by J. L. Salter
Pete called for their attention and briefly explained this particular luncheon was a special milestone, in recognition of the two thousand funeral services which the Post 38 Honor Guard had participated in during the past eighteen years. Their services extended only to veterans buried in Pulaski County, but Pete closed his brief remarks by reminding everyone of the alarming rate the World War II veterans were dying. “We hear different figures, but nationwide, it’s about nine hundred dying each and every day.” The host looked around and then took his seat again.
Kelly was astounded. “Pop, has the Honor Guard really been to two thousand funerals?”
“Well, that’s a rough figure, because for the first few hundred funerals, they didn’t keep real good records. And the faces on the firing squad changed a lot. But when everybody still living who’d been doing them went back and calculated, they came up with a total, right at two thousand. So Pete decided ta make that the official count as of Veterans Day this year.”
“So the first funeral after November Eleventh will be number two-thousand-and-one.”
Chet nodded. “I guess.”
In the background, local radio news was on. Somebody had turned up the volume during a story about a recent crime wave in Frankfort. After a commercial, the announcer reminded Pulaski listeners that today was the big drill day. A sound bite featured a local official previously interviewed:
“People are supposed to go to the assembly areas for their neighborhoods, as noted in the paper over the past two weeks. It’s organized along the lines of where you typically vote. Individuals not already registered to vote are asked to report to the Center for Rural Development on south Highway 27. At that location there will also be tables set up where residents over age eighteen can register to vote.”
New neighbor Alice inquired about their part of the drill.
As hostess, Irene felt an obligation to have an answer. “When we hear the tornado sirens, we’re supposed to head to the central building in the complex up the hill and report to the Association coordinator’s office.” Irene was short and plump, with white hair always beautifully coiffed. She nearly always wore makeup, but not exaggerated cosmetics one might notice several feet away — merely the type of coverage which enhanced the looks of a woman in her early eighties who had been lovely since age fourteen.
Several Community residents had already admitted they were not going to the assembly site because it was either too warm or too windy outside.
“Do we have to go way up there?” Alice’s concern resembled a pout.
“If we’re finished eating, I think we should.” Irene always tended to people and things. She almost constantly moved as she talked.
In his typical fashion, Melvin was piqued. “Why should we bother with all this drilling?”
“So you’ll know what to do if it’s the real thing.” Earl often had general answers because he watched a lot of television.
“The real what? Voter registration drive?” asked Melvin the cynic.
“We’re far more likely to need an organized response and coordination for either natural disasters, like tornados or sudden blizzards, or other things resulting in power outages.” Roger’s information was more to the point. “In fact, that’s part of the matrix for today’s drill — to test how well our area can adapt to multiple losses of major systems within the same time frame.”
“Plus, Melvin, what if terrorists came here to attack?” Art had barely spoken since his arrival looking for a battery charger.
“What would terrorists be doing along Highway 27?”
Art shrugged, which made his goatee twitch momentarily.
Young Ashley, totally bored, had tuned out the entire conversation.
Pete stood again. “Honey, turn down that radio a second and let’s have our blessing.”
Irene complied.
Holding the hands of Irene and Ashley, Pete blessed the food, the neighbors, the loyal members of the Honor Guard, and all those approximately two thousand veterans who’d been buried with the American Legion’s extra attention and respect. It was a good prayer.
Roger turned to Kelly. “You know, I wouldn’t have picked today for a big party. The construction’s blocking two of the Community’s roads and there’s so much confusion in town over this massive drill. This is a good day to stay home and watch TV.”
“I don’t watch TV.” Kelly scanned the array of guests. “But I think this will be more entertaining anyway.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Wednesday at 12:05 p.m.
Right after the host’s prayer, the eating began. As was typical, a few chow-hounds hurried to the main buffet area on the island and counter in Irene’s kitchen space. Others waited and watched for the cluster of hungrier guests to thin out.
Irene had greeted almost all the guests, except Herb, and noticed some of her single female friends from the neighborhood had not yet arrived. She wondered whether they’d forgotten or perhaps been distracted by the drill. She fretted because she’d wanted to introduce them to Alice, who’d just moved into the newly vacant unit which adjoined the Henleys’. Alice seemed shy and apparently knew hardly anyone in the Community.
At the doorway, Diane and Joe Sutton arrived late. Joe grumbled as he entered and then went down the hallway.
Kelly greeted Diane. “What’s with him?”
“Some moving van was blocking the road down there.” She rolled her eyes. “Joe had to edge up on the curb to get by. Ruins the tires, he says.”
Joe was still looking for a bathroom to wash his hands. His spine was crooked side-to-side in a lazy S-shape and his neck curved too far forward. A doctor had told Joe he would have been about six-foot-three if all his vertebrae were aligned properly, but he’d lost nearly four inches of height due to congenital scoliosis. He had multiple chronic pains and they showed when he moved. Joe’s beard, grown since retirement, was a full pattern, but sparsely filled — mostly gray except for patches of brown around the mouth. His hair was still basically brown but the gray was making significant progress. The left tri-focal lens was roughly ten times the strength of his right one.
“Glad you guys came.” Kelly smiled warmly. “I was afraid you’d chickened out because of the big drill today.”
“A lady at work told me that Missus Henley pulls out all the stops.”
“Grilling outside.” Kelly pointed that direction. “Guess who the meat man is.”
“Meat man? Sounds barbaric.” Diane smiled. “So who is he?”
“Wade! Evidently he hires out to grill for large groups. Works for a percentage of the meat.”
When Joe returned from washing his hands, he and Diane moved toward the buffet.
In another part of the congested spaces, Ashley spotted someone interesting. She had noticed Isaiah entering previously and finally made her way to him. “I’m Ashley. The Henleys are my grandparents.” She extended her hand.
“Isaiah. I’m in the Honor Guard with your grandfather.”
“Can I like… ask you something?”
He nodded.
“You ever find yourself in a situation where you like… feel a little out of place?”
He wondered how she meant it. “You mean other than right now?”
Ashley smiled. “So, what do you do to like… get through it?”
“It varies. What do you do, Ashley?”
“Well, my Grandpa once told me if I ever felt out of place anywhere, to just like… look around until I spot somebody else that looks out of place. Then go over and talk to her. Or him.”
The old black man smiled. “And how does that work for you?”
“Not completely sure. This is like… my first time.” She laughed.
“Well it’s an interesting theory. Let’s see if it works, for both of us.”
On her way toward the food, Kelly was again near the front door when Pete grasped her elbow as he passed. “That’s Stanley coming over. You missed him at the funeral, I think.”
Ke
lly nodded as she watched Stanley approach. He had also changed into civilian clothes. “Yeah, I saw him get into a minivan.”
Stanley might have been clean cut as a younger man and certainly he was better looking in uniform. But age had rubbed him raw. He had liver spots on his face and neck, and pronounced bags under his eyes. They were the kind of bags which looked so heavy one worried they might fall off if he ever removed his glasses. He wore his thin white hair in a crew cut, which did little to disguise the array of liver spots on his scalp. Stanley had thin limbs, shallow chest and narrow shoulders, with a spare tire around his thick waist.
“Stanley was in the Air Corps. Enlisted radio operator on B-29 bombers in the Pacific. I forget how many missions, but it was a lot.”
“You think he’d be a good one to interview for my articles?”
“You might have to tip-toe a bit. He’s sensitive.” Henley stroked his chin. “When Stanley says he crewed on a bomber, everybody assumes he was flying over Europe, like there was no bombing in the Pacific. He really hates that. The 29s were flying major campaigns long before the Enola Gay ever visited Hiroshima.”
Kelly was somewhat startled by the indifferent way he expressed that. She looked at him, but Pete didn’t notice — he had other guests to tend to.
At the door, neighbor Bernie — nobody called him Bernard — arrived with his walker and an enormous shotgun, open at its hinged breech. Bernie’s bath robe belt was a make-shift sling: one end tied around the barrel and the other looped through the trigger guard. With that sling over Bernie’s left shoulder, the huge firearm banged the walker’s grip near his right hip. He huffed and puffed on the stoop. “Only way I can carry it with this peewaddlin’ walker.”
Melvin was in the doorway. “Good thing it ain’t loaded.”
Bernie struggled to get in the door with his walker and the unwieldy firearm.
Melvin stepped aside and held the door, but only after it was hardly needed anymore.
Bernie was short, probably five-foot-five, and frail. A few wisps of hair appeared in odd places on his pale scalp. Thick glasses.
Pete greeted the new arrival with a wave and then whispered to Kelly, “You’d never pick him to have been Airborne in Holland.”
Kelly didn’t respond.
“But Bernie was taller back then, and a lot stronger.” Pete watched him shuffle inside. “His wife ran off some time back. Daughter lives here in Somerset and usually checks in on him, but she’s real busy with her grandkids right now.” Bernie’s condo was higher on Placid’s hill just to the west of Norm’s duplex.
Melvin’s curiosity obviously got the better of him. “What the blazes is that anyway?”
“Daddy’s Long Tom,” Bernie said proudly.
“That’s not a Long Tom. Everybody with a long barrel shotgun says he’s got a Long Tom.”
“No, serious. Stamped into the barrel.” Bernie held it up. “My granddaughter looked it up on the internet.” He noticed Art seemed interested. “Daddy bought this one at Sears and Roebuck, right after the First World War.”
“Sears didn’t make them… just sold them.” It pleased Melvin to know odd facts.
Art knew even more. “The first ones were made by Meridian and later ones by Stevens. I think there was a third manufacturer at some point.”
“How would you know all that?” Melvin didn’t like being upstaged, even if Art did so unintentionally.
“I ran into a guy at the gun show last month. He was a fountain of knowledge about shotguns, including Long Toms.” Art turned back to Bernie. “How long you had it?”
“Just got it. My big brother had it all these years since Daddy died.” Bernie’s eyes got a little moist. His brother’s death last year still hurt.
“So how come you’re just now getting it?” Melvin tapped the barrel.
“My sister-in-law was having a hard time dealing with things after Brother Vernie died. I told her when she was ready, I could come over and give her a hand. He didn’t have all that much. Most of his stuff got throwed away when they down-sized and moved into a little condo in North Cincinnati.”
Bernie carefully removed the robe belt sling and let each man examine the Long Tom.
Melvin held it up. “How long is this barrel?”
“Forty inches,” Bernie said proudly.
“A lot of Long Tom barrels were thirty-two or thirty-six inches.” Even Art was surprised at how much he’d remembered. “Forty is a lot of steel.”
Over in a corner, Ashley and Isaiah were involved in a conversation about how lonely she felt during the first several weeks at her new school in Richmond. All her friends were in Bowling Green. Isaiah certainly understood being the new kid in a school full of strangers — he’d felt that way most of his life.
Stanley came over and tapped Isaiah’s shoulder. “They’re ganging up on Art again, about him being an engineer and that’s not the same as combat. He could use some reinforcements from somebody who drove trucks up to the frontlines with ammo, fuel, medicine, food and supplies.”
Isaiah sighed. It was a pointless debate because none of the troops with Combat Infantry Badges would allow that anybody else was ever in harm’s way. However, all the men who were fired upon felt like they were in combat like the others. He stood slowly. “Okay, Stan. But you know they aren’t going to change their minds.” He shook his head. “The guys with a C-I-B are an exclusive club and they don’t want any new members.”
Stanley preceded him back to the card table across the room. He actually rubbed his hands together like he relished witnessing a new episode of that unending debate.
“We’ll get back to our discussion later, Ashley. I’ve got to help out a buddy.” Isaiah shrugged.
Ashley sighed and resumed trying to learn more about the bells and whistles on her new internet-connected phone.
Back at the couch, Diane popped another cashew into her mouth. “I heard Wade was going to put on a demo of his fruit cannon.”
Kelly smiled. “I’m afraid you and Joe already missed the famous Vegge-zilla demonstration. He already launched three or four assorted fruits and vegetables.”
“What happened to them?” Diane was genuinely disappointed.
Kelly smacked her palms together and made a loud raspberry sound with her lips and tongue. “Sspplllaaattt!” After that audio replay, Kelly rose, went around the couch, and put her arm around Mitch’s waist as they made their way toward the dining space where the main buffet tables were set up.
Diane looked around for Joe and spotted him at one of Henleys’ living room bookcases, running his arthritic fingers over the spines of numerous leather-bound books. She waved to get his attention and pointed toward the buffet. Joe shrugged and headed that direction without much evident enthusiasm.
Over in the dining room, Irene had all the leaves in her large maple table. Plus, the long coffee table was available and she’d borrowed three card tables to complement the one she already had. There were seats with a surface available for about twenty-six people. Plus there were nearly a dozen sitting with plates on their knees. Irene hadn’t planned on quite that many, so it meant she had to buzz around even more than normal.
Watching from the doorway was young Ashley, who loved visiting her grandparents but was a bit out of her element with so many elderly strangers in the condo. She came over and hugged Irene for reassurance.
Ashley was tall and nicely tanned. Her very slender waist was showcased by the three skin-tight, form-fitting shirts worn in layers. The bottom shirt was the only one with sleeves, albeit extremely short and tight sleeves; it had the longest hem and highest neckline. The top shirt was spaghetti strapped with the lowest neckline and shortest hem. The garment in the middle was basically a tank top with hemline and neckline approximately between the other two pieces. Their colors were white, pastel yellow and lime green. She wore flip-flops and jeans with the knees cut out. Her blonde hair, normally shoulder length, was in a pony tail.
“Grandma, I wish I�
��d remembered to bring my MP3 so at least I could like… listen to my own tunes, especially since you and Grandpa don’t have Internet access. I’m like… totally bored.”
“Things will calm down right after our luncheon’s over, honey.” Irene kissed the top of her head. “This afternoon you’ll have plenty of time to relax before you need to drive back home.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Wednesday at 12:25 p.m.
Still outside, Joe, Roger, and Mitch watched Wade perform his grilling magic. Chet and Ellie were at a card table with Ashley and one of the Henleys — both Henleys when Irene would sit briefly. The men from the neighborhood tended to cluster here and those from the Honor Guard collected there. The Community women were bunched into three small groups. It made Irene want to shuffle them up a bit and achieve more integration. Pete restrained her.
Kelly and Diane were together on the couch again. Both used the coffee table to place their drinks and had plates balanced precariously on knees and thighs.
Kelly chewed thoughtfully on a delicious piece of chicken breast meat. “It’s funny how people segregate themselves.”
Diane looked about the room but didn’t comment.
“I used to always prefer hanging out with boys than girls.”
A smile began forming on Diane’s face. “You must’ve been a tomboy.”
“I just liked to run, play, hit, catch, throw, and whatever.” Kelly would have preferred to say it modestly, but it came out like bragging. “I was just naturally good.”
“An athlete.”
“Guess I could’ve become one. Only I caved in to the pressure and decided it was easier just to be all girl.” Kelly looked down at her plate. “The girls my own age were the worst… real witchy and made me feel like an alien. Some pressure was covert — like snide remarks — from parents, relatives, even some teachers. It was pretty overt from the boys. One time I actually had to slug it out with a boy.”
