The Lost Boy (25 page)

Dave left San Mateo Juvenile Hall in a much healthier state than when he arrived. In 1989, 15 years later, Dave and I met again in the most unusual manner. I was the superintendent of the Yuba/Sutter Juvenile Hall, and Dave was stationed at Beale Air Force Base in Yuba County. Dave came to the juvenile hall to volunteer his services to the youths detained there. Dave worked as a very effective volunteer and was eventually hired as a part-time staff person until being transferred by the Air Force.

It is with great pleasure and deep personal and emotional satisfaction that I have had the opportunity to see Dave rise above his excruciating childhood. He is a living example and a model to others who have suffered under similar circumstances. As Dave walked out of juvenile hall in 1974, as a child, I bade him good luck. And as he walked back into juvenile hall in 1989, as a counselor, I felt a tear in my eye and simply said, “Bravo.”

Mentor

One day in 1976, in the quiet, blue-collar California neighborhood of Menlo Park, I walked out of my garage and was disheartened to view the driveway scene next door. For almost a year now, houses in the neighborhood that came on the market were being snapped up by opportunistic Realtors and turned into rental properties. The house next door was such a house, and its tenants were scruffy-looking people who derived a significant amount of their income from the state of California by being foster parents.

What I was viewing on this day was their latest “acquisition” – a tall string bean of a kid in a filthy, sleeveless, ribbed T-shirt. He was working on a miniscooter engine, had a sort of leering grin – as a natural part of his facial features – and had intense eyes that darted about from behind a thick pair of glasses.

Initially I resented him, feeling that my hard work and that of my wife toward purchasing our first home in a decent neighborhood was being defeated by real estate speculators who were making a buck off importing families into
my
neighborhood. But David Pelzer wasn’t shy – in fact, he was persistent in his friendliness. As I got to know David a little, I began to see he was bright and had a keen sense of humor, in spite of the fact that he had been kicked around in a dismal childhood and what was looking to be an even drearier adolescence.

At first it was somewhat like housebreaking a pet. As we got more familiar, he was at our house more and more, asking about my Vietnam experiences, pursuing my aviation library and wanting to talk about almost anything. My wife and I began to require things from him – small, essential things like courtesy and consideration. He was to knock before entering the house. Some of his conversational manners were horrid, and his telephone and table manners were nonexistent.

The day came when David left the neighborhood. His “foster parents” simply weren’t acceptable to him, and I still don’t blame him one iota for having the courage to pull up stakes and seek something better. But he stayed in touch and started showing up on weekends, wanting to be with friends he had made in the neighborhood and wanting to stay at our house. We finally told him that he would be welcome under most circumstances on most weekends but that he must call in advance, ask and make “reservations.” This he began to do, and some time passed before there was trouble. Trouble in a nearby park. Trouble with a pellet pistol. Trouble with neighbors who felt David was a bad influence on their children. These things were discussed, and I made it very clear to David that any more trouble, and it was bye-bye to the neighborhood that he loved to come and visit.

When pressed about his past or his school, he was always purposefully vague, so we never really knew what was going on in his life. A couple of years went by with intermittent trouble and calls from the Menlo Park police. David was never an angry, rebellious individual – he was just thickheaded and had a penchant for finding trouble or letting it find him. Maybe it was from some sort of misguided sense of adventure; I don’t know. But there came the day when I asked him how his school was doing, and he said, “Oh, I quit.” I hit the ceiling and chewed his butt out for an hour. When I asked him what he was going to do, he mentioned he was going to sell cars. I went ballistic again. A skinny, wimpy, pimply-faced kid was selling cars in the Bay Area? Get real, kid. A week or so later he called to say he had the job and was looking forward to being “Salesman of the Month, ” which bore the distinctive honor of driving a Corvette for a 30-day period. Right, Dave … something to shoot for, all right.

A couple of months later I received a telephone call from David, who said he wanted to visit. I said, “No, I have to go up to San Francisco International to pick up my paycheck.” “Great, ” he says, “I’ll drive you up there. I want to show you something.” What he wanted to show me was, of course, a black Corvette that he was the owner/operator of for the next month. A few months later David arrives in an El Camino – his company car – with a motorcycle strapped to the back. Dave mentioned that he might try a new job. I asked what he was planning, and he replied, “Well, I’m going to Hollywood to become a stuntman.” There was what a writer would describe as a pregnant pause, as the impact of his words crashed into my unbelieving psyche. I chastised him, focusing on his lack of athletics and experience, his clumsiness and, of course, the absence of other contacts in L.A. I then ripped into him for another half hour with heavy emphasis on the importance of a high school diploma.

Months later, although wounded, David was considering another plan. He wanted to go into the military. So we went to the recruiters and began watching videos of paratroopers and rangers. They, of course, looked good. To the United States Army, however, David didn’t. No diploma? Sorry. Perhaps it took that letdown for the importance of a high school diploma to sink into David’s concrete-thick head. He called me a few weeks after and said, “I’m in! The Air Force will take me and get me a G.E.D.” He had pursued it
on his own
and was finally going out into the world. I was gratified, hopeful and proud of him for getting down to personal pragmatics, so to speak.

Shortly after David joined the Air Force, we moved to Denver, Colorado. David had stayed in touch and ended up training at Lowry Air Force Base in Denver. He was there to visit the first week we were in our new home. He subsequently went to Florida and was unhappy with his assignment – which was cooking. I counseled patience, and he ultimately made the best of an unhappy assignment by finessing his way into cooking for the Ranger School candidates stationed in the jungle/swamp phase of the Army Ranger program in Florida.
Then
he finagled a slot in the Army Parachute School, known as the Airborne Course, and on receiving his silver jump wings, became a member of an extraordinarily proud fraternity.

Then once again David persisted and ultimately found a niche: boom operator on an aerial tanker! He landed an assignment “booming” on the supersecret Mach 3 spy plane -the SR-17 Blackbird. He was hooked for years. During this period he became involved in the community around him, on and off base. His awareness of what he had and who he was brought to the surface a drive within him to diminish other people’s hurts, to wade in and solve problems, and to contribute some positive payback.

In January 1993 I sat in the Center for the Performing Arts in Tulsa, Oklahoma, as David received an honor. He was out of the Air Force and had not just moved on, but moved forward. On this evening, which was actually the culmination of a week’s festivities, David was being honored as one of the Ten Outstanding Young Americans in the United States by the National Junior Chamber of Commerce organization. The list of previous recipients reads like a
Who’s Who
of American industry, politics and society. And there he was, David, the wannabe stuntman, who had pulled off the Big One, and had done it with determination, guts and resolve, and maybe a little luck. I’m proud of who you were, David -that hurt person who refused to “die.” And I’m more proud of who you’ve become – a caring, giving, fixing person, the guy with the same sense of humor and that deft, sensitive touch. Good on you, David. I love you.

A retired Air Force air crew member, Dave played a major role in Operations Just Cause, Desert Shield and Desert Storm. Dave was selected for the unique task of midair refueling of the then highly secretive SR-17 Blackbird and F-117 Stealth Fighter. While serving in the Air Force, Dave worked in juvenile hall and other programs involving “youth at risk” throughout California.

Dave’s exceptional accomplishments include personal commendations from former Presidents Ronald Reagan and George Bush. While maintaining a rigorous, active-duty flight schedule, Dave was the recipient of the 1990 J.C. Penney Golden Rule Award, making him the California Volunteer of the Year. In 1993 Dave was honored as one of the Ten Outstanding Young Americans (
TOYA
), joining a distinguished group of alumni that includes Chuck Yeager, Christopher Reeve, Anne Bancroft, John F. Kennedy, Orson Welles and Walt Disney. In 1994 Dave was the
only
American to be selected as one of The Outstanding Young Persons of the World (
TOYP
), for his efforts involving child abuse awareness and prevention, as well as for instilling resilience in others. During the Centennial Olympic Games, Dave was a torch-bearer, carrying the coveted flame.

Dave is currently working on a book based on overcoming obstacles and achieving one’s innermost best, as well as on the third part of his trilogy, entitled
A Man Named Dave.

When not on the road or with his son, Stephen, Dave lives a quiet life at the Russian River, in Guerneville, California, with his box turtle named Chuck.