It bothered Sgt. Davis that Eddie was avoiding eye contact. “So, when and how did the friendship begin?”
“The summer of ’53 in Virginia. We worked for the Highway Department.”
“How long did that last?”
“Three months. June to near the end of August.”
“What happened after that?”
“He went his way…and I went mine. Didn’t meet up again until he got shipped over here.”
“Did the two of you ever have any arguments or fights?”
“None. Absolutely none. Look. Private Polk was good people…the best. If anybody had to die on Saturday, it should have been me. I know you’re trying to see if I had a reason to kill him…if it was murder. Like I’ve already told you, it was an accident. I hate it happened. Would undo it if I could. But I can’t.”
“Still have trouble understanding how the bullet hit his head.”
“I’ve asked myself that question a thousand times. I can’t explain it. It just happened.”
“Tell me again, what caused your weapon to fire?”
“Like I said the other night, the clip was stuck. I was trying to pry it loose which caused me to drop the gun. That’s when it fired.”
“When it was in your hand or when it hit the ground?”
Eddie paused briefly. “Ground. When it hit the ground.”
“Stand up and show me how it happened. Pretend Private Macklemore over there is Polk. Set up the scene the way you remember it.”
Eddie directed the Marine to stand to the right side of the doorway. “I was standing about here,” said Eddie as he assumed his position.”
“About 10 feet away,” said Sergeant Davis. “OK, so you’re unloading your weapon.”
With his arm outstretched, Eddie showed how he purposely pointed the gun away from his friend while struggling to remove the clip.
“We found the clip on the ground. How did you get it loose?”
“Took some doing but it finally popped out.”
“That’s when you dropped the weapon?”
“Right.”
“Hit the ground, then fired.”
“Yes.”
“Did you move the weapon after it fell to the ground?”
“No. Didn’t touch it.”
Sgt. Davis scratched his head while looking over his notes to make sure that he had asked all the questions on his list. “Anything else you want to say?”
“Just that…I’m sorry. A while back, I did a lot of stuff that I’m not proud of. I was bad. Real bad. The Corps knocked some sense into my head and I’ve been trying so hard to turn my life around ever since. And now this. I’m ruined forever.”
Sgt. Davis stared at Eddie for a moment, didn’t know how to respond. Eddie was right. He would carry that burden for the rest of his life. Satisfied that he had all he needed, the Sergeant ended the questioning and returned to his office. But there was something that was bothering him about Eddie’s second telling of the story. He wanted to compare notes just to be sure. It didn’t take long for him to confirm the conflicting details. On the night of the incident, Eddied claimed that the weapon discharged while in his hand. In the new account, the pistol fired upon hitting the ground.
On a legal pad, Sgt. Davis drew a simple diagram of the two scenarios which led him to the conclusion that only the first description was possible. There is no way for the bullet to have hit Buddy’s right side from where the gun fell. The Sergeant also wasn’t buying Eddie’s assertion that the weapon was pointed away from the victim when the clip was removed.
Captain Crews was clear in his directive. He wanted all angles explored, including the possibility that Buddy’s death was not accidental. That option required a motive. Were Buddy and Eddie really friends? Was Eddie’s ‘best friends’ claim a cover up for a premeditated attack?
Sgt. Davis called upon some of the most trustworthy Military Police under his command to examine the reality of the friendship. They were to interview Marines who knew them and then report back to him with their findings. Meanwhile, he scanned the service records of the deceased and his assailant for information that would aid the investigation.
The files of both men proved the accuracy of Eddie’s testimony about working with Buddy in 1953. To find out more about their relationship when working for the Virginia Highway Department, he placed a call to Buddy’s former boss, Walter Abernathy. Maybe it was a stretch, but Sgt. Davis thought that it was curious that Buddy listed both his manager and field manager as references on his Marine Corps application. However, there were no references on Eddie’s application. How did that get by a recruiter?
To expand his investigation to the United States, Sgt. Davis had to make his calls in the middle of the night. He made his first overseas call at 400 hours, Japan time, which was 2:00 p.m. in Virginia. Contacting Buddy’s former manager with the Virginia Highway Department was easier than expected.
Although willing to take the Sergeant’s call, Walter Abernathy was hesitant to talk about former state employees. He did offer that he remembered the two young men and that Charles Polk was an excellent worker.
“What about Eddie Johnson?” asked Sgt. Davis.
“He was employed by the state of Virginia,” replied Mr. Abernathy.
“But was he a good employee?”
“I repeat, he was employed by the state of Virginia.”
“To your knowledge, were they friends?”
“Charles and Eddy?” said the highway manager and then he chuckled. “I hardly think so.”
“Can you tell me why?”
“Let’s just leave it at that,” said Mr. Abernathy. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s this about?”
“Private Polk was killed.”
“Oh, no. That’s terrible. How did it happen?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out.”
“Is Eddie a suspect?”
Sgt. Davis didn’t answer the question which was enough to cause Walter Abernathy to reveal more information.
“We had to get rid of Eddie.”
“Why?”
“For falsifying official state records. He attempted to make it look like Charles wasn’t doing his job. Tried to frame him.”
“Not exactly what best friends do.”
“That Polk boy was as good as they come.”
“Yes, sir. I’ve heard that a lot.”
“And as far as the other boy, he was the exact opposite. Wouldn’t trust him farther than I could throw him.”
Walter Abernathy’s account verified Eddie’s statement concerning his past behavior. But he was surprised to hear what he had done to Private Polk. It was hard to believe that the two Marines later became friends.
Next on the Sergeant’s To-Do List was to follow up on another lead from Buddy’s enlistment record. Charles Polk enlisted in the Corps in the Buddy Program with Donnie Turner. Maybe Polk’s old friend could shed some light on the Eddie Johnson relationship. A few phone calls later he was able to find Private Turner in the Administration Office at the Jacksonville Air Base.
Ruth Turner, Donnie’s mom, had written a letter about Buddy’s death and included a clipping of the newspaper article, but he hadn’t received it yet. Consequently, when Sgt. Davis called, Donnie heard the bad news for the first time.
“You didn’t know?” said the Sergeant.
“No,” said Donnie, overcome with emotion.
“Sorry you got the news this way.”
“What happened?”
“Accidentally shot.”
Donnie jumped to the conclusion that his friend died from a self-inflicted wound. “Just doesn’t seem possible. Bud was always so careful?”
“Oh, no. Another Marine is responsible for his death.
There was a long pause as Donnie gathered his thoughts. Sgt. Davis waited patiently. He knew all too well what it was like to lose a best friend in the Corps. He still had nightmares about that dreadful day in March 1953 when Chinese forces launched a
n offensive that took the lives of more than a thousand Marines.
“You and Polk enlisted together?”
“We did. Seems like yesterday.”
“How well did you know his other friends in the Corps?”
Donnie began to worry about the barracks bashing incident when Buddy’s friends were attacked. “Didn’t know them all that well. He and I drifted apart soon after Boot Camp but we’ve been catching back up as of late.”
“Did he ever mention Eddie Johnson?”
“Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Did he ever tell you about somebody who caused him trouble when he was working for the state?”
“Told me about a fellow that tried to get him fired? The job only lasted through the summer. The one who did the best job was then offered a full-time job with the highway department. When it looked like Buddy, I mean, Charles, was going to get the job, that guy messed with some report forms to get him fired. What’s that have to do with his death?”
“Maybe nothing, but that guy he worked with is the one I asked you about, Private Eddie Johnson, the one who shot him.”
“You’re kidding me. He’s in the Corps? Do you think he killed him on purpose?”
“We’re just trying to get answers. Probably an accident but we want to be sure.”
“Look, Sergeant. If there is anything I can do, just name it. You have no idea what that Marine meant to me. We were like brothers. I can only imagine how his mom and dad are taking this.”
Donnie was a paper pusher, processed orders and transfer requests, which he typically handled with ease. But after the call from Sgt. Davis, he was unable to function so he asked permission to take the remainder of the afternoon off. At the Enlisted Men’s Club, he attempted to drown his grief but to no avail. He blamed himself for Buddy’s death. He was reminded of his friend’s recent letter in which Buddy asked for his forgiveness. There was nothing to forgive. Buddy never did anything wrong, never gave into the peer pressure of the Corps. He remained true to his good character. It was Donnie who had changed into a person that even he didn’t like. The ashtray and shot glass on the table were reminders of how far he had fallen. All of it to earn the favor of men who could care less about him.
Back in Iwakuni, Sgt. Davis worked on his report for the Captain. He had found nothing to support the willful intent to kill. He knew that Captain Crews was not interested in circumstantial evidence, only facts. His assistants were able to verify that there existed a friendship between Buddy and Eddie and nobody knew of a rift or a possible motive for murder. One of the Marines even questioned Eddie’s Japanese girlfriend, Sakura, who testified that Eddie thought the world of Buddy. He was blown away by Buddy’s willingness to forgive him for what he had done in the past.
Sgt. Davis still didn’t know what to recommend. To suggest that the shooting was accidental would simplify matters and a court martial could be avoided. He was leaning toward a charge of gross negligence of a firearm and possibly even negligent homicide, under Article 134 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice. The final decision on charges that would apply were ultimately up to the Captain. Regardless, the outcome was likely to end in severe punishment including jail time, loss of pay, and demotion or discharge from the Corps.
The long night had taken its toll on Sgt. Davis but he was pleased with what he had accomplished. He was exhausted but still had one unfinished chore before he could get some rest. The military funeral for Private Polk was scheduled for 0900 which gave the Sergeant just enough time to put on a pot of coffee and take a shower. Lots of caffeine was necessary. Military funerals were not exactly eye-opening events.
Later that day, Buddy’s body was loaded onto a cargo ship for the two-week journey to the United States. A Military Police detail made up of Marines from Buddy’s company and his two friends from the Navy and Air Force, Melvin McDonald, and Covington Philpott provided an escort. As the casket was hoisted onto the deck of the ship, they gave a farewell salute to their fallen comrade.
When Nightmares Come True – June 18-21, 1955
Most often, funeral arrangements are made within the 24 hours after death and the funeral occurs in three or four days. Things happen quickly for the bereaved allowing them to begin the healing process. It’s never easy but putting off the inevitable puts an added strain on the family.
From the time the Polks received word of Buddy’s death to the day that his remains arrived seemed like forever. Mable said that it was the longest three weeks of her life. The dread of seeing his lifeless body on display and then watching it lowered into the ground weighed heavily on her mind. She had little to say but on those occasions when she did reveal her thoughts, she spoke of her anxiety about the funeral. How could she endure seeing him like that?
Thus far, the most difficult task was selecting a casket. Mable became so overwhelmed with the process that she passed out in the Funeral Home office. Dr. Whitfield was called to attend to her for fear that she was having another heart attack.
Helen claimed that she moved in to provide for the physical and emotional needs of her parents. In reality, Helen’s presence was more stressful than helpful. Her parents had their way of doing things and this was not a time for change. Between bouts of depression, she handed out orders. Got on Annie’s nerves so bad that she resigned her volunteer position.
Somehow, Helen had in her mind that sunshine wasn’t to be seen in a house during a time of mourning. She went to great lengths to enforce her notion. Blinds were pulled down, draperies were pulled shut, and on windows where there wasn’t adequate covering, she stuffed them with cardboard. To make matters worse, it was June, summertime with daily temperatures in the 80s and 90s. One more reason that Annie couldn’t take it anymore.
The only one who adapted well to those days of confinement was Woody. He had the benefit of leaving for work each morning. Even on his days off, he traveled to Middletown to “check on the property,” or so he claimed. In reality, he had found a way to escape one of the most depressing environments imaginable.
Mable spent most of her time on the sofa staring at pictures of Buddy. She was particularly fond of her son’s first-grade photo in which he wore a bowtie. When she wasn’t looking at photographs she was crying, sometimes both. There was no letup in her misery. Her typically jovial spirit had been crushed and the mighty faith for which she was known had faded into despair.
Charlie had taken up near permanent residence in his recliner. The Viscose Corporation granted him a leave of absence until after the funeral. He wasn’t even able to tend to his beloved cows and pigs due to his grief. Friends and family members pitched in to handle the feeding and care the animals needed. If there was something positive to be found in the crisis, it was that Charlie had not smoked a cigarette or consumed a drop of alcohol since the arrival of the telegram.
Kids have a way of adjusting to difficult circumstances. Dickie learned a valuable lesson from his dad, “The best way to get through this is to stay out of the way. They’ll call you when they need you.” And that’s what he did. Spent most days playing with his toys on the front porch including his favorite, the wind-up cowboy and horse that Buddy bought him for his birthday. But playing all by himself got old. He longed for a friend to play with. And he had to be careful because running, jumping, and making noise were all strictly prohibited. That was Helen’s strictest rule. He learned a new word that summer. His daddy told him that living there was “like living in a morgue.” Dickie had no idea how to spell morgue or define it. Just knew that it was dark and sad.
On the afternoon of June 18, the phone rang and Helen answered. The call was brief but enough to finally get the funeral plans moving. Buddy’s remains were now at the Stover Funeral Home in Strasburg. The funeral home, St. Paul’s Lutheran Church, St. Mary’s Cemetery in Mt. Jackson, and the Northern Virginia Daily had all been on standby. It took less than 30 minutes to put the plans in place. There would be a visitation at Stovers on Monday the 20th and the funeral was set for t
he following day.
West Point, Virginia – Sunday, June 19
Grieving is intensely personal. There’s no right way or wrong way to mourn. It just happens. Sometimes sorrow is widespread, involving more than just the immediate family, even strangers. Charles Fletcher Polk, Jr. had touched lives far beyond the city limits of Strasburg, Virginia.
One can only imagine what Eddie Johnson was feeling in the loneliness of a jail cell in Iwakuni, Japan. If, as he claimed, Buddy was his best friend and the shooting was truly accidental, then his pain must have been unspeakable.
In Jacksonville, Florida, Donnie Turner was agonizing over the loss of a relationship that was so close that he was able to persuade his friend to join him in enlisting in the Corps. If not for him, or so he had reasoned, Buddy would still be alive.
Then there was Roxanne Smitherman in New Berne, North Carolina. The teenager had more than just a crush on Buddy. When she stopped getting responses to her letters she had her dad, an officer in the Corps, check on the status of the man that she swore would someday be her husband.
Arguably, from outside the family the individual who was most affected by the tragedy, lived 200 miles away in West Point, Virginia where love grew out of a summer romance. Of all the girls who loved him, Sally Duffy was the only one to capture his heart. Theirs was a mutual love and both of them, although not yet articulated, wanted to spend the rest of their lives together.
Unfortunately, some see grief as a special privilege or a competition. Helen was like that. She had a right, as the sister of the deceased, to agonize more than others. Somehow she had arrived at the conclusion that she was closer to Buddy than even her parents and knew him better than anyone. She didn’t mind if others grieved, but their pain wasn’t in a league with hers. Couldn’t be. Nobody loved him more.
Mable disagreed with her daughter’s selfish attitude but she was too overcome with her own grief to express her thoughts. She was thrilled to hear of the love of others for Buddy and treasured the stories of how he had touched their lives.
The secretary at Stover’s Funeral Home in Strasburg claimed that there had never been so many calls inquiring about arrangements. Many of the questions came from out of towners wanting to know the particulars. Sally’s grandmother was concerned that her granddaughter had been calling too much. “You’re going to wear out your welcome,” she told her.
Farewell PFC Polk: The End of a Nightmare (In the Valley of Hope Book 2) Page 25
