Honoring a last request....

 

Some times in life....you just have to do the right thing, especially when asked

by a complete stranger. And so it was for this young man who purchased

an antique trunk at a road side sale. (This is a copy- writed story, and not 

part of Tales Unleashed.) Enjoy the read....and be aware of that next 

purchase you make along your way. SS 

                                         The Trunk    ©

Daylight was quickly being extinguished as I pushed the car up

the county road that headed home. The sugar maples had dropped

at least half of their leaves…and they quickly gave way to the push

of the tires on the ’56 Ford. Oh that glorious Ford…pure steel and

heavy as a tank…a car you felt secure in…and you knew that it would

get  you home thru almost any set of circumstances.

It was getting late in the day….the sun had just started to descend

behind the trees in the West as I made my way up a county road

that I had not driven in years… it was a little off the beaten path..

but who knows what treasures might be found around the next

corner.

Just yards ahead and to my right an old farm house came into

view, surrounded by broken down pines and a fence that looked

well in need of repair. The mailbox out front leaned dismally to

the left, looking much like the house itself which was crying

for some attention. A small sign tacked onto the mailbox

post simply said, “many items for sale…make an offer”.

I braked the Ford quickly as the car rolled up close to the

driveway…..a cloud of dust engulfing all within a few yards

of my approach.

 

I exited the car and strolled through the tall grass and walked

to a rickety lawn chair that sat in front of a pile of junk…well…

maybe the man’s treasures…you know the old saying.

His head perked up from what appeared to be a quick nap as

I approached and he said to me “Make an offer on anything

you might like…gotta git rid of some of this stuff before they

come and carry me away.” He took a swig from an old canteen

that looked like world war two vintage and re-looped it around

the front of the chair.

“Been collectin’ this stuff way too long now…and much of it

belonged to the Mrs… but she’s been gone now many years ..

so it’s time it’s out of here.”

My eye scanned from left to right, seeing not much of anything

I’d be interested in…but one item pulled me to it. The old

trunk had a bunch of other stuff piled on top of it.. and I

slowly removed the items…revealing what appeared to be a

very old trunk…you know the ones that your grandmother

kept in the attic with family heirlooms in.

I quickly released the trunk from it’s doomed position and

flattened it out on the long grass which really was in need

of mowing.

 

“I’ve got the key that goes to that trunk if you want to make

an offer.”  My eyes quickly scanned the outside of the trunk…

it’s aged and cracked black covering hinted that it was at least

from the 1940’s…maybe before.

“What are you asking for it….just as it is…without me even

looking inside?” The old man sat up on the edge of his chair…

rubbing his bearded chin as if it was going to give him a number.

“Well young fellow….I’ll tell you…you give me $20.00 for it.. and

It’s yours.  Don’t think you’ll find much in it…but I really haven’t

gone thru it stem to stern.”

    “Deal” I blatted out quickly before he could change his mind.

As I lifted the trunk and headed to his position, I could see he

was getting a well worn key off his chain. As he handed it to me

I traded the key for a folded twenty that I had in my right pocket.

“Pleasure doing business with you” I said as I hurriedly headed for

the car…hoping he wouldn’t change his mind on the deal he had made.

    As I drove away from the old house I had a sense that this

trunk was something special, but I had no idea why I would

think that.

   I left the trunk in the car overnight as it was getting late and I

had encountered a long day, not including the stop at the old

man’s place.  The next morning I arose early… I was anxious.

 I placed the trunk on the kitchen table, looking it over very

carefully as I fixed my morning coffee and listened to the over

night news on the radio. There was something odd about this

trunk…it felt familiar, almost friendly….but I thought why should

that be? I’ve never owned trunk before… and had really never

looked at one..even in some of those fancy antique stores that

I’d  been into over the years.

Yet, this trunk seemed inviting. I gave the latch and lock a quick

squirt of 3 in 1 oil and gently eased the old scratched key into place,

turning it ever so gently. Nothing. I exerted a little more force…and

within a couple of moments the latch gave a loud pop…and it sprang

at me…almost like a lion after a fresh piece of meat.

The ‘old smell’ hit me directly in the face as I gently lifted the top

of the trunk to its open position. My eyes glance quickly from right

to left trying to take a review of what was in front of me.

Old pictures to the left, stacked neatly by order of their size …

aged newspapers on the right… yellowed and tattered from being

prisoner in this dark and murky place that had no sunlight.

I removed all the contents gently, placing them on the table

nearby…..a small cloud of dust arose after each pile was

brought out into daylight. Interesting I thought. How long had

these items been in place… and why hadn’t the owner wanted to

take the time to sort them, keeping and throwing as he went.

But, it was not my concern, and I continued to handle the items…

curiously looking at each bundle as they came out.

The last picture at the bottom of the trunk was of a younger man…

looking to be in his twenties, in a military uniform appearing quite

handsome and robust. I removed the photograph with great care…

two of it’s corners were bent and nearly detached. Flipping the picture

over I read the following which had been printed in what appeared

to be pencil…although faded, it’s message was clear as if had been

written yesterday.

‘Dad…I wanted you to have this…it was snapped of me just

last week and I wanted to post it to you before we head to

Pearl Harbor next week. Hope you are well…love you lots…

take care of yourself.’ In an elegant written signature it was

signed ‘your devoted son William Garson. Nov. 27^th, 1941.

I stopped for a moment…..thinking of the dates in my mind.

Had his father sold me the trunk not aware that this photo

was inside? Perhaps. Either way, it had to be returned.

I immediately sat my coffee down, grabbed my keys and

headed for the door, I wanted to return the picture to his

Dad…I’m assuming who was the man who sold it to me.

As I drove up that same dirt road… I glanced over at the

picture which sat in the seat next to me….what a handsome

young man this was, and I was sure his father would like the

picture returned.

A hundred yards out from the old man’s place I saw the blinking

lights of an ambulance parked out front…and immediately

behind it, a Sheriff’s car… it’s flashing lights also illuminating

the shadows of the new day now in progress.

I grabbed the photo and ran to the house just as the ambulance

crew with stretcher in hand made it’s way thru the tall grass.

The old man, pale but somewhat alert seemed to recognize me

as I approached. “Mr. Garson…. Mr. Garson….I’m sorry you

are not doing well today…but I need to ask you about this

photograph.”

He raised a hand to the attendants to halt them in his

removal as I positioned the photo within a foot or so

of his direct eye contact. His demeanor went to immediate

sadness as he recognized the picture displayed before him.

“That’s my son William….he was 20 years old…in the Army,

and was killed the morning they attacked Pearl. His mother

died 3 months later from a broken heart… I had forgotten

all about the picture… placed it in the trunk fifty years

ago…it was too painful to look at. Do me a favor young man?”

I opened my mouth to speak but my throat was so dry, no

words came out…only a nodding of my head in and up and

down movement. “I’ve got a bad ticker so they say…this might

be my last trip out of the house…will you make sure William’s

picture is buried with me?”

Again, I was speechless, and repeated the head nod in the

affirmative. A strong hand grabbed my left arm and the

attendant’s voice cracked with “ we have to go sir…he has

worsened greatly in the last few minutes.”

With that, they loaded the senior Garson in the back of the

ambulance and it sped away. I stood there, numb, looking for

someone I could speak with about his situation. I asked the

deputy that was there if Garson had any family, and he replied that

he did not…he had lived alone many decades since his wife

had passed away.

I took the picture, returned to the house and sat in the

Kitchen, gazing at the old trunk… and the story that it had

brought to me just twenty four hours ago.

For the next day or two I kept tabs on Mr. Garson and his

condition…knowing that if he did not come home..the promise

I had made to him regarding William’s picture would be kept.

I wasn’t family…. I never knew this man……not until yesterday,

but sometimes you just are thrust into a situation that happens

to you, and this was one of those.

I knew that soon I’d be placing that picture with Mr. Garson…

and that he and his son would be together again.

It was a tough week…but it was my destiny, and when called

upon I would complete the task.

A night to remember ......

 

It was August, 1965...a mid summers night and perfect weather for

young Donnie to pick up his girl Elaine and head to the local drive-in 

movie. But this evening would turn into a rather strange one as you 

shall see.  It's story number 6 in Tales Unleashed. Read it and 

experience for yourself.....a night of summer fun could into a most

confusing evening. 

 

A Night to Remember

It was late August 1965, and Donnie was thinking for sure this would be the last hurrah of the summer before Labor Day arrived. After that he was off to his first year at a two-year junior college, just ninety miles to the east. Thinking about going to college put a few butterflies in Donnie. It would be the first time he had really been away from home, except for a summer scout camp years ago.

It had been a fantastic summer, and Donnie and his girl Elaine had spent tons of time together. But as summer’s long days started to wane, and fall approached, Donnie was concerned about how his relationship would survive him going away in just a couple of short weeks. He and Elaine had gone together since 8^th grade, lived four houses away from each other, and were voted the Most Compatible Couple in the school. Donnie knew in his mind that Elaine was worried about losing him to some new college girl who could easily sweep him away from her.

They really never talked about what would happen as he neared college, and he knew that this might be the weekend the discussion would go that route.

But for now, it was time to relax. It was a perfect week, weather-wise, and Donnie decided a long Saturday night at the Starlighter Drive In would be in order. As Donnie finished up his part time job at the filling station, his boss Bill Whipple gave him a wave as he rushed out the door.

“Big night tonight, Donnie?”

Jumping into the ’59 Plymouth his dad had got for him, Donnie yelled back, “Oh yeah boss. Elaine and I are Starlighting tonight. Might be one of our last before off to school in a couple of weeks.”

His boss was a big happy guy, in great spirits all the time and he had been very generous with Donnie in his time and pay. Following Donnie out to his car, he grabbed his arm, turned him around, and said, “Hey, you two have a good night, watch the driving okay? There are a few maniacs out there.” And with that he tucked a ten-dollar bill in Donnie’s soiled work shirt.

Donnie grabbed the bill and said, “Bill, you’re the best, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it kid. Give my best to the little lady . . . going to tuck her into your bag for school in a couple of weeks?” and he started laughing loudly as he headed back into the service station.

Within a couple of hours, Donnie had a quick bite to eat, showered, put on clean clothes, and went out front of the house to check the car briefly. He wiped it down, inside and out, emptied the trash bag, and tucked a new air freshener under his seat.

All was ready.

Within minutes he was in front of Elaine’s house and up the sidewalk knocking on the big oak door. Elaine ran out quickly and yelled back through the doorway, “Don’t wait up . . . I’ll be here before morning.”

That brought a quick reply from her dad who appeared in a tee shirt right behind her saying, “That’s not funny young lady. No later than midnight, okay?”

“That’ll be fine, sir,” returned Donnie as he escorted Elaine down the sidewalk and into the Plymouth.

Donnie and Elaine were off for the night, each in their own mind knowing that a discussion of their relationship might come up before the night was over. But for now, it was time to enjoy the date, the clear sky, the fresh night air . . . all was well.

Donnie guided the Plymouth through the gate after the attendant collected a five-dollar bill for the night’s entertainment. He hated to be parked too close to the screen. Back was better . . . way back . . . and preferably towards the center of it all if he could find the right space. Ah, there it was. He eased the blue and white coupe into the spot, reached for the speaker and barked, “Let the fun begin!” This got a quick laugh from Elaine, who had already slid over to his side of the seat.

The pair watched as the giant screen previewed some of the upcoming attractions that would play before the theatre closed around Halloween. Donnie thought in his mind that maybe he could make it home in late fall and they could do this again before the snow started to fly. Oh boy, he thought, here comes that discussion topic again . . . what about our relationship . . . do we each want to date others? Do we stay true to one another? Too much pressure. For now, it was best to enjoy tonight’s movie, Thunderball . . . a 007 movie that he definitely had wanted to see.

The seat was adjusted back slightly, Donnie pulled up the lap blanket he had in the back seat and the two got snuggled in as the opening credits hit the big screen.

It was to be a long movie, and at about one and a half hours in, it was intermission time. A quick break to go to the restroom, head to the concession stand for popcorn, candy, a soda, maybe a hot dog. The drive in food was always fresh and hot.

“I’ll go get some stuff babe. Keep my spot warm for me.” With that, Donnie was out the door heading about fifty yards to the cinder block concession stand in the rear. It was a great night, and the sky was clear with just a few light clouds. The crowd was good and there were only a few parking spots left that Donnie could see.

After grabbing two hots and two drinks, Donnie headed back towards the Plymouth, thinking more about the possible upcoming discussion than the rest of the movie. We’ll see how it goes, he thought. As he balanced the cardboard container with the hots and the drinks, he looked intently ahead trying to spot the Plymouth’s tail feathers which were quite remarkable, even in the dark.

He didn’t see the electrical cord that was stretched across a driveway and only partially covered. His left foot caught the cord and sent Donnie tumbling to the ground.

As the food and drink hit the road, Donnie’s last recollection was the pavement coming up quickly to his face, his forehead striking firmly and seemingly in slow motion, and then, all went dark for Donnie.

The next thing Donnie remembered was his eyes opening slightly, and seeing a middle-aged woman kneeling over him gently patting his face.

“Are you alright young man? Can you hear me young man?”

Donnie opened his eyes wide, taking in the surroundings. He was circled by about twelve people, many on their knees looking closely at him . . . the others clustered around tightly looking down at him as he laid on the ground.

“That’s a pretty nasty bump on your forehead young man . . . perhaps we should take you to the hospital to get it looked at.”

Donnie reached up with his left hand and felt the large lump on his forehead, feeling about half the size of a golf ball . . . and it hurt big time. His eyes weren’t quite focused as he sat up with the help of an older gentleman positioned behind him. Who were these people? They all looked older, well over fifty . . . there wasn’t a young person among them. And their clothes. Many of the women had blouses with sweaters over them, and others with old looking dresses with big flowers on them. The men were sporting sport jackets, some with shirts and ties on . . . what was going on here? Two fellows helped Donnie to his feet and the crowd around him started to disperse. The bigger mystery was yet to come.

Scanning ahead of him he didn’t recognize anything at all. Where did all these old cars come from? He could see old Hudsons, Pontiacs, Dodges and Oldsmobiles, but they all looked thirty years old . . . or older. On the screen, there was a war movie of some kind playing, with which he wasn’t familiar at all.

“You’re kind of young to be out this evening by yourself young man. Are you with your folks?”

Donnie looked at the man with the question who stood to his right. “Uh, no, just me and my girl Elaine. What’s this movie playing?”

“Opening night here for Back to Bataan. Actually it’s premiere night. That’s why there’s such a big crowd tonight . . . great movie so far.”

“I need to sit down for a moment,” Donnie said, as the man next to him took his arm and assisted him in getting to a nearby bench.

“You okay son? I think you look a little bewildered. That hit on the noggin’ must have been a good one.”

“I’ll be fine. I just need to rest for a bit.” With that Donnie folded his arms and put his head in his lap, trying to comprehend what was going on around him.

He wasn’t sure if five minutes, ten, or twenty passed by. But within a bit Donnie lifted his hand to examine his bruise. It was still there, and would be a fine color of black and purple by morning. As he raised his head and opened his eyes . . . the people in funny clothes and the old cars were all gone. In front of him he could see the parking area as it was just a little bit ago. He got up and headed to find his Plymouth and his gal Elaine. He spotted the car immediately and pulled opened the door, sliding in next to his gal.

“Where’s the food Donnie? Oh my God, what happened to your face? Did you get in a fight or something?”

“No, no,” replied Donnie. “I had some stuff and was on the way back, but fell down and . . . well, I really don’t know what happened after that. But I was gone from here for a while.”

“What do you mean you were gone for a while?”

“Well, I was here at the drive in, but it wasn’t today, it was a night like tonight a long time ago.”

Donnie and Elaine’s last night out of the summer had turned into something that was not of the ordinary.

A couple of days later, Donnie’s quiet demeanor got the attention of his father. Sitting on the front stoop, his father asked him straight out, “Are you okay, son?”

“Yep, fine Dad. Did you ever hear about a movie called Back to Bataan?”

“Why sure, son. It was huge, a big war movie, think John Wayne was in it . . . believe it was made back in the mid 1940’s.”

It was a lot for Donnie to contemplate. He knew the bump on his head was real. He also knew the people who attended to him in those old funny-looking clothes were real. And the movie on the screen? Yeah, it was real too.

He’d rent that movie on his first break from college. After all, he had previewed it, all on a summer’s night at the Starlighter.

Mishap on the Pennsy....

 

Welcome back to all my regulars...and a big hello for new readers

that may be joining for the first or second time. Hope you are all

getting some what back to some normalcy after this terrific year 

and a half we've experienced.  

This next tale was inspired by a friend I knew in the newspaper

business many years ago. The story is fictional, but if you are a

believer in luck, or bad luck, well, think this one will fit the bill.

It is not part of Tales Unleashed....this was a story published about

a year ago. 

‘Mishap on the Pennsy’     

 

     John Summer hadn’t traveled much by himself….living at 
home for the past fifteen years offered him little time to be
 adventurous.  His daily routine at the local newspaper office 
as a reporter kept him going to regular evening stops to gather, 
write and edit his stories for the next days’ 8:00 a.m. deadline.

   As John stood in the train station with his mother Martha…
he was most anxious….as much for her as for himself.

“Mom…do you really think this is a good idea? Traveling 
down to Scranton to see your sister Marge?”

“Oh I’ll be fine” she replied. “She’s not well you know…
and if I don’t make the trip today, well, every time the phone
 rings I worry about what news might be on the other end.”
 She continued with,  “You’re such a worry wart, I’ll be fine.”

     It was early in the day, just after eight, but Martha was always

the first to arrive for almost any event. “Mom…your train doesn’t

leave for another hour plus, let’s sit, get some coffee and relax

a bit.”  Martha closed her purse, shifted her hat slightly to the left

and responded, “Well, alright I guess…they wouldn’t dare leave

without me you know…my ticket number is 417 1313..and you know

that 13 is my lucky number!”

Giving a big chuckle John gently led her by the arm to the

coffee station, not far from her departing gate. For a woman

well into her seventies, Martha had kept her appearance up nicely

since her husband had passed many years ago.

As John and Martha enjoyed their morning coffee….John couldn’t

help but feeling very uncomfortable. “Mom…could you wait until

the weekend and then I could go down with you? I hate having you

on a train for two hours, alone, not knowing anyone.”

“Will you stop?” she said abruptly. “You’d think I was an

under-age child…or an invalid….I’ll be perfectly fine…and I won’t

talk to any strangers…unless of course they might be very

attractive older gentlemen and not wearing wedding rings.”

“Mother!” John quickly returned with, “What would dad say

if he heard you exclaim that?”

“He’d probably say go for it” which was accompanied by a

brisk and loud laugh that brought looks from two others

sitting close by.

As the pair enjoyed their morning coffee together, Johns’

feelings of uneasiness continued to nag him. He wrestled

with the newspaper in front of him, skimming quickly

through the sports section..and as always checking the

daily horoscopes.

Before reading his own for the day, he glanced at his

mothers’, she was a Gemini. John really didn’t believe in

all the mumbo-jumbo of astrology, but it was daily

entertainment…..just entertainment. Her horoscope

reading for this day said, ‘invest in oil today.’

John grinned and shook his head from left to right.

“What is it son?” his mother asked. “Oh nothing mom,

some things they put in papers every day to amuse you..

most of it is just a waste of ink.”

The time for Martha’s departure had arrived, and John walked

her to the gate, handed her the simple overnight bag

she had prepared. As he embraced her closely he said,

“Now give my best to Marge..and if you need anything..

just pick up the phone and call…you have the paper number

too right?”

“Love you son…talk to you in a few days” and with that

Martha took the three short steps up and into the railroad

coach.

 John returned to the office settling into the daily routine

 of the paper, making contacts on the phone for upcoming

stories he would be researching and writing. With almost

 fifteen years in, it just didn’t seem possible, but time has

a way of walking right by you.

It was well into the early afternoon when his boss walked into

his office and uttered, “John, you want to scoot down to the

Pennsy yard? Seems like there’s been an accident on the

southbound this morning heading into Pa….and there have been

fatalities.”

John’s quick deep breath and sudden jerk knocked over the

 stale coffee that sat near his note pad. Grabbing his hat

and jacket from the rack, John made a quick trip to the station

where just hours before had been his mothers’ departure point.

Several other members of the press, and some radio reporters

were all on hand… and had been shuffled into a meeting room

just twenty feet away from the main ticket windows.

As he and the others around him took seats, an elderly man

in his late seventies, looking very official, walked in and motioned

for everyone to be seated.

The silence in the room was deafening. The fifteen reporters,

photographers, broadcasters all straightened themselves with

bent ears for the news.

“At 1:13 p.m. this afternoon, the Pennsy train bound for Scranton

was T-boned by a Sinclair oil refinery truck which failed to

stop at a crossing near Groves Creek. I’m sorry to report that

there were thirteen casualties. We expect to have notification

to those families by nightfall. We’ll have more details to you

about the accident by ten p.m. tonight.”

And with that, the man at the podium adjusted his tie, did a

one eighty and left the room before any questions could be

brought.

John climbed into his station wagon and headed for the

newspaper offer…it was only a fifteen minute drive. His

boss, meeting him at the door started questioning him about

what he had discovered at the station.

John dropped his note book on his desk, looking up at his

boss and exclaiming, “I have to go home now…my mother…she

was on that Pennsy train today…and I know.. I know she

didn’t survive.”

Before his boss could reply with any comment at all, John

had left the building, heading home to receive the call that

he knew was coming.

His uneasiness that morning…her ticket number 1313…her

lucky number as she had reminded him. Then there was the

horoscope reading for her, ‘invest in oil today’… and the

accident itself at 1:13 p.m. Thirteen casualties.

Upon arriving at home, John hung up his jacket and put his

hat on the counter. Should he nap he thought? Maybe all

of this dizziness of the last few hours would just go away.

No, he wasn’t tired, he was just numb and limp. He knew the

 phone call would be coming before too long.

John knew that this was one story that he would not be

able to write for the paper.

John sat in his over-stuffed chair, put his feet up and flipped

on the television. He could see that there was a Yankees game

in progress and he turned up the volume as the announcer

said, “Can you believe it folks? We’re actually heading into

inning 13 here!”

John settled into his over- stuffed easy chair and waited.

The old AT&T rotary dial telephone was next to him…John

knew it would be ringing soon…bringing him the grim news

about today’s mishap on the Pennsy.