Thanks to the help of some special people, my wife and I were able to get out of town by ourselves over the weekend, stay overnight in Kearney and take in a community theater production of "Nunsense II."

The route to Kearney has been a source of debate over the years, as I favor the direct route through Holdrege, Axtell and Funk, while my wife usually chooses to get on the Interstate at the earliest possible moment.

She used to turn left at Arapahoe, but this time, after I did so in a spirit of cooperation, she let me know that route had fallen out of favor, because the speed limit is only 60 mph.

But we were committed, and as we turned onto I-80, I noticed the Heartland Museum of Military Vehicles at Lexington, to our left.

"We need to stop there sometime," I said, like I have countless times before.

McCook residents should be familiar with the museum, since it has been an important part of our Heritage Days and Air Base Reunion celebrations over the years.

One of the newer exhibits, in the southeast corner of the museum's grounds, is a Huey helicopter, perched on a small, flat-roofed building, with a line of silhouettes of refugees waiting to board. It is a poignant scene for those of us who remember the turmoil of Vietnam and the April 1975 fall of Saigon that it depicts.

But we had places to go and people to see, so the Lexington museum would have to wait.

At Kearney, during the requisite visit to the mall, someone looked familiar.

Mark was leaning against the back of a bench, his toddler granddaughter asleep on his lap.

One of the last times I talked to Mark, his was a mystery voice on the phone, at 2 a.m., asking where some of the software was for the newspaper's computer system.

At 2 a.m., I wasn't sure what a newspaper was, let alone software.

But Saturday afternoon, I was waiting for my wife to find just the right pair of slacks, and chatting with Mark was a good way to pass a few minutes.

A year ago, I was reminded, he and a companion had spent hours trapped in a car, crushed by a semi truck that slid into their vehicle on an icy overpass.

When rescuers finally discovered they were alive, a helicopter was called in, landed on the highway and flew them to an intensive care hospital.

He was ready for his fifth operation related to the wreck, if I remember correctly, and the other occupant has had dozens.

I appreciate helicopters' ability to save lives, I remarked, but often shudder to hear one, knowing that it may be responding to a medical emergency.

Yes, Mark replied -- he knew; his job in the military was to guide helicopters to a safe landing in small spaces.

In fact, he said, he once worked with a pilot who was able to bring a chopper down with only a yard to spare outside its whirling blades.

"Just give me three feet," he would radio to the ground, after first assuring himself that he was working with Mark.

I think I had figured out where Mark had such experiences, but I had to ask.

It was in Vietnam, he confirmed. About the same year I went off to junior college, Mark, tired of school, enlisted in the Marines.

(After basic training, he was arrested for being AWOL after failing to respond to his draft notice. It's kind of hard to report for the draft when you're already in the Marines, but that's another story.)

When I was getting ready to transfer to a four-year college, Mark was helping evacuate the U.S. embassy in Saigon, as North Vietnamese and Viet Cong soldiers took over the south.

Mark's skills came in handy as he guided the last UH-1s onto the roof of the compound to evacuate refugees.

He and a couple of other Marines loaded a Huey with as many people as they could, then waited in the tropical heat on the roof of the building, wondering if the pilot would remember to come back for them.

"That was the longest 45 minutes of my life," he said.

"If you look at the pictures, there's a skinny Marine, in a white T-shirt," he said, rolling his eyes at his breech of military decorum.

You probably know the picture. It's the one they memorialized in the display at the Lexington museum of military vehicles.

Yes, we're going to have to stop there sometime.