The son waited for the perfect opportunity. Dad had just come home from a long day at work, holding his customary Crown Royal in one hand. The son launched into his pitch, Dad's eyebrows raised, eyes squinted, and mouth turned up in a smile.Â
"Follow me," Dad said.
They headed to a closet where a stack of translucent phones with colorful veins inside awaited them. The phones that lit up like fireworks when they rang.
"I've told your older brothers the same thing," Dad explained. "Always press zero to accept a collect call if you get one in the middle of the night and then come wake me."Â
The phone became the son's prized possession, as it symbolized his path to freedom. However, freedom came at a cost: late nights filled with jolting phone calls. Once, he was awoken by the ringing and accidentally dropped the receiver on his face before scrambling to put it to his ear. A collect call. He pressed zero. On the other end was a slurred voice. He ran upstairs to his parents' bedroom. Dad lectured the caller on how not to speak to the cops until he arrived. Dad drove to the jail.
Nighttime calls were a regular occurrence. Drunks, murderers, drug addicts, sexual deviants. Dad's phone number was posted next to the payphone at the jail. The son worked for Dad during college breaks, learning not only the ins and outs of law but also how to fillet fish. Living in a town dependent on manual labor industries like fishing and logging, Dad often had to accept services or gifts when clients couldn't afford to pay with money. Salmon and Crown Royal were a plenty. The ink on the son’s zero-button faded with every fish and bottle of bourbon.
A typical day for the son at the office, until an unexpected visitor walked in with a painting tucked under their arm.
"Is Steve here?" the stranger asked.
"No, he's in court," the son replied.Â
The stranger left the painting and walked away. When Dad returned to the office, he recognized the name inscribed on the painting. Daniel, the artist, had a troubled past filled with petty crimes, drugs, and drunk driving. Then he was drafted for the Vietnam War. After returning home, he struggled with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). One night while drinking at a bar, someone insulted his sister. The result: a dead body on the floor with a slit throat. This occurred in the 1980s when PTSD was not as widely understood as it is today.Â
It wasn't until the movie Full Metal Jacket was released that people began to see an accurate portrayal of PTSD in Vietnam veterans. Dad paid $2.50 to watch the movie at the cinema. The film was Daniel's only hope to escape death row, but obtaining a copy seemed impossible. In the 1980s, it took at least a year for movies to become available on video. However, Dad's clever letter to Stanley Kubrick resulted in him receiving a trial copy of the film. Dad wheeled in a cart with a TV and VCR strapped to it and played the movie for the jury, ultimately saving Daniel’s life. In prison, Daniel found solace in painting and transformed himself into a model prisoner. His good behavior led to an early release.Â
Dad had always believed in redeeming even the most broken individuals.
"There are no bad people," he preached, "Just good people who do bad things."
Dad believed that until he died.Â
The son returned to town after college. With a glass of Crown Royal in hand, he retreated to his childhood bedroom, where the only thing unchanged was the phone with the colorful veins. It jolted him awake. It was a collect call. He pressed the faded zero button.
Great! Is the Full Metal Jacket story true?
Wow, well. Done.