Jim Byrnes draws on his own wealth of experience to give as a glimpse of Joe Dawson before
his life was changed by war, injury, and the Watchers.

September 17 1969

Dear Catherine,

Hey Sis, long time no hear, huh? Small talk is a little rough out here in the boonies.

Pre Med must be pretty hard even for you I guess. Mom said you almost got a B, God forbid, until you aced the final. It must be cool living downtown, though, instead of next door to Ozzie and Harriet. Rush Street and the clubs and stuff, jazz, blues, man have I got plans for when I get home. Even the Art Institute and the Museum of Natural History, just being able to spend your time like that, checking out history and surrounded by beautiful things. Remember when we'd all take the train into the city and just spend the whole day doing all that stuff and then have dinner at Berghof's? Wow. Using your brains instead of your feet. What a concept! I thought I was in shape playing sports, well forget it, NOW I am a lean clean killing machine. I kind of wish I was kidding you. I've done enough walking and running and running and walking for a whole lifetime.

Anyway, I've got to get something off my chest. Don't think I'm too weird. The night of Dad's funeral remember I like disappeared and everybody freaked out and all of Dad's Fire Dept. buddies were looking for me and everything, but you were the one who found me? I was crying like a baby, it was awful, mortifying, but you were so cool. You just sat there with me and you never ratted me out to anyone. You were great, Cath, and I guess I want to thank you because I don't think I ever did before. But now I have to tell somebody that I feel like that again sometimes now over here. Paralyzed, so scared. I mean I get over it, but I just had to tell somebody. Please don't tell Mom, though, 'cause it's got to be hard for her with me over here and you not living at home anymore and all. I know Aunt Rose and Uncle Frank are around and the neighbors and her club etc., etc., but I just don't want her to worry too much about me. So don't tell her that, ok?

You know that somebody reads all this before you see it, so I'm not gonna share all our escapades or our whereabouts or anything. Suffice it to say some days are just a real barrel of frigging monkeys and more and more I have to wonder what we're supposed to be doing here. Too many dead boys, us and them. For what? Check this out. Couple of weeks ago we hear on the radio that Ho Chi Minh is dead, and only one other guy even knows who he is! One! I mean if you think he's a Communist stooge or the father of his country, shouldn't you at least know who you're supposed to be fighting? Ours is not to reason why, huh? I guess. Yep, just one big party, living the night life until one day you run out of luck.

So tomorrow we're off on a big walkabout, whoopee! Oh yeah, Cath, I've got to tell you about this new sergeant that got rotated in a while back. Wow, is he a trip! Big, scary looking brother, and fearless, I mean to the point of psychotic. I can't explain it but there is something really different about this guy, spooky. Course sometimes this whole place is spooky. Shadows, tunnels, incense burning in the dark.
The haunted house.

When we get back we've got R&R due but I think I'm just going to hang out and bank the pay again. I figure when I get back to Chicago I should have about enough for a trip to Europe what with that grad money and all. I really hope you and Mom come for part of the trip. We could all meet in Paris, you know. The Eiffel Tower and all. Remember when we used to talk about that all the time? Sometimes I can. Seems like another life.

I've got to write Mom yet tonight so I will finish this up. After tomorrow I won't be able to send any mail for a while, so... Really I'm ok, Cath, but thanks for being there, huh? Just, when you're talking to your Psych major friends, I'm hypothetical all right? Not your chicken-shit little brother. And ixnay with Mom, swear. Hey, good luck at school and good luck meeting that mysterious foreigner you're planning to marry, whoever he might be. (Ha, ha, ha)

Semper Fi, kiddo.

Your bro, Joe
Sept. 17, 1969

Dear Mom,

First of all, I'm sure sorry that it's taken me so long to write you back, but I'm sure you can imagine that it's hard to find the place and the time. I mean, it's not like we don't have any spare time but usually the conditions ain't so hot, so I have to wait til stand down. Thanks a million for the package you sent; you don't know how much it means to a guy to have something from home when you're so far away. The big winner is that Skin So Soft from Avon. I gotta wonder what they put in it, but it sure keeps the bugs off. Hey, remember that year you were an Avon Lady? Ding, Dong... Avon calling. Just like on TV. That seems so long ago.

I know in your letter you said you were so worried from watching reports on Walter Cronkite and stuff but please don't worry, Mom, it's not so bad. I've met some pretty good guys here from all around the country which you know I like 'cause I want to travel when I finish my tour and all. I met one guy who's from Chicago, too, and his uncle plays blues guitar with some of the really heavy blues greats, so I can meet them when I come home. Cool, huh? Really, mostly it seems like all we do is walk and hump and cuss and walk and try to stay dry or warm up or cool down or something. And I do try to go to Mass when the chaplain's around, but sometimes it's impossible. Anyway, I'm just trying to say don't worry too much, ok? I know you think I should have taken that scholarship and gone to University, but I'm pretty sure that Dad would be proud to know that I joined the Marine Corps and I hope you're proud of me, too. I mean I know you are and everything but I'm just trying to be a man, and do what I think is right, ok? Sometimes that's hard to know, I'm finding out. But, I promise you that I'll be careful and always try to do my best. just another six weeks and I'll be out of here (but who's counting, ha, ha?) and then I'll be home on leave for Thanksgiving. We'll have the time of our lives, Mom, I swear. We'll get a big gang together and Catherine will be home from school and we'll sing and laugh and it will be just like old times, alright?

Oh yeah, speaking of Cath here's a funny story. Remember when I was just a freshman but I was playing defensive safety in that junior varsity championship game against Assumption? That guy on their team keeled over and dropped the ball and instead of just picking up the fumble and running I called time and helped him off the field. And then it turns out he'd had an appendicitis attack and all, so Cath and all these senior girls, Maureen Kelleher and the Cusamano twins and everybody started calling me "Boyscout" which of course I hated and it took me two years to get another nickname? Well get a load of this. Since my last letter we had a new top kick rotate in, Sgt. Cord, a heavy duty guy like I've never seen in my life. This guy takes chances you really can't believe, I swear it's like he thinks he can't die or something. Well, anyway, second day with us he wants to check out our perimeter, so he walks up to me and says: "Hey, boy scout, you're my man, let's take a hike." Boyscout! I couldn't believe it, it's like some kind of weird curse. Please don't tell Cath or I will never hear the end of it. Please.

Well, it's just about lights out for me so I'll say so long. If you talk to Mrs. Fields tell her I said hi to Betsy and I'll try to write soon, but we're heading for the boonies again tomorrow so I might not get a chance right away. Say a prayer for me, Mom, and keep a light in the window. You never know when I'll becoming home.

Your loving son,

Lance/Cpl. Joseph P. Dawson