《At The Lions Gate》


 The Broken Dream -- Chapter I

    On December 15<sup>th</sup>, 1935, in the shadow of the Great Depression, a weary nation huddled around their radios to hear an important broadcast. It wasn¡¯t a pep talk from Roosevelt; it was the NFL championship game between the Detroit Lions and the New York Giants; a chance for Americans to forget their troubles, to root for a winner, while the country was losing jobs and losing hope.


    Josh Sanders heard the game that day. He was twelve that year, a kid who never missed a broadcast, knew every player¡¯s name and position, and thought football was the best thing ever; though he¡¯d never been to a game, never had a football of his own.


    But he was built for the sport. Tall for his age, he had broad shoulders, muscular arms, hands that were soft and padded, made to catch a football.


    Josh was in the kitchen, his ear glued to the radio, when his father came in carrying the daily newspaper. ¡°Who¡¯s winning the big game?¡±


    ¡°The Lions are killing ¡®em,¡± replied Josh. ¡°Buddy Parker just scored the fourth touchdown.¡±


    ¡°Good for him¡­at least he has a job.¡± Jim Sanders, a big, ruddy-faced Irishman, veteran of the Great War, threw the newspaper on the table and sat down. Josh could hear the tension, the frustration in his father¡¯s voice, a reminder that he¡¯d been out of work for months. His wife Susan poured coffee as he looked through the help wanted ads. Josh gave his father a pat on the back. ¡°Listen to the game, Dad. It¡¯ll cheer you up.¡±


    His father tossed the paper aside. ¡°I¡¯m not interested in football. The country¡¯s going down the drain; ten million people are out of work. Two months ago, the WPA promised a thousand new jobs right here in San Francisco. All I can say is they better come through, and soon.¡± Jim Sanders downed his coffee and stood up. ¡°I¡¯ll be back,¡± he said, walking toward the door.


    Josh lowered the volume on the radio and looked at his mother. Her eyes were closed as she said a brief prayer; something she did each time his father left, hoping to find a good job. A modest woman, devoted to God and family, the depression weighed heavily on her. She¡¯d lost a good deal of weight; her cheeks were drawn in; her auburn hair showed streaks of gray.


    They lived on the top floor of an old building a few blocks south of Market Street. The apartment had been neglected; floor boards were broken, there was dry rot in the ceiling beams; the red-brick walls were scarred with streaks of black soot, remnants from the damage caused by the 1906 earthquake and fire that nearly destroyed the city.


    Josh pushed his chair back against the wall and got up. The football game was over; the Lions had won. As he listened to the roar of the crowd, Josh imagined himself down on the field, hearing people cheer for him as they cheered for the Lions.


    When the cheering stopped, he went outside to sit on the fire escape. He thought about his father and heard again the anger in his voice. Moments later his mother appeared and sat down beside him. They remained silent for a few moments, looking at the crowd of tenement buildings that made up their neighborhood.


    ¡°Your father isn¡¯t mad at you, Josh; he¡¯s mad at what¡¯s happened to the country,¡± said his mother. ¡°He¡¯s a proud man, and he doesn¡¯t have a job.¡±


    ¡°Dad¡¯s a good carpenter; why can¡¯t there be more jobs like that?¡±


    ¡°He goes out every morning, looking...but there aren¡¯t enough jobs to go around. President Roosevelt is doing his best to help people; he created the WPA to provide jobs for people like your father.¡± She put her arm around Josh to reassure him. ¡°Have faith, dear; your father will find something soon. God is looking out for us.¡±


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    Josh smiled and nodded, but he didn¡¯t pay much attention to God outside of church, and didn¡¯t have much faith in God¡¯s power to fix whatever was wrong with the country. He knew his parents weren¡¯t to blame; he loved them but hated what the depression had done to them.


    They couldn¡¯t afford a Christmas tree that year; the money that was left went for food and rent. At school kids were talking about their wish list, and though Josh knew what he wanted he didn¡¯t want to ask for it.


    But when he awoke on Christmas morning he found a small package on his night stand. Inside was a football; and a note from his father: ¡°For the game you love. Merry Christmas.¡±


    That day marked a new beginning. In the months that followed Josh practiced throwing and catching the football with his father. He took the trolley out to the beach to run wind sprints; he started lifting weights, running up and down the city hills to further strengthen his legs and lungs. After more than a year, in the summer of 1937, Josh entered high school and went to try-out for the team. His dedication paid off; he was the only freshman to make varsity that year, as a wide receiver. It didn¡¯t take long before he established himself; when his team needed a big catch, they threw the ball to Josh.


    But life at home remained difficult. Road repair, one of the first WPA projects in the city, kept his father employed for six months, but after that jobs were scarce, lasting only two or three weeks. Some days he¡¯d be gone from morning until night, looking for work, then waiting in line at the church for a free meal when money was tight. Josh¡¯s mother did a little sewing for some of the women in the building, and those she knew from church, but it paid little, and she was often despondent.


    One night, when his father didn¡¯t come home, Josh went looking for him. In the street he saw the scars of the Great Depression etched on the faces of destitute men in tattered clothes, their hands outstretched, proud men who couldn¡¯t find work, the homeless and the hungry, exhausted and defeated.


    At the corner of 9<sup>th</sup> and Mission, as the night fog rolled in, Josh paused to look through the window of a small caf¨¦. A handful of men were seated at a bar, some at tables, drinking beer and whisky. Near the entrance his father sat alone at a table, his head bowed, staring into an empty glass.


    Josh didn¡¯t hesitate; he pushed through the door and went into the bar. Startled, his father shouted, ¡°Josh, what are you doing here?! You can¡¯t come in here!¡±


    Josh would hear none of it. ¡°Mom¡¯s worried sick. You have to come home.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll come home soon. Tell your mother not to worry.¡±


    Josh noticed his father¡¯s bloodshot eyes. On instinct, he picked up the empty glass and took a whiff. ¡°This isn¡¯t right, Dad. This is for people who have nowhere to go. You still have a home.¡±


    His father raised his weary head and focused his bloodshot eyes on his son. ¡°Josh, if something ever happens to me¡­you take care of your mother.¡±


    The bartender, a husky bald-headed man, came over and pointed at Josh. ¡°You can¡¯t be in here, son. You¡¯re not old enough.¡±


    Josh took a last look at his father, then he went outside¡­and waited.


    An hour later his father came stumbling out of the bar. Josh put his arm around his father¡¯s waist to steady him. ¡°Come on Dad¡­it¡¯s time for you to go home.¡±


    Jim Sanders squinted at his son through half closed eyes. ¡°Don¡¯t tell your mother I¡¯ve been drinking. She doesn¡¯t approve of this sort of thing.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯ll smell it on your breath, but she¡¯ll forgive you¡­because she knows God will forgive you.¡±


    His father began to smile, but as they walked toward home Josh felt a wave of pity for a man who fought in the Great War and wanted only to work and raise a family¡­never knowing it would be so hard.

 The Broken Dream --Chapter II

    By 1939 the depression had dragged on for nearly ten years, leaving millions without jobs and without hope. Overseas things were equally grim; the Nazis had invaded Czechoslovakia and begun their march across Western Europe. But Americans, focused on their own problems, had no desire to be embroiled in another war.


    For the Sanders family life at home continued to be a struggle. Through the WPA Jim had found work as a carpenter, on a crew constructing public buildings, but once again the job was temporary, lasting only three months. Susan continued to work part time as a seamstress, but they were living day to day, and Josh was only too happy to be away from their cramped, run-down apartment.


    As a sign of independence, he let his hair grow out; a mop of jet-black hair hung down around his ears and over his forehead. The whisper of a mustache appeared, and he often unbuttoned the top of his shirt, something his mother disapproved of.


    At school Josh had become a top athlete. In the final game of the 1939 season, as his parents, brimming with pride, watched from the bleachers, Josh broke the scoring record for his high school football team. That night he caught seven touchdown passes, scoring over forty points, to lead his team to victory over their cross-town rivals.


    To Josh, football had become more than a game; it was a way out. He wanted a better life, for himself and for his parents. Strong and confident, he thought football would be the answer. He¡¯d make it to the pros someday; as a star receiver he¡¯d be well paid; his parents would have a house up on the hill; during games they would be in the box seats, cheering him on. It would be a good life, one to be thankful for, one to be blessed.


    For Josh it was a boyhood dream¡­but one that would soon be shattered.


    His father came home elated one day. ¡°I ran into Earl Haines.¡± Susan and Josh looked at each other; the name didn¡¯t sound familiar. ¡°He¡¯s the new cop on the beat in our neighborhood. We were in the same unit over in France during the war.  He told me the precinct is hiring more officers¡­and they¡¯re more inclined to hire veterans. He said the pay is good, and there¡¯s good benefits as well.¡±


    Susan made no comment at first. Josh also remained silent as his father continued to make the case. ¡°They¡¯ll want to hire me if they know about my service during The Great War.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d have to carry a gun,¡± said Susan. ¡°Didn¡¯t you have enough of that during the war?¡±


    ¡°War is different,¡± he replied.  ¡°It¡¯s kill or be killed.  I may not have to use a gun.¡±


    She remained skeptical. ¡°Jim, there¡¯s more crime than there used to be.¡±


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    ¡°I haven¡¯t had a job for five months. Roosevelt wants to save the country, but it¡¯s up to me to save the family. This could be our chance.¡±


    Sometime later, after his father left the apartment, Josh went into his room and sat on the bed, tossing the football to himself as he thought about what his father said. His mother came in, wanting to talk.


    ¡°I think your father went to apply for that job.¡±


    ¡°I hope he doesn¡¯t get it. Most people don¡¯t like cops.¡±


    ¡°Until they need one. Josh, your father hasn¡¯t had a good steady job for five years.  A week here, a month there¡­we can¡¯t survive on that much longer. No one knows when this depression will end.¡±


    Josh knew she was right, but he had his own plan.   ¡°Mom, I¡¯ll make it to the pros someday. I¡¯ll have money¡­you won¡¯t have to live in this dumpy apartment¡­Dad won¡¯t have to carry a gun.¡±


    She put her arm around Josh¡¯s shoulder and gave him a reassuring embrace.  ¡°That would be wonderful Josh.  But we have to think about today and tomorrow.  If your father gets that job it will be a blessing.¡±


    In fact, he did get the job. Two days before Christmas Jim received a call from the local precinct. ¡°You won¡¯t be cooking today,¡± he told Susan. ¡°We¡¯re going out to dinner!¡±


    Before they left the apartment that night Josh turned on the radio and watched his parents dance across the living room floor to the soaring clarinet of Benny Goodman.  His father, being in good spirits, brought a smile to his mother, one he hadn¡¯t seen for some time.  She let down her hair that night and enjoyed herself.


    ¡°Tonight, we¡¯re Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers,¡± quipped his father.


    As he watched them dance together Josh felt reassured. They were going to be all right.


    Along the coast, across from highway one, and around the peninsula from the Golden Gate, a good stretch of white sandy beach runs through the Sunset district and looks out across the Pacific Ocean. It was an area Josh knew well; he often jogged along the beach to stay in shape for football season.


    On a brisk, windy afternoon Josh brought his father to the beach to help him prepare for his new job. Patrolling the streets would mean a lot of walking, and Jim was determined to strengthen his legs.


    For over an hour they ran barefoot along the shore, racing the seagulls, watching the sunset, until they fell on the sand out of breath.


    Josh gave his father a pat on the back. ¡°You did great Dad!  How do you feel?¡±


    Jim caught his breath and reflected, ¡°The last time I ran that far I was chasing Germans through the Argonne Forest.¡±


    Determined to give his father encouragement, Josh brushed aside the reference to the Great War. ¡°After this training is over you¡¯ll be able to catch anyone, if you need to.¡±


    For the next week Josh and his father returned to the beach every day, running for miles, until Jim¡¯s legs and lungs were strong enough.


    On the last day they stopped by the corner grocery on their way home, then they walked over to a nearby park and sat on a bench.  From the grocery bag Jim took out two bottles of beer.


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell your mother about this.¡±


    Josh didn¡¯t reply at first. He remembered the night his father came home drunk. But it was a new day; a day to celebrate. ¡°I won¡¯t tell mom¡­I promise.¡±


    His father opened the beer bottles and handed one to Josh.


    ¡°A toast,¡± said Jim, holding up his bottle of beer, ¡°to a good son, a good trainer¡­.and a heck of a football player!¡±


    Josh grinned, took a swig of beer, and returned the compliment. ¡°Dad¡­you¡¯ll be a darn good cop.¡±

 The Broken Dream -- Chapter III

    After two weeks of on-the-job training Jim began patrolling the Tenderloin, one of the more dangerous areas in the city.  Having been a veteran ¨C he fought with the French 4<sup>th</sup> Army during the Meuse-Argonne offensive ¨C shop keepers and street people alike felt safer when the Irishman with the kind face and the ready smile was on patrol.


    One Saturday afternoon, before he hit the streets, Jim came in to the kitchen wearing his policeman¡¯s uniform. Susan brought soup to the table as Jim sat down beside his son. She noticed the magazine that Josh was reading.


    ¡°Interesting article?¡± she asked.


    Josh continued reading as he spoke.  ¡°Actually, it¡¯s about the war in Europe.¡±


    ¡°The Germans are at it again,¡± said Jim. ¡°We thought the last war


    would end it.¡±


    Josh looked up from the magazine.  ¡°Dad, how come you won¡¯t talk about the Great War?¡±


    ¡°There isn¡¯t much to talk about. People killing each other doesn¡¯t make for good conversation. Better to forget about it.¡±


    ¡°What if we end up in this war?¡±


    ¡°If we do, and if you¡¯re old enough, you¡¯ll do what you believe is right. Until then enjoy your victories on the football field.¡±


    Jim Sanders finished his soup, stood up, took his policemen¡¯s revolver from the drawer near the table, and put it into his holster.


    Susan handed Jim his dark blue overcoat. He kissed her on the cheek, then turned to his son.  ¡°Josh, you help your mother prepare dinner.¡±


    ¡°Dad, let me go with you.  Just for the first hour or two.¡±


    His mother immediately intervened.  ¡°Josh, that isn¡¯t a good idea.¡±


    ¡°The neighborhood I patrol isn¡¯t one of the best,¡± said Jim.


    ¡°I know, but I¡¯m curious,¡± replied Josh. ¡°I might want to be a cop someday.¡±


    ¡°No, you won¡¯t be a policeman,¡± said his mother.  ¡°You can do better; I mean, you can do something a little safer. You want to be a professional football player, remember.¡±


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    His father relented. ¡°He¡¯s old enough, and it might do him good to see what goes on in those streets.¡±


    Josh stood up and put on a bold face.  ¡°I¡¯ll be okay mom.  I¡¯m not afraid.¡±


    ¡°But I am,¡± replied his mother. ¡°There¡¯s been more crime since the depression¡­the streets aren¡¯t safe.¡±


    ¡°The boy has to know what the real world is like,¡± said Jim.


    ¡°He has time to know what the world is like. He doesn¡¯t have to walk the streets to find out.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll bring him home after my first round on patrol¡­I promise.¡±


    She looked at them both, and finally gave in.  ¡°All right, but no later than nine o¡¯clock.¡±


    That night Jim Sanders patrolled the run-down streets of the Tenderloin district.  With Josh at his side he walked slowly, resting one large hand on his gun holster as he swiveled his head from side to side.  His large eyes flickered back and forth, ever alert, as they scanned the darkness.


    Near mission and seventh, leaning against the door of an old closed-down pawn shop, a figure stood in the shadows, his long dark fingers wrapped around a Styrofoam cup filled with hot coffee.  His hands shook as he raised the cup to his dark puffy lips and sipped the coffee.  A ragged man in ragged clothes, his tattered brown overcoat hung loosely from his broad shoulders; the heels on his black shoes were worn to the bone.  The sunken eyes looked straight ahead, seeing only darkness.


    ¡°Chuck?¡±


    The familiar voice encouraged the man to turn his head, as Josh and his father came walking toward him.  His large black lips began to part but without a smile.  Jim stopped in front of the man and extended his hand.  ¡°How are you Chuck?¡±


    Josh watched the two men closely as they shook hands. He recognized the name, but not the man who stood alone, a scarecrow in the night.


    ¡°I¡¯m gettin¡¯ by.¡± The man had a deep, hoarse voice. He spoke slowly, as if his words were formed in slow motion.


    Jim Sanders gestured toward his son.  ¡°Chuck, this is my boy Josh.  I brought him along for a little stroll through the neighborhood. Josh, this is Chuck Nagel; we used to work together on construction jobs. He was a crackerjack welder.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, until the country fell apart. It needs to be welded back together,¡± said Chuck.


    Jim quickly switched subjects. ¡°Is Janie still in town?¡±


    ¡°No, she took the kids and went back East to live with her folks.  She couldn¡¯t handle this no more.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear that Chuck.  I wish things could have turned out different.  This depression¡¯s been dragging on too long. Jobs will come back, I know they will.¡±


    Jim reached in his coat pocket and handed Chuck a five-dollar bill.  ¡°This¡¯ll help a little.¡± Jim patted him on the back, then he and Josh moved on down the sidewalk.  When they reached the end of the block Josh turned to his father.


    ¡°Is that man living on the street?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid so.  He sometimes sleeps in a flophouse nearby, when they have room.¡± Jim Sanders paused, and looked back at the lonely figure in the shadows.  ¡°Chuck is a good man. We were good friends. I lost track of him until a few weeks ago, when I saw him out here on the street. You never know what life is going to throw at you, Josh.  Wherever you end up, it might not be where you thought.¡±

 The Broken Dream -- Chapter IV

    On a warm Spring afternoon Josh and his friend Vinny Corbino went out to the beach and tossed a football back and forth. Vinny was a chubby kid, not too athletic, but he was smart, one of the smartest in school. He and Josh were different in most respects, but as church-going sons of Irish and Italian immigrants, coming of age during the Great Depression, they looked at the world through the same stained-glass window.


    Standing barefoot at the water¡¯s edge, dressed in jeans and t-shirts, they threw the football back and forth as waves broke on the shore and the cold water rippled over their naked feet.  Far out to sea, the late-afternoon sun was descending through a collage of pink and orange clouds toward the horizon.  It was a sweet, serene afternoon, the kind of afternoon that brings thoughts of romance and adventure to a young man¡¯s heart.


    As Vinny tossed the football to him Josh caught sight of a large seagull soaring high over the water.  He held onto the football as he watched the flight of the gull.


    ¡°Vinny, do you ever wish you could fly like a bird?¡±


    Vinny looked up at the seagull and smiled.  ¡°Yeah, but I don¡¯t think I could stay airborne for long.¡±  Vinny slapped his round belly with his hand.


    ¡°We can fix that,¡± joked Josh, as he ran over to Vinny.  ¡°I¡¯ll flatten it for you.¡±  Josh did a quick right and left jab at Vinny¡¯s flabby stomach.  Vinny wasn¡¯t amused.


    ¡°Knock it off Josh.  I¡¯m the only one who can poke fun at my size.¡±


    ¡°Sorry Vinny.¡±  Josh looked out across the water at the setting sun.  ¡°It feels good to be out here near the ocean, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    Vinny noticed the far-away look on Josh¡¯s face.  He often recognized when Josh was troubled, when something was bothering him. ¡°What are you thinking about?¡±


    Josh pointed at the sky. ¡°I¡¯m wishing I was up there, flying. But I¡¯m not; I¡¯m stuck here on the ground, where things don¡¯t look so good. The other day I went with my dad on his neighborhood patrol. I saw this man standing in the shadows.¡±


    ¡°What man?¡±


    ¡°Some man my dad knew when they worked together. He was broke, his clothes were old and torn, and he¡¯d lost his family.¡±


    ¡°Millions of people are broke these days.  My parents hear about it from some of the folks who come to their deli, asking if they can have some food and pay for it next week or next month.  Most of them can¡¯t pay at all.¡±


    ¡°I hope I won¡¯t end up like them¡­like him.¡±


    ¡°This depression won¡¯t last forever Josh.  Something has to happen, something¡¯s gonna bring it to an end.¡±


    ¡°At least you have enough to eat Vinny; your parents own a deli. Think you¡¯ll take over the business for your folks after they retire?¡±


    ¡°I could, but I¡¯d want to have a bigger business than only one deli.  Maybe a dozen or more.¡±


    ¡°You could do it. You¡¯re ambitious, and you¡¯re smart.  You¡¯ll be a success some day Vinny.¡±


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    ¡°And you¡¯ll be a pro football player.¡±


    ¡°You think so?¡±


    ¡°Why not?  You¡¯re the best player ever at school.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s what I want to do. I¡¯ll make it to the NFL, make enough money, and then my dad can quit his job. Things are better since he started working, but being a cop? Better to be a carpenter.¡±


    ¡°Good jobs are hard to find these days. But you and me could be partners, business partners¡­after you retire from the NFL.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a good guy Vinny, and I¡¯m glad we¡¯re friends. Run along the shore and I¡¯ll throw you a long pass.¡±


    Vinny obliged and ran along the sand at the water¡¯s edge. Josh hurled a long, spiral shaped pass.  Vinny caught it and fell on the sand as a wave broke on the shore and washed over him.  Josh laughed and ran over to him.


    ¡°Heck of a catch Vinny.¡±


    ¡°Thanks.  Your turn.¡±


    Josh ran along the shore.   As Vinny threw him the football Josh caught sight of Bridget Harris, the homecoming queen, and Dan Jones, the class president, strolling barefoot along the beach at the water¡¯s edge, holding hands, dressed in shorts and t-shirts.  Distracted by their presence, Josh lost sight of the ball, tripped and fell into the water.


    ¡°Good splash Sanders!!¡± shouted Jones.


    Josh retrieved the football in the water and scrambled to his feet, dripping wet.   Bridget Harris was smiling at him.  ¡°Sorry if we distracted you Josh.¡±


    ¡°You should have brought a beach towel, Sanders,¡± said Jones with a laugh.  ¡°You need to dry off.¡±


    Vinny came running over and frowned when he saw the high school sweethearts.


    ¡°Hi Vinny,¡± said Bridget, observing his jelly belly.


    ¡°Hello.¡±  Vinny¡¯s voice did not invite further comment.


    ¡°You two spend too much time together,¡± said Jones.  ¡°We¡¯re getting worried about you guys.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re friends, wise-guy!¡± shouted Vinny.


    ¡°Take it easy,¡± replied Jones. ¡°I¡¯m joking.¡±


    Josh stepped forward and tossed the football in the air, catching it and tossing it as he spoke.  ¡°How far can you throw a football Jones?¡±


    ¡°Far enough¡­why?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m curious.  I¡¯m used to catching it, but I can¡¯t throw it that far.  Want to have a little contest?¡±


    ¡°What are the rules?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll each throw the football from the same place.  Vinny and Bridget can go down the beach and be the judges.  If I throw it farther, I get to kiss Bridget on the cheek.  If you throw it farther, you get to kiss Vinny on the forehead.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not playing that game,¡± said Vinny.


    ¡°You can count me out too,¡± replied Jones.


    Josh looked over at Bridget.  ¡°What about you?¡±


    ¡°I think we need to modify the rules a little.¡±


    ¡°No kissing?¡±


    She shook her head as she smiled.


    ¡°No one kisses my girl but me,¡± said Jones.


    Josh ignored him and looked straight at Bridget.  ¡°Are you really his girl?¡±


    ¡°Yes, for almost five months.¡±


    Josh abruptly turned away from her, gripped the football in his right hand, and threw it as hard and as far as he could along the beach.  The ball splashed down at the water¡¯s edge some fifty yards away.


    ¡°Game¡¯s over,¡± he said, as he sprinted away from them to retrieve the football.  Bridget and Jones watched him for a few moments, then resumed their stroll along the beach.


    When Vinny caught up to Josh he was stretched out on the sand, the football behind his head.


    ¡°Josh, you didn¡¯t have to prove something to her.¡±


    ¡°She wanted me to kiss her.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s a rich girl.  Girls like that go with guys like Jones.¡±


    ¡°How did her parents get to be rich when most of the people in the country are poor or looking for jobs?¡±


    ¡°Beats me. Probably from some kind of business.  Maybe they were bootleggers.¡±


    ¡°Bootleggers?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, people who smuggled in booze when it was illegal.  My folks told me about it.¡±


    ¡°I bet she lives in a mansion, or some other big house.¡±


    ¡°Forget about Bridget.  There are plenty of other girls.¡±


    ¡°No, I want her.¡±  He jumped up and tossed the football to Vinny.  ¡°I¡¯m going for a touchdown.  Throw me the winning pass.¡±


    Josh ran down the beach.  Vinny obliged and threw a long pass.  Josh caught the football right in front of Bridget and Jones¡­and kept on running.

 Chapter 5

    High on a headland above the Golden Gate -- where the Pacific Ocean spills into San Francisco Bay -- stands the California Palace of the Legion of Honor, an art museum dedicated to the thousands of soldiers who lost their lives during World War I.


    Jim Sanders had only been there once, on opening day, November 11<sup>th</sup>, 1924. It had been a painful, emotional day for him; some of the men he knew during the war had died in the trenches and on the battlefields of France.


    In the following years Jim hadn¡¯t returned to the Legion of Honor, but with another war raging in Europe, and America edging closer to joining the fight, he worried that Josh would be called to arms.  He wanted him to see this magnificent tribute to those who sacrificed their lives for freedom.


    On a late summer day, as the ocean breeze climbed up the hill and streamed across the emerald green lawn, Josh and his father approached the great cavernous entrance to the museum.  Jim Sanders looked up at the inscription above the towering pillars and read: ¡°Honneur ET Patrie.¡±  He turned to Josh and spoke in a hushed tone.  ¡°Those words mean Honor and Fatherland.  This museum honors those who served and died for our country.¡±


    Josh nodded and remained silent as they walked through the courtyard and into the Legion of Honor.


    In the vestibule near the entrance a special book was on display.  ¡°That must be the Book of Gold,¡± said Jim as they walked over to the display.


    ¡°What¡¯s the Book of Gold?¡± asked Josh.


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    ¡°The book that lists every name of every soldier in the State, some three and a half thousand, who died during the war.¡±


    Josh saw the raw emotion on his father¡¯s face as Jim Sanders slowly, reluctantly, turned the pages of the book, scanning the names of the dead.  He didn¡¯t mention any particular names, but his fingers began to tremble as he turned the pages.  The book was large, a leather-bound volume with ivory-colored crosses applied to the front and back covers with gold stitching. The front cover was stitched with the title Our Sons 1914¨C1918. The pages were made of parchment and the quotes and names on each page were handwritten in black ink.


    ¡°They were the bravest men who ever lived,¡± Jim said, as he slowly leafed through the pages of the book.  ¡°They fought in the trenches, and sometimes died in them.  I still remember digging those trenches; we used to joke that we were digging our own graves.  For many of those men, they were.   But when the moment came, they poured out of those trenches and went into battle like warriors, charging toward the enemy, an unbroken line of courage.  God knows how I made it.¡±


    Josh watched his father intently as he spoke.  After he closed the book his father¡¯s words were still ringing in his ears.  It would be the first and last time that he heard his father talk about those men.


    They left the vestibule and walked through the large, spacious rooms of the museum.  Almost immediately Josh became captivated by the powerful, dramatic sculptures of Auguste Rodin, and many of the great oil paintings on display; classical, impressionist, post-impressionist, portraits, landscapes, seascapes¡­it came as a flood, a revelation to the young man who had been interested in sports, in girls, in his own physical prowess. He commented to his father: ¡°You know Dad, when we first came in, after looking at that book, I felt sort of depressed, thinking about war and death. But I feel better now.¡±


    Jim Sanders, seeing the sparkle in his son¡¯s eyes, smiled broadly and patted Josh on the back.


    ¡°Then we came to the right place¡± he said, as they continued their tour through the Legion of Honor.

 Chapter 6

    Susan Sanders prayed often during the depression years.  Raised in a strict Catholic family, she attended church every Sunday and expected her husband and son to do the same. She believed strongly in the power of prayer, and when Josh, who had just turned seventeen, preferred to stay home one Sunday morning so he could listen to the 1940 NFL Championship, his mother scolded him in front of his father.


    ¡°Your father enjoys those football games as much as you do, Josh, but he¡¯s still going to church today, because he knows how important it is.  You have to come along.¡±


    Josh, seated at the kitchen table, reached over and lowered the volume on the radio.  ¡°Mom, I go to church every Sunday. Couldn¡¯t I stay home this one time?¡±


    Susan Sanders glanced at her husband, waiting for his reply.  They were both dressed up in their Sunday best.  Jim wore his one and only suit, a pin-stripe dark gray, and a black bow tie.  Josh¡¯s mother, a modest woman, wore a plain white dress that hugged her legs and covered her ankles.  She added a touch of rouge to color her thin pale cheeks and held a tiny purse between her hands.


    Jim Sanders put a reassuring hand on Josh¡¯s shoulder.  ¡°The game might still be on after church is over.  Those final minutes are the most exciting ones.¡±


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    ¡°Dad, praying at church doesn¡¯t help those poor people out on the street, those men who¡¯ve been waiting years for a job. It didn¡¯t help you.¡±


    ¡°Joshua Lee!¡±  His mother seldom shouted, but she was a God-fearing woman who couldn¡¯t tolerate slander against the church.  ¡°I won¡¯t have you talk like that!¡±


    Jim Sanders intervened.  ¡°Josh¡± --


    His father stopped, as he noticed something on the table, partly hidden under Josh¡¯s arm.  ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± He pointed to a piece of paper near Josh¡¯s elbow.


    Josh slowly lifted his arm off the table.  His father reached over and picked up the paper.  It was a drawing, a sketch, of a young man and a young woman, holding hands.  Jim perused the sketch, then showed it to his wife.


    ¡°This is very good, Josh.¡±


    ¡°I can do better.¡±


    ¡°Come to church,¡± said his father, ¡°then you can make it better. And root for those Redskins; they¡¯re the underdogs¡­like those men out on the street.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll root for them, but after church can I go to Vinny¡¯s to hear the rest of the game?¡±


    ¡°All right,¡± replied his mother.  ¡°But be home for supper. We have our own celebrating to do.¡± She glanced at their Christmas tree; it stood in the family room, adorned with decorations. There were wrapped presents on the floor. ¡°Tonight, we¡¯ll light the tree.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do the honors,¡± replied Jim, ¡°right after my shift. And to ring in the New Year we¡¯re going to move on up the hill¡­to a bigger, better apartment.¡±

 Chapter 7

    After the Bears walloped the Redskins 73 - 0 in the NFL championship game Vinny and Josh weren¡¯t in the mood to celebrate, as they tossed a football back and forth in the alley behind the Corbino¡¯s apartment building. Bears fans from around the neighborhood were already in the streets, tossing footballs, honking horns, blasting their radios.


    ¡°Hey, why don¡¯t we go over to my folks¡¯ deli and pig out,¡± said Vinny. ¡°We¡¯ll feel better after we eat something¡­corned beef sandwiches¡­salami¡­pastrami¡­kosher pickles¡­¡±


    ¡°Sounds good Vinny, but I¡¯m supposed to be home for supper. I¡¯ll phone my mom from the deli.¡±


    The boys walked over to O¡¯Farrell Street and continued on until they came to Corbino¡¯s delicatessen near Mason. Iron bars were stretched across the front windows.


    Inside the deli was small, intimate; one side featured two display cases that contained fresh deli meats, cheeses, fish and seafood.  On the opposite side of the shop, hidden by three narrow aisles stocked mostly with dry goods, were two small refrigerators containing milk, juices, coca cola, ginger ale, and root beer.  Near the refrigerators were two small wooden tables and four cane-backed chairs. Colorful posters advertised tootsie rolls, coca cola, lucky strikes and Campbell¡¯s soup.


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    Behind the display cases Luigi and Regina Corbino waited on half a dozen customers.  Vinny¡¯s mother was a short, rather plump woman with a round, jovial face. By contrast, his father was a stocky, muscular man, almost bald, with large black-marble eyes and deep furrows in his cheeks.


    ¡°Mama, Papa, look who¡¯s here?¡± shouted Vinny as he went behind the counter looking for something to eat.


    ¡°Joshua, hello.¡± said his mother, smiling over the counter at Josh as she sliced some corned beef for an older woman.


    ¡°Who won the big game?¡± asked Luigi, wrapping a block of cheese for another customer.


    ¡°The Bears, seventy-three to nothing over the Redskins,¡± replied Josh.


    ¡°I felt sorry for those Redskins today,¡± commented Vinny.  ¡°They were slaughtered. They couldn¡¯t score a point.¡±


    ¡°What you like to eat Joshua?¡± asked Vinny¡¯s mother.


    Josh looked over the food in the display case.  ¡°Whatever Vinny¡¯s having is okay for me.¡±


    ¡°Two pastrami sandwiches on rye,¡± said Vinny.  ¡°I¡¯ll get us a couple of root beers.¡±


    ¡°Joshua, how is your mama?  Your papa?¡± asked Luigi.


    ¡°They¡¯re okay.  My dad¡¯s working the swing shift today.  He might be patrolling this area.¡±


    Luigi came closer to Josh and leaned over the counter. ¡°He¡¯s a good man your papa.  He keeps the neighborhood safe.  Everyone in the neighborhood likes him.¡±

 Chapter 8

    It was already dark outside on that December night when Jim Sanders came around the corner at O¡¯farrell and Mason and entered Corbino¡¯s delicatessen.


    Vinny and Josh were finishing their food. Behind the counter, Luigi Corbino was handing change to an elderly woman leaning on a cane who had bought a pound of fish.  Regina was helping a customer find something on one of the shelves.  Jim¡¯s silver police badge glistened under the ceiling lights.


    ¡°Evening Lew,¡± said Jim, waving to Luigi as he walked into the shop.  ¡°Evening Regina.¡±


    The owners both waved and bid good evening as Josh spun around in his chair at the sound of his father¡¯s voice.  ¡°Hey Dad!¡± he shouted.


    Jim walked over to the table where the boys were seated.  He looked intently at Josh.  ¡°I thought you¡¯d be here. I phoned home a while ago and your mother said you didn¡¯t come home for supper like you said you would.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s my fault, Mister Sanders,¡± said Vinny.  ¡°I suggested we come here for something to eat after the football game ended.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I was going to phone mom but I forgot,¡± said Josh.


    ¡°Who won the game?¡±


    ¡°The Bears, by seventy-three points,¡± replied Josh.


    ¡°Difficult night for the Skins, but they¡¯ll be back next year.¡± Jim went to choose a beverage as the boys finished their food.


    It was then that a man in his thirties entered the deli. He wore a long, heavy overcoat, dark pants and sneakers.  His face looked swollen, and somewhat bruised, as if he¡¯d been in a fight.  One eye was half-closed.  His hands were buried in the pockets of his overcoat as he walked over to the counter.  Luigi recognized him and began to smile.


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    ¡°Hey, how are you?  You don¡¯t look so good.¡±


    ¡°I want some food,¡± the man demanded.


    ¡°Take your pick.¡±  Luigi pointed to the food in the display case.


    ¡°Gimme that ham.  All of it.¡±


    ¡°You want the whole thing?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    As Luigi wrapped the ham Jim Sanders came walking toward the counter carrying a bottle of Coca-Cola.


    ¡°Three dollars, forty-five cents,¡± said Luigi.


    The man whipped a hand gun out of his pocket.  ¡°I don¡¯t have any money.  I¡¯m hungry.  Gimme it!  And the money in the register!¡±


    Luigi handed the package to him and opened the cash register.  The man reached across the counter, grabbed a handful of bills from the register and started to run toward the door.  Jim Sanders shouted ¡°Chuck!!¡±


    Chuck Nagel stopped and looked over at Jim.  ¡°Don¡¯t try to stop me!¡±


    ¡°It isn¡¯t worth it Chuck! Put the money back!  I¡¯ll pay for the food,


    but give him back the money!¡±


    ¡°Food ain¡¯t enough no more!¡±  Chuck Nagel turned and ran to the


    door.


    ¡°Chuck stop!!¡±  Jim Sanders drew his gun.  ¡°Drop the gun!¡±


    Chuck Nagel spun around and fired his gun at Jim.  Jim fired twice as


    he fell to the floor.  Chuck Nagel fell clutching his stomach, as the money lay scattered across the floor.  Josh and Vinny ran over to Jim as Luigi came running out from behind the counter. The two men lay sprawled on the floor, a river of blood between them, their lifeless arms outstretched, only inches apart.


    Josh fell to his knees beside his father.  ¡°Oh my God!!  Dad!!  Dad!!¡±  He cradled his dying father in his arms.  ¡°Quick, phone an ambulance!!¡±


    ¡°Yes, I phone!¡± shouted Luigi as he ran back to the counter.


    Regina and Vinny knelt on the floor beside Josh and his father.  Vinny held Jim¡¯s arm and felt at the wrist for a pulse.


    ¡°His heart?¡± asked Josh, his voice choked with emotion.


    Vinny had tears in his eyes as he slowly shook his head.  Josh glanced over at the other man. ¡°Chuck Nagel.¡±


    Hours later, when the phone rang, Susan Sanders, who had always been a light sleeper, awoke immediately.  She reached across the bed to the night stand and picked up the receiver.


    It was the precinct commander.  His voice began to crack as he told Susan what happened.  She sat up on the edge of the bed, tears streaming down her face.  A few moments later Josh came home, his face grim and tear-stained.  He walked slowly across the apartment and into his mother¡¯s room.  Without a word said, he sat on the bed and put his arm around her.

 Chapter 9

    After the funeral Susan Sanders, the Corbino family, and members of the police force who knew and worked with Jim gathered for a brief reception in the Sanders¡¯ apartment. Josh told his mother he would come later.


    When he left the cemetery, Josh went for a long walk at the beach, remembering his father and the good times they had together. Josh remained stoic during the funeral service, but as he walked alone near the sea his emotions poured forth and he wept openly, for only the sea could hear him, and the seagulls that gathered at his feet knew only the sound of the teardrops that fell softly on the sand.


    Late that afternoon, when Josh returned home, the reception had ended and most of the people had left; only Vinny remained behind, waiting for Josh.


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    After Josh embraced his mother, he and Vinny went outside to sit on the fire escape. Vinny broke the silence.


    ¡°Where did you go? I was a little worried.¡±


    ¡°I went for a walk along the beach.¡±


    Vinny unburdened himself. ¡°Josh, if I hadn¡¯t suggested going to the deli, you would have been at home and your dad wouldn¡¯t have come looking for you.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t blame yourself, Vinny. My dad liked your folks, and he often patrolled that area.¡±


    ¡°Did you recognize the man who shot him?  I heard you say his name.¡±


    ¡°He was the man in the shadows. My dad told me they were friends.¡±


    Vinny saw the hurt, the anguish on Josh¡¯s face.  ¡°It was a tragedy Josh¡­for both of them.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t ever own a gun.  I hate guns.¡±


    Vinny was quick to change the subject. ¡°Josh, if you need some help, I mean money, I can talk to my folks.  You could work part time after school in the deli. They need someone to deliver groceries.¡±


    Josh didn¡¯t want to return to the scene of the crime, but he knew they¡¯d need money. ¡°Thanks Vinny, that¡¯ll help. I have to take care of my mom.¡±

 Chapter 10

    A father¡¯s death can leave a life-long scar, a wound, a hole in a young boy¡¯s life, one that only time can heal. For Josh, the months passed slowly after his father¡¯s death.  He lost interest in school, in football, in most everything.  His mother sat alone for hours in the apartment, looking out the window, seldom speaking.  At school he remained distant from most of his classmates except Vinny, until one day Bridget Harris walked over to the bench where Josh was seated eating his lunch.


    ¡°May I join you?¡± She sat down beside him and opened her lunch container. ¡°The guys miss not having you on the team this year.¡±


    ¡°There are more important things to do than playing football.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry about your dad, Josh.  I know you two were really close.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, we were close.¡±


    ¡°I hope you aren¡¯t going to follow in his footsteps¡­I mean, to become a policeman.¡±


    Josh glanced sharply at the girl.  ¡°What¡¯s wrong with being a policeman?¡±


    She recoiled at the harsh tone in his voice.  ¡°I don¡¯t¡­I mean¡­how he died¡­I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d want to carry a gun every day.  It¡¯s so dangerous.¡±


    ¡°He protected people.¡±


    ¡°Yes, he did.¡±


    Josh looked more closely at Bridget.  Her long blond hair was draped around her shoulders, her blue eyes appeared to sparkle in the sunshine.  Her cute, upturned nose made her look like a Barbie doll.


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    ¡°Where¡¯s Jonesey?¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°Dan Jones, your boyfriend.¡±


    ¡°Oh, he found a new girl, Jocelyn Shoresman.  She¡¯s in the choir with Dan.¡±


    ¡°You two weren¡¯t that serious?¡±


    ¡°For a while, but we didn¡¯t really have that much in common.¡±


    Josh and Bridget saw each other often after that. They went for long walks along the beach, talking about school, their dreams, their plans for the future.   When they were together Josh could relax; he liked the girl, and he knew that Bridget liked him.  She filled a hole in Josh¡¯s life; he left football behind that year, did some sketching instead, and for a while the memory of his father¡¯s death no longer consumed him.


    But the future, for them and for the country, remained uncertain.   The war in Europe had spread across the continent. By 1941 Germany had occupied most of central and western Europe and threatened to do the same to England. Then came Pearl Harbor.


    Josh and his mother gathered round their radio in the kitchen to hear President Roosevelt tell the country that the Japanese air force had attacked the Naval base at Pearl Harbor in Hawaii.


    ¡°They attacked from the air,¡± commented Josh. ¡°I¡¯d do the same to them, and to the Germans.¡±


    His mother saw the look of anger, the look of determination on Josh¡¯s face as he listened intently to the President, leaning forward in his chair, his ear pressed against the radio.


    ¡°Josh, you¡¯re eighteen. You could be drafted to fight in this war. We lost your father; I don¡¯t want to lose you too.¡±


    Josh looked up from the radio. ¡°You won¡¯t lose me.¡±


    ¡°But if they want you to go you have to¡­unless you want to go on your own.¡±


    ¡°You mean volunteer?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°No mom¡­I can¡¯t leave you here alone.¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t have to worry about me, Josh.  I have friends, women from the church. I¡¯ll be all right.¡±


    ¡°They pay wages to the pilots. If I go, I promise to send the money home.¡±


    She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.  ¡°You¡¯re a good boy, Josh.  Your father would be proud.¡±

 Chapter 11

    On the deserted football field at their high school alma mater, Vinny and Josh threw a football back and forth.   It was a gray, overcast day in the city.  Winter break had closed the school.   Some of the boys in the senior class who had turned eighteen were already registering for the war-time draft.  It had only been weeks after the attack on Pearl Harbor, but the entire country was mobilized for war.


    Josh and Vinny had graduated in June that year.  When the war came, Vinny was already making plans to take over his parent¡¯s deli and open another one.  Being overweight and slow on his feet, he knew they wouldn¡¯t draft him.  But he was determined to make good on his own.


    ¡°You think I can drop enough weight to fight in the war?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll see.  Run to the end zone; I¡¯ll throw a long pass.¡±


    Vinny turned around and ran toward the goal posts.  His large round belly wriggled like a bowl of jelly, and his stubby legs moved back and forth in quick short strides.  Josh waited until Vinny came close to the end zone, then he threw a long, beautiful pass that sailed over Vinny¡¯s head.  Vinny stumbled and fell in the end zone as he reached for the football.


    ¡°Sorry Vinny!¡±


    Vinny scrambled to his feet, retrieved the football, and ran up the field.  ¡°Sorry for throwing it too far, or sorry that I can¡¯t run fast enough.¡±


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    ¡°I¡¯m sorry that we won¡¯t be seeing each other for a while, and I¡¯m sorry that I won¡¯t be around to watch you grow rich. You had the best grades in high school, Vinny.  You¡¯ll make something of yourself.  Be thankful that you won¡¯t be going to war.¡±


    ¡°You made your decision?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I did. I¡¯m going to join the Army Air Force.  They have training sights across the country.  After that I¡¯ll be sent overseas.¡±


    ¡°What about your mom?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t want to leave her, but she said she¡¯d be okay.¡±


    ¡°My folks¡¯ll come over and visit her while you¡¯re away.  But what about Bridget?  You going to marry her when you come back?¡±


    ¡°We haven¡¯t talked about that.  She doesn¡¯t want me to go.  She thinks the war is a lost cause.¡±


    ¡°She might be right. When will you come back?¡±


    ¡°When the war is over Vinny¡­when the war is over.¡±


    ¡°Is war ever over?¡±


    The question went unanswered, as they stood at mid-field and looked around the stadium. ¡°Lots of memories here,¡± said Vinny.  ¡°Good memories for you, Josh, right here on this field.¡±


    Josh remembered the day he broke the scoring record, but as he looked down the field at the goal posts, he realized his dream to become a pro may never come to pass. Life, as it often does, had intervened; something more important was at stake.


    Vinny saw the far-away look on Josh¡¯s face. He pointed toward the end zone. ¡°Okay superman, you¡¯re going to catch the winning touchdown pass.  I can¡¯t run too fast, but I can darn well throw this thing.¡±


    Josh ran down the field toward the goal posts.  Vinny cocked his arm and let go a long, high-arching, spiraling pass, one that appeared to be suspended in the air, until it came down gently into Josh¡¯s waiting arms as he crossed the goal line one last time.

 Chapter 12

    The banner stretched across the living room read ¡°Bon Voyage Josh.¡±  Below the banner a large punch bowl and assorted snacks adorned a long table covered with a white linen table cloth.


    In the living room Josh, his mother, Vinny and his parents, Bridget, and a handful of other friends and relatives were drinking, snacking and chatting as Artie Shaw¡¯s soaring clarinet played on the phonograph in the corner.


    Everyone was well dressed except Josh.  He wore jeans, a red long-sleeved flannel shirt, and sneakers.   He and Bridget were in conversation.


    ¡°There¡¯s still time to change your mind Josh.¡±


    ¡°What, and spoil my own party?¡±


    ¡°This is serious. I won¡¯t sleep a wink until you come back.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll be awful tired.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be exhausted, and it¡¯ll be your fault.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be writing letters.¡±


    She sharpened her tone. ¡°Josh, you don¡¯t have to join this war to prove something, to me or to your dad.¡±


    ¡°My dad?  What makes you think I¡¯m doing this to prove something to my dad?¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t every boy want to be as good or better than his father at some point in his life?¡±


    ¡°Maybe so, but I¡¯m doing this for myself, for the country.  If I wanted to be like my father I¡¯d be joining the infantry.  I¡¯d be a foot soldier, carrying a rifle.  I don¡¯t ever want to have a gun in my hand.  I decided to fly, to be a pilot.  I can see better up there, Bridget.  I can see more of the enemy, and they won¡¯t be able to see me. I¡¯ll be the eagle eye in the sky.¡±


    Bridget felt reassured. ¡°You¡¯ll be a darn good pilot.  I only hope this war ends soon.¡±


    ¡°It will.  I¡¯ll make sure of it.¡±


    ¡°It better end soon. I can¡¯t wait for too long.  You will come back, won¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°I have to. I may want to marry you some day.¡±


    ¡°You mean that?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


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    ¡°If you¡¯re going to be that serious you could have at least dressed up a little.  Look at those boys. They¡¯re all dressed in coats and ties, for you!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be dressed up soon enough, in a tailor-made uniform, compliments of the Army Air Force.  I¡¯ll send you a photo.¡±


    Vinny, who¡¯d been talking to some other boys around the same age, excused himself and went over to Josh and Bridget.


    ¡°You two love birds want to dance?  We have Artie Shaw on the record player.  Sweet music for dancing.¡±


    Josh looked at Bridget.  ¡°You want to?¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    As they started to dance Josh¡¯s mother and Vinny¡¯s parents looked on, smiling.


    ¡°Susan, your Joshua, he¡¯s such a handsome boy,¡± said Vinny¡¯s mother.


    ¡°But he could use a few dancing tips from an old pro,¡± said Luigi, as he strolled over to the dancing duo.  ¡°May I cut in?¡± Josh graciously consented.


    Chris Roper, a big, burly, blond-haired kid, almost as big as Josh, walked over to Vinny.


    ¡°Hey Vinny, your dad¡¯s quite a dancer.  But doesn¡¯t he look a little like that Dictator Mussolini?¡±


    Vinny turned to the boy, who was half a foot taller.  ¡°No, he doesn¡¯t look like Mussolini.  He looks like my dad.¡±


    ¡°If they draft me, I may be going over to fight your own people.   I didn¡¯t know you Italians were such Fascists.¡±


    Vinny became incensed. ¡°I¡¯m no Fascist, Chris.  And neither are my parents.¡±


    ¡°What about your grandparents?  They¡¯re still over there in the old country, aren¡¯t they?  I¡¯ll bet they like Mussolini.¡±


    ¡°You better take that back,¡± said Vinny.


    Josh walked toward them as he heard Vinny raising his voice.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on, boys?¡±


    ¡°Vinny can¡¯t take a joke.¡±


    ¡°Those didn¡¯t sound like jokes,¡± replied Vinny.  ¡°We¡¯re every bit as American as you are.¡±


    ¡°Chris, go get yourself some fruit punch,¡± said Josh.  ¡°And there¡¯s plenty of food left.¡±


    ¡°Aye Aye, Captain. But shouldn¡¯t we have some spaghetti?¡±


    ¡°That does it!¡± yelled Vinny, as he lunged at the bigger kid.  Josh stepped in between them.  ¡°Knock it off!  Chris, you won¡¯t last a day in the Army!  You used to be a decent kid.  A good teammate when we played football together.  What happened to you?¡±


    ¡°War¡­that¡¯s what happened to me.¡±


    Chris Roper turned away from them and walked out of the apartment. Vinny¡¯s folks came over; his mother put her arm around Vinny.


    ¡°He meant no harm.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s scared,¡± said Vinny¡¯s father.  ¡°First the depression¡­now another war.  Everyone is scared.¡±


    That evening, after everyone had left, Susan Sanders knocked on the door to Josh¡¯s room.


    Josh lay on his bed, his hands behind his head, looking at the ceiling.  His suitcase stood on the floor beside his bed.


    His mother came in carrying a small wooden box. ¡°I thought you might want to look at this before you leave tomorrow.¡±


    Josh sat up on his bed.  ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°Your father¡¯s medals.¡± She opened the box and sat beside Josh.  ¡°There¡¯s also a photo of him, taken in France in 1918.¡±


    She held up the photo, showing Josh¡¯s father in uniform, holding a rifle, an open trench behind him.  Josh looked at the photo, then he picked up the three medals.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t Dad ever show these to me?¡±


    She took his hand as she spoke. ¡°Your father once told me, after the war ended, that receiving medals wasn¡¯t something to be proud of. No one goes to war to win medals, Josh.  But I brought them to you because these medals were given to your father for saving the lives of people who might have been killed if he hadn¡¯t acted as he did on the battlefield.  War can¡¯t be about destroying lives¡­it has to be about saving them.  I want you to remember that when you¡¯re over there.¡±

 The Good Fight. Chapter 13

    After seven months of rigorous flight training Josh was flown across the Atlantic to a base in England. He was assigned to one of the Fighter Groups in the US Army 8th Air Force, and by the end of 1942, after some additional training, he was flying the P-47 Thunderbolt fighter on escort missions for bombers, attacking railroads, bridges, and oil refineries in occupied France, Belgium, Holland and Poland, targets that were vital to the German war machine.


    Josh never forgot what his mother had told him. He often thought about the people in those towns and villages, people who might have been killed if he hadn¡¯t attacked the German military from the air. The medals he received ¨C a distinguished flying cross and silver star - were sent home, along with his letters and his wages.  He wrote every week to his mother, to Bridget, and to Vinny. He wanted to know what life was like back in the States, though he seldom told them about his life and death existence during the war.


    Back home the entire country had rallied to support the war effort. Factories were converted to build planes, tanks, and munitions. Josh¡¯s mother formed a group of women to promote war bonds and establish local health programs through the Red Cross; Vinny and his parents closed their deli to work in the shipyards; Bridget volunteered in the hospitals to help with the wounded.


    For Josh, their support lifted his spirit, and though he badly missed his home, his mother, his friends¡­after eighteen months of war an innocent eighteen-year-old kid had become a dedicated, seasoned fighter pilot.


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    In May 1944 Josh and the other flyers in his squadron were summoned to an urgent meeting at the air base.  The commanders of the base stood in front of a large map of Europe stretched across the wall behind them.  The map was color-coded; red-white-and-blue American flags dotted portions of the map, while gray-and-black swastikas designated the German positions.  The subject was Operation Overlord, soon to be known as D-day, the Allied invasion of Europe.


    As the fateful day approached, the pilots shared their hopes and fears, stories about their lives and their families back home. On D-day they would be flying the P-51 fighters across the English Channel and into enemy territory. Josh knew that some of them would never see their families again, and he wrote home often, pouring out his heart to his mother, whose health had been failing for the past year.  And then, three days before the invasion, word came that she was dying.  That same night Josh spoke to his mother by phone from the base. Barely able to speak, she wanted to know if he was well, if the war would end soon.  Josh told her about the impending invasion, how critical it would be to winning the war.


    ¡°Have faith dear,¡± his mother told him.  ¡°Come home soon.¡±


    ¡°I want to come home right away. I¡¯ll request a two-week leave from the base commander.¡±


    ¡°No, I want you to stay there. Stay and fulfill your mission.  They need you Josh¡­God bless you.¡±


    Reluctantly, Josh complied with her wishes.  He told her that he loved her, that she would always be in his heart, and when he hung up the phone tears poured from his eyes.  He knew he would never see his mother again.  That night he prayed¡­for his mother, for himself, and for his fellow pilots.  Their fate, and the fate of the world, was at hand.

 The Good Fight, Chapter 14

    Hours after the Allies began their historic landing on the beaches at Normandy, Josh looked down at the Omaha beach battlefield as he flew his P-51 Mustang fighter across the English Channel and over the French mainland.  The beach was littered with dead bodies, armor, smoke from naval and air bombardment, soldiers running, firing, desperately trying to advance across the beach.


    Josh and two other fighters were escorting a bomber group to an area near Paris. The Luftwaffe posed no threat in the area, but after the bombs were dropped a German convoy and armament train appeared, heading toward the coast. The fighters attacked, determined to cut off the German¡¯s supply lines.


    It was then that things took a turn for the worse.  Flying close to the ground Josh heard an explosion¡­and another¡­and another.  Anti-aircraft fire!  He knew the sound well; he¡¯d been through it a dozen times or more during the war.


    Josh glanced out the window of his plane and saw one of the fighters on fire.  Moments later the plane went into a nose dive.  Josh closed his eyes tightly for a moment, unable to look at the streaking fireball as it crashed, killing his fellow pilot.


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    The attack continued as bursts of anti-aircraft fire and clouds of black smoke filled the air near Josh¡¯s plane. He climbed another thousand feet to avoid the anti-aircraft barrage as the squadron began to scatter across the sky.


    But then it came¡­a direct hit on the left wing of his plane.  The impact from the flak rocked the plane to one side, and Josh yanked on the joystick.  For a moment he steadied his plane, but another shell hit the engine, and the plane began to lose altitude.  Josh pulled back on the joystick, but the plane continued dropping.  On the edge of panic, he made one last attempt to steady the plane, but it was too late.  The fighter was going down, turning over and over in a corkscrew motion as the fire in the engine neared the cockpit.  Josh shouted and pushed open the cockpit window.  He tugged at the parachute harness fastened to his waist and jumped out of the plane.


    As he hit the cold air and began free-falling, he saw his beloved plane go screaming toward the ground, and then, as he pulled the rip cord and felt the parachute break his fall, he saw the plane disappear amongst a grove of trees.  Moments later he heard a horrible explosion, and then he saw the burning wreckage of his plane, the flying machine that had been his life-line through so many battles.  As the parachute brought him down tears filled his eyes until he landed in a field somewhere in Normandy.

 Chapter 15

    When he hit the ground, Josh bent his knees and rolled over on his side to soften the impact.  For a moment he thought he¡¯d twisted his ankle, but as he scrambled to his feet there was no lingering pain.  He quickly took off the harness and gathered the parachute.  He could smell the burning plane and saw billows of smoke rising from beyond the trees adjacent to the wheat field.


    Josh looked around and saw another wooded area on the other side of the field, away from the wreckage of his plane.  He thought the Germans would go to the plane first before they¡¯d come after him.  If he ran in the wrong direction, he could be face-to-face with them, and he¡¯d be an easy target.  He decided to run toward the woods on the opposite side of the field.


    As he entered the woods, he could hear the faint sound of voices from across the open field.  Quickly he ducked behind a fallen tree and saw half a dozen German soldiers running into the field.  Josh buried his parachute under the tree and threw a blanket of leaves over it.  He took short deep breaths to calm his nerves.   He was alone, without a gun, in enemy territory.  The war he saw from the air was now right in front of him.


    There were times when he wanted to be like his father.  He wanted to be a soldier.  He wanted to see the eyes of the enemy he¡¯d sworn to defeat.  But for one blinding moment, as he watched the Germans roaming through the field, looking for clues, looking for the American¡­Josh wondered what he would do if he had a gun¡­if he came face to face with another young man, who happened to be German. Kill or be killed. It always sounded so simple, so profound, and yet so terrible and God-forsaken.


    In the center of the field the Germans stopped, pointing their rifles in different directions, swiveling their heads, their eyes hidden in the shadow of their helmets pulled down across their foreheads.


    One of the soldiers, somewhat taller than the others, shouted orders to the other five men.  Two of the soldiers ran off across the field toward a narrow dirt road and two others sprinted away in the opposite direction, where another wider road bordered the field.


    Josh watched the soldiers intently, as the taller German signaled to the last remaining soldier and they started running toward the wooded area where Josh lay hidden.


    Josh jumped to his feet and ran as fast as he could through the woods, darting between the trees.  He ran until he thought his lungs would burst, until the German voices had faded away.   At last he came out of the woods and found himself in a small clearing, surrounded by neatly trimmed dark green hedgerows that were five or six feet tall.  There were dairy cows grazing in the clearing.  Josh ran past them and leaped over the hedgerow, catching his arm on one of the sharp branches.  He landed face down on his stomach.  For a few moments he lay gasping for breath, listening for German voices.  When the only sound he heard was the mooing of the cows he felt a moment of relief, a moment of triumph. They may have given up, he thought. They may be looking in a different area or they¡¯ve been called back to their headquarters. For the moment he felt safe.


    Josh rolled over on his back and looked up at the sky.  There were no clouds, and there were no planes.  The sky was calm, dead calm.  Josh thought about his squadron, hoping they made it back safely to the base.


    Josh put his hands over his face and closed his eyes.  He said a prayer for his fellow pilots.  Then he stood up, and as he turned away from the hedgerow he saw a small farmhouse about two hundred yards away. There was a small barn near the farmhouse, and a corral adjacent to the barn.  Beside the corral was a small chicken coop.  On the other side of the farmhouse he could see a field flanked by hedgerows, and a road that ran alongside the hedgerows.  More cows were grazing in the field, as well as a handful of beef cattle.  In a separate area between the hedgerows a dozen sheep were grazing in a small fold.  It was an idyllic looking place, tucked away in a small valley.


    Josh walked slowly toward the farmhouse.  At first, he saw no one, but then, as he passed by the barn, he heard someone singing.  It was a young woman¡¯s voice.  He stopped, and before he could decide whether to hide, or where, a girl appeared, walking slowly out of the barn, singing in French, carrying a basket filled with milk bottles.


    When she saw Josh, she froze.  She stopped singing as her hand went to her mouth and the milk bottles fell to the ground.  She started to scream, but Josh held up a hand to stop her.


    ¡°It¡¯s all right!¡± he shouted.  ¡°American! I¡¯m American!¡±


    He started to walk toward her. He thought she would walk away from him, but she didn¡¯t. He came closer and stopped ten feet away from her.


    ¡°Do you speak English?¡± He spoke softly, worried that he would still frighten her.


    ¡°A little.¡± Her accented voice was calm, as if he had somehow reassured her that he meant no harm.


    ¡°The Germans shot down my plane.¡± Josh pointed toward a hill that rose up from beyond the sheepfold. ¡°I have to head north, back to our troops. I¡¯m sorry I startled you.¡±  Josh looked down at the milk bottles scattered on the ground near her feet.   ¡°Let me help you with that.¡±


    He walked over to her.  The girl took a few steps back as he approached.  Josh knelt to the ground and picked up the milk bottles.  He placed them in the basket.  The girl reached out and took the basket from him.  For a few moments they looked at each other in silence.


    The girl was young, about the same age as Josh.  She was dressed for the farm, in a plain white blouse, blue jeans, and a pair of high rubber boots. She had long black hair, draped naturally over her shoulders, and a sweet, rather innocent looking face, highlighted by a pair of small, apple red dimples that filled her cheeks. Her lips were full, and parted, revealing the whisper of a smile, and her eyes were extra-large, dark brown, and incredibly calm.  They remained fixed on Josh, waiting for him to continue.


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    ¡°Are you alone here?¡± he asked.


    A shadow of suspicion crossed the girl¡¯s face.


    ¡°There are German soldiers in the area.  Are you safe here?¡±


    ¡°My father is away. He will come soon.¡± She pointed to his arm.  ¡°What happened?¡±


    Josh turned his left arm over and saw blood coming from a gash near the elbow.  ¡°I must have caught my arm on the hedgerow when I jumped over.¡±


    ¡°I have something in the house. Come.¡±


    He quickly followed the girl away from the barn, across a grassy area and into the small house.  It was a tiny, A-frame house.  The walls were made of stone, the floor was made of oak.  In the front room stood a wood-burning fireplace, a tall stone chimney, and a solid oak table near an old cast-iron stove.


    ¡°Please, sit here,¡± said the girl, gesturing to a wicker chair near the table.


    Josh took a seat.  The girl put her milk basket on the table and hurried into an adjacent room.  Moments later she appeared carrying a large ball of cotton, a bandage, and a small bottle of mercurochrome.  She sat down beside Josh and stretched his wounded arm across the table toward her, exposing the gash.


    He observed her closely as she dipped the cotton ball in mercurochrome and washed the bloodied area.  It stung a bit, but Josh hardly felt it, as he wondered what would happen to them if the Germans found him.  They would almost certainly kill him, and probably kill the girl for harboring him.  He had to move on.


    She applied the bandage to his arm and he immediately got up from the table.  ¡°Thanks, but I have to go. I have to find the American troops up North.  We sent a huge force over here today to liberate your country.¡±


    Josh started toward the front door, but then he stopped and turned to the girl.  ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°Christine.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Christine.  My name is Josh.¡±


    The girl¡¯s face suddenly went cold.  ¡°Wait!¡±


    The girl ran to the window near the door.  ¡°What is it?¡± he asked, but then he heard the voices¡­German voices.


    Josh went to the half-open window and stood beside the girl.  He saw the taller German and the other soldier walking toward the barn, talking to each other, gesturing with their rifles.  The tall German looked briefly in the barn, then pointed toward the house.


    The girl closed the window and looked at Josh, her face red with fear.  ¡°Quick!  You must hide!¡±


    Josh glanced around the room.  ¡°Where?¡±


    ¡°Come with me!¡±  The girl took his hand and they ran across the room and through a doorway into a small bedroom.  There was a large, wide bed in the center of the room and a tall armoire in the corner. Another door lead to the outside.


    Josh ran to the door and yanked it open.  One of the Germans was coming around the side of the house.  Josh closed the door and locked it.


    ¡°No! Over here!¡± screamed the girl, pointing to a small recessed area behind the armoire.


    ¡°What about you?¡±


    ¡°If I hide, they will break in and find us both.  I can tell them I have not seen you.¡±


    Josh wedged himself in behind the armoire and pulled it closer to him.  The girl ran out of the room as the German pounded on the back door and jiggled the locked door handle.  She quickly put away the left-over bandages, cotton and mercurochrome.  Moments later she heard pounding on the front door, and the soldiers began shouting in German.  The girl composed herself for a moment, then walked to the door and opened it.


    The soldiers pointed their rifles at her.  The taller German said, ¡°Sprechen sie Deutsche?¡±


    The girl shook her head.  The other bullet-headed German grinned at


    her.  ¡°Eine schoene frau. What is your name?¡±


    She hesitated. ¡°Camille.¡±


    ¡°You speak English?¡± asked the taller German in a thick, guttural


    accent.


    The girl shook her head.  ¡°Only a little.¡±


    The taller German gestured with his rifle for the girl to stand aside.  ¡°No,¡± she said, bracing herself against the door frame. He pushed her aside and they went in the house. ¡°The American pilot¡­you saw him?¡±


    ¡°Pilot?  No.¡±


    From behind the armoire Josh could barely hear. He thought about dashing out the back door, but he was almost certain the Germans would hear him; and he couldn¡¯t bring himself to leave the girl.


    ¡°He escaped from his plane near here,¡± continued the taller German.  ¡°You saw no one?¡±


    ¡°No¡­no one,¡± replied the girl.


    ¡°You are alone here?¡± he asked in a harsh tone.


    ¡°My father will come.¡±


    ¡°And who is your father?  A poor farmer?¡±


    The other German walked toward the bedroom. The taller one followed.  ¡°Wait!¡± shouted the girl.


    The soldiers stopped and turned toward her.  ¡°Yes, I did see someone. He was running along the road near the hedgerow.  But I could not tell if he was American.¡±


    The taller German walked toward the window and looked across the hedgerow at the road beyond.  ¡°You saw someone there?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± replied the girl, her voice firm, confident. ¡°What are going to do if you find him?¡±


    ¡°Kill him!¡±


    The girl held her breath as the soldiers went into the bedroom. She watched the bullet-headed German look under the bed as the taller German leaned against the armoire. Through a crack between the wall and the back of the armoire Josh caught a glimpse of the initials GR tattooed above the elbow on the German¡¯s right arm.


    ¡°Klaus, come on,¡± he said.  ¡°We better go along that road and look for him.¡±


    The other German turned his bullet-headed, cruel looking face toward his comrade.  ¡°Kleinschmidt, you trust this girl?  I think we better be certain she is telling the truth.¡±


    ¡°I have no reason to lie!  I hate this war, and all who fight against each other! Germans¡­Americans¡­I hate you all for killing¡­for murdering¡­!  Leave me alone!¡±


    The girl quickly walked out of the bedroom.  The two soldiers followed her.  In the front room the bullet-headed German turned to the girl.  ¡°Fraulein, you have Jewish blood in you?¡±


    The girl shivered with fear.  ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Are you certain?¡±


    ¡°Klaus, let it be,¡± said the taller German.


    ¡°You have too much Slavic blood in you, Kleinschmidt. It makes you soft.  We pure Germans have a different view.¡±


    ¡°I know how to find out if you are telling the truth¡­if you have Jewish blood.¡±  He leaned his rifle against the table and started to undo his pants.  The girl stepped back against the table.  The German grabbed her and tore her blouse.  She slapped him, then he slapped her back and threw her onto the table.


    Josh heard her scream; he pushed aside the armoire and ran across the room.  Near the doorway he stopped as he heard ¨C


    ¡°Klaus!  Enough!¡± The taller German went to the table and pulled the other one away from the girl.  ¡°This is no good¡­we have to go after the American.  Besides, she is no Jew.  She is wearing the cross.¡±


    The other German took notice of the wooden cross around the girl¡¯s neck.  He zipped his pants and took his rifle.  The girl lay sobbing on the table.  The German spat at her and she screamed ¡°Get out!!¡±  The soldiers then turned away and left the house.


    Josh ran out of the bedroom and went to the girl.  She sat sobbing in a chair at the table.  He knelt beside her and brought her to him. ¡°It¡¯s all right.  They went away.¡±  He wiped away the tears from her cheeks. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for what happened. You are a very brave girl.¡±


    She turned to him with tears in her eyes.  ¡°Please go¡­¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t leave you here alone.  What if the Germans come back?¡±


    ¡°You must go. I will be all right.  My father will come.¡±


    Josh helped her up and they stood facing each other.  She put one arm over her torn blouse to hide her embarrassment.


    ¡°You can¡¯t stay here alone, Christine. What if the Germans come back before your father comes?  Please¡­let me stay here for a while.¡±

 Chapter 16

    Josh stood by the window near the back door, looking up at the hill that would be his escape route.


    Christine came in holding a glass of wine. ¡°Drink this. It will help the pain in your arm.¡±


    ¡°French wine¡­thanks.¡±


    ¡°My father makes it.¡±


    ¡°Thank him for me. But where did your father go today?¡±


    ¡°To buy supplies, for the farm.¡±


    ¡°What about your mother?¡±


    She sat on the edge of the bed, looking at a photo of her parents on the nightstand. ¡°My mother died, at the start of the war.¡±


    Josh put the wine glass on the nightstand and sat beside her. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    She glanced at the bandage on his arm.  ¡°Does it still hurt?¡±


    ¡°Not anymore, thanks to you.¡±


    He flashed her a smile and she turned to face him.  ¡°Where are you from in America?¡±


    ¡°San Francisco.¡±


    ¡°Is it beautiful there?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a big city¡­a beautiful city.¡±


    ¡°And the people¡­are they beautiful?¡±


    ¡°You mean the women?  Some of them are beautiful. But know this. I have yet to meet one more beautiful than you. I won¡¯t ever forget what you did for me.¡±


    As their eyes met he leaned over and kissed her.  For a moment she pulled away from him. He kissed her again, caressing her as they lay on the bed.


    Sometime later Josh unlocked the back door and looked outside to make sure it was safe.  He didn¡¯t want to go¡­he didn¡¯t want to leave her, but the war that everyone hated was pulling him away.


    He looked across the room at Christine. She stood by the bed buttoning her blouse.


    ¡°What about your father?¡±


    ¡°He will come¡­and you must go.¡±


    Josh put on his flyer¡¯s jacket as Christine went to him. Around her neck she wore a small hand-carved wooden crucifix attached to a silver chain. She removed the crucifix and put it around his neck.  ¡°This will keep you safe.¡±


    Josh ran his fingers over the crucifix.  ¡°What about you?¡±


    ¡°I will be all right.¡±


    Josh wanted to believe her, but he feared the worst. ¡°If I can, I¡¯ll come back.¡±


    Christine smiled, as if she believed he would come back. Josh then put his arms around her, kissed her tenderly¡­and a moment later he was gone.


    As he ran across the field, through the sheepfold and up the hill, Josh did not want to look back.  He wanted to look ahead, to meeting up with the Allies as they advanced across Normandy toward Caen, and onto Paris.


    But when he reached the top of the gentle green hillside overlooking the farmhouse and the sheepfold below, Josh stopped, and turned for one last look.  On instinct he fell to the ground, shielding himself from view behind the hilltop.


    ¡°God no,¡± he said to himself.  Four German soldiers, the two that came to the farmhouse, and two more that he saw in the field where he landed, were riding in a jeep on the road that ran alongside the hedgerow near the farmhouse.  They were far enough away, though at first Josh didn¡¯t know if they had seen him.  And then they stopped.  They weren¡¯t looking in his direction; they made no move to come after him.  They continued talking among themselves as he watched, fearing the worst.  One of the soldiers pointed to the farmhouse.  Josh clenched his jaw; his whole body stiffened, as he watched the four Germans march toward the farmhouse.  Why did they come back, he wondered.  What did they find, what made them suspicious?  Josh closed his eyes tight for a moment, hoping the girl would be all right, that they wouldn¡¯t harm her.


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    The soldiers arrived at the farmhouse and pounded on the door.  A few moments later the girl appeared, and the soldiers began questioning her.  Josh wanted to shout to her, to tell her to run, to run to him.  He heard himself screaming, yet no one could hear.


    Josh watched in horror as one of the soldiers slapped the girl and held her at gun point while the other three soldiers went into the house.  Moments later they returned, and the tall German motioned toward their jeep.  Two soldiers grabbed the girl¡¯s arms and dragged her away.  ¡°God damn you bastards!¡± he shouted, as the four soldiers pushed the girl into the jeep and rode away until he could no longer see them.  Josh pounded his fists on the ground, then he stood up on the hilltop and took one last look at the farmhouse, before he turned away and ran down the other side of the hill.


    That night, after running for miles through the lush rural countryside of Normandy, avoiding the roads and open fields where the Germans were most likely to patrol, Josh threw his exhausted body on the ground in a secluded wooded area.   Surrounded by darkness and the silence of the night, for one awful moment he felt as if he were alone in the universe. Closing his eyes, he wrapped his fingers around the wooden crucifix, and prayed for the girl who saved his life.


    When he awoke the next morning, he quickly headed North. About an hour later he emerged from a hedgerow to find a German infantry division marching along the road in his direction. He quickly dove back over the hedgerow and found a secondary road, where a farmer, a russet-faced, husky man in his fifties, dressed in overalls, smoking a corn-cob pipe, came riding along the road in a hay-wagon. After a brief, animated discussion, the farmer told Josh to hide under the bales of hay that were stacked in the back of the wagon.  Josh complied and on they went, until sometime later, when the hay-wagon stopped, Josh found himself at another farmhouse, surrounded by fruit orchards and a small vineyard.


    The farmer beckoned Josh to go into the house, and as they entered, they were greeted by half a dozen men, some as young as Josh, others as old as the farmer.  They were seated around a large rectangular table on one side of a spacious living room.  A large map was spread out across the center of the table.  Most of the men were smoking.  Glasses of red wine and half empty wine bottles were scattered around the table.


    The men looked approvingly at Josh as the farmer introduced him.


    ¡°Gentlemen,¡± said the farmer, ¡°we have another recruit for our job tomorrow.  He speaks English.¡±


    One of the resistance fighters, a younger man with a mustache and a half-grown beard, raised his wine glass.  ¡°The Germans will be pleased.  We¡¯ll send him in first.¡±


    The other men at the table laughed.  Josh did manage a smile, but he quickly countered.  ¡°Thanks for the offer, but I won¡¯t be staying.  The Germans shot down my plane. I¡¯m going North to locate our invasion force.¡±


    An older balding man wearing horn-rimmed glasses leaned over the table, rested his chin on his hand, and spoke seriously as the farmer gestured for Josh to have a seat at the table.


    ¡°Monsieur¡­we welcome you, and you can thank Maurice for bringing you here.  This is his home.  We are friends of his, fellow farmers and citizens.  We have been fighting the Germans for four years.  We know the area, the land.  We know from radio broadcasts where some of your soldiers are located after the invasion.  We could help you find them. Unless, of course, you wish to join our group.¡±


    He stopped speaking; the other men seated around the table remained silent.  Josh, seated at the far end of the table, leaned back in his chair and looked at the farmer seated next to him.


    ¡°Thank you for helping me.¡±


    Josh then looked around the table at the others.  ¡°How soon will the allies be in the area?¡±


    ¡°Perhaps two or three days,¡± replied the man in the horn-rimmed glasses. ¡°Until then you¡¯re welcome to stay here.¡±


    Josh considered his options.  ¡°Okay¡­I¡¯ll stay.¡±


    ¡°Welcome to our cause! Have a glass of wine.¡±


    The farmer poured the wine for Josh. One of the younger men asked, ¡°How did you come to this area?¡±


    ¡°Three days ago, my plane was shot down. I had no weapon, and the Germans were in the area.  I came to a farmhouse similar to this one, but no one was home except a young girl named Christine. She helped me, she let me hide in her house when the Germans came looking for me.  She risked her own life to save my life.  When I left the house, I saw the Germans returning, many of them.  They took her away; I don¡¯t know where, or why. I wasn¡¯t able to help her.  After that I ran for miles, until I saw Maurice. But I¡¯d like to find out what happened to the girl.¡±


    ¡°It is good that you care about this girl,¡± said the older man.  ¡°Many of us have lost family and friends to the Nazis.  Where is this farm where the girl lived?¡±


    Josh pointed to the map.  ¡°I wish I could tell you.  It must be at least ten miles southeast from here, some distance from Caen.  There were cows and sheep, and there were dirt roads on either side of the farm.  That¡¯s all I remember.¡±


    The farmer put a hand on Josh¡¯s shoulder.  ¡°There are hundreds of farms like that in Normandy, and that farm is far from here.  If the Germans took her away, she could be sent to a concentration camp, or labor camp.  It would be most difficult to find her; and we have our jobs to do here.¡±