Cathy: I’ll take care of the dishes, guys. I am the hostess here, after all.
Leah: No, Cathy, I’ll help. You feel more like family. Besides, I have nothing to do for a few minutes. Grandpa always consults the Porcelain Oracle after breakfast at our house. Don’t you, Grandpa?
Grandpa: Leah, I accept the payback without any hint of hurt or remorse. I must do my morning oblations.
Cathy: Frank, you are a character! You should have been an actor with all your drama and impressions.
Grandpa: Yes, Cathy. So I have been told. All the world’s a stage, and we are all merely players. Shakespeare, “As You Like It”. [Exits with a flourish of his robe.]
Cathy and Leah take dishes to the kitchen sink.
Leah: He is the funniest grandpa I know.
Cathy: I’ll say. It feels so nice that you two are visiting at my B & B. Something in me, an old buried hurt, is healing in your presence. Like an old phantom pain has stopped aching.
Leah: Like the boney piles?
Cathy: How would you know about those old boney piles. Of course, Grandpa Frank. To tell you the truth, they made it feel like a landfill around here. Huge piles of slag, sometimes smoldering with a sulfurous stench. Even though the mines were five or ten miles away, the breeze would carry that nasty gas to our town along the river’s edge. Thank God they went out of business.
Leah: MMMM, HMMMM. I don’t know why, but that old river song is floating across my music brain.
Cathy: Which one?
Leah: Sam Cooke’s classic.
Cathy: I loved Sam Cooke.
Leah: A Change Is Gonna Come. Remember it?
Cathy: Of course, uh, the chorus…
It’s been a long A long time coming But I know a change gonna come Oh, yes it will
Leah: I sang it at the U, University of Miami. That song is so sad and hopeful at the same time.
I was born by the river, in a little tent Oh, and just like the river I’ve been running ever since
Cathy: [Tearing up] Oh Leah! you have a lovely voice and a wise old heart, girl. You do feel like family to me.
Leah: Cathy, what was it like growing up here?
Cathy: Well, Honey, it was slower then but friendlier. Kids were outside all the time. We didn’t have much on television till cable came along. Our radio stations were poor until the internet got here. Baseball in the summer months. The pool. One movie theater, which closed about 50 years ago. We did have sock hop dances and teen nights. They were always fun. Everyone went to church, and school was a lot like church back then. No funny business. But we were safe, Leah. We knew we were safe in our town. There weren’t these mass shootings and drug deaths and gangs. We had the skating rink in Dubois, football games in the fall, the town band. Oh, and beauty pageants at the pool on the Fourth of July.
Leah: Cathy, that sounds wonderful, like an old movie, Grease or American Graffiti.
Cathy: I love those movies. We were all still innocent then. I’m not sure where our innocence went.
Leah: Well, Vietnam for starters. Then Watergate. Then 911, let’s see, Iraq and Afghanistan… and….
Cathy: You’re right. All of those events were trust busters. Honestly, I quit paying attention after Reagan.
Leah: But living in bitter cynicism is not a good life for anyone, Cathy. Ignorance and bliss sound pretty good to me.
Cathy: I thought so too, but your grandfather popped my ignorance and numbness bubble with the hard truth about Mark and Steve. He said you knew also.
Leah: Yes, it was so awful– a horror movie inside an epic tragedy.
Cathy: But Leah, in some weird way, I felt some of my innocence, my sense of justice and decency returned. I can’t really say how; I just know I reconciled with something bitterly sweet. I found something I’d put away and forgotten. I can let go of the shame.
Leah: That seems to be the operative word for this weekend. Grandpa speaks about life being bittersweet pretty often. I’m learning that lesson too. Life can’t be sweet always. Sometimes we bite into sardines.
Cathy: Here he comes. Frank, are you done with your oblations?
Grandpa: I am, that I am. Yahweh and/or Popeye said that.
Leah: Sacrilege, Grandpa.
Grandpa: My dear Olive Oil, I didn’t think anyone could blaspheme Popeye.
Leah: Don’t be a pickle butt sandwich this early in the day, Grandpa.
Grandpa: Okay. So where to?
Leah: Why don’t we visit the cemetery and pay our respects to the gang?
Grandpa: Excellent idea. Cathy, care to join us?
Cathy: I’d be honored.
Grandpa: I’d drive but I am not allowed to any longer thanks to my bossy daughter.
Leah: Grandpa, you backed into Mom’s car in our driveway.
Grandpa: I didn’t know she had parked behind me.
Leah: Then you hit the brick column between the garage doors.
Grandpa: Yes, yes I did. Point taken. You drive.
Cathy: Frank, why don’t you sit up front and give directions to Mount Comfort?
Grandpa: I believe I did. I had some riotous dreams, though. You know the unconscious can’t tell time, so I zipped around from age 17 to 78, in and out of moments that I recall clearly, and maybe even into the future. So strange.
Cathy: Anything that you care to share?
Grandpa: Well, you can tell that any references to my deceased wife are verboten with Leah. She adored her Grandma, and I think part of the vigilant defense of her is about needing to finish grieving Hope’s death.
Cathy: No one wants to complete that grieving, Frank. I never wanted to say goodbye to my grandmother. She was my Rock of Gibraltar and North Star all in one.
Grandpa: And Sam?
Cathy: That still hurts me deeply. The social stigma and shame prevent me from letting him go. Just listening to Leah’s words about Sam deserving a Hero flag shook me. I wanted to agree, but the shame said “No. Impossible. He died at his own hand. Heroes don’t kill themselves.”
Grandpa: So, in your estimation Mark Milford and Stevie Mueller are real heroes?
Cathy: Yes! They gave the ultimate sacrifice. Theirs deaths have meaning and honor.
Grandpa: Cathy, I’m going to tell you something that might change your perspective, but it’s very sensitive stuff. On your honor as a Stone, as a human being with dignity, I’ll only tell you if you can assure me that it stays here. Can you do that?
Cathy: OOOhhhh, this sounds very deep and scary. Frank. Can you assure me that I will be better off knowing it than remaining ignorant?
Grandpa: If you choose ignorance, I can’t assure you of anything except continued ignorance. I believe you will benefit from the truth I have to share. It’s painful, but I believe it’s the reason Leah unloaded on you last night about Sam needing a Hero flag.
Cathy: Okay, Frank. She already knows this?
Grandpa: Yes, as of last night after dinner.
Cathy: All right then, if she can handle it, I can too.
Grandpa: Steve Mueller committed suicide. He was not killed in action.
Cathy: How is that possible, Frank? He and Mark were both killed in Vietnam, just a few days apart.
Grandpa: I know. Mark walked through a trip wire on patrol. Stevie was in the process of a dishonorable discharge when he heard of Mark’s death. That’s when he killed himself.
Cathy: Wait! I don’t understand what you’re telling me. Why would Stevie be discharged?
Grandpa: He was outed as a homosexual.
Cathy: What? But, how could they do that?
Grandpa: They could and they did, Cathy. Remember it was 1969, and homosexuality was still considered a mental illness if not a crime. It was reason enough to discharge a soldier then, probably still is with President DeSantis running rough shod over our Constitution.
Cathy: That is so, so… I don’t even have the words!! But he shot himself? Was that like a political statement or something?
Grandpa: No, it was very personal. He and Mark Milford… were lovers.
Cathy: My God!!! Two boys from Clearfield were gay lovers in Vietnam? Frank, I’m spinning.
Grandpa: I know. I learned slowly over years, so the shock has worn off. I used to believe that if the Army said something, then it must be true. I don’t believe that any longer.
Cathy: Let me try to get my head around this again… Mark and Stevie were drafted in 1968. And they both went to basic training together?
Grandpa: Yep.
Cathy: And then were shipped to Vietnam together?
Grandpa: Yes, but to different assignments. Mark was out in the field. Stevie was in Saigon behind a desk. He was always the smart one.
Cathy: Then Mark was killed by a booby trap while Stevie was being dishonorably discharged for being gay?
Grandpa: Sadly true again.
Cathy: And when Stevie heard about Mark’s death, he killed himself with his own sidearm?
Grandpa: Uh huh.
Cathy: But the Army covered it up by claiming Stevie was killed in action?
Grandpa: Yeah, they were covering up their own asses mostly.
Cathy: Sickening. Stunning. I’m reminded of that saying that the first casualty in war is the truth.
Grandpa: Yeah, absolutely every time, every war.
Cathy: This might sound perverse, but this horrible news somehow seems to justify my brother’s death also. All three of those boys were sacrificed for something that does not matter anymore. Only Sam had to spend two more years in that hellhole getting addicted to narcotics.
Grandpa: That’s what chaps my ass, Cathy. Those boys had so much life to live parallel to mine, you know? Families to raise, careers to develop, talents to share. Instead, they were turned into fertilizer.
Cathy: It’s all so ghoulish.
Grandpa: I’m the only one left to tell their stories, but nobody wants to hear this old crap. I’m the ghoul tale teller. I loved those guys, and still do. Telling their truth eases some of my guilt for not being there with them.
Cathy: Frank, thank you for pushing me out of my ignorance. I feel some relief knowing what I know now. And, listen: I’m so glad you did not go to that graveyard called Vietnam.
Leah enters dining room.
Grandpa: Good morning, Honey. How are you feeling this morning?
Leah: Sort of lost in time, Grandpa. I had troubled sleep last night. I kept seeing young men falling down dead on the streets around me. And then their corpses were ironed on to linen burial cloths. I know it’s bizarre, but then there were these Boy Scout honor guards playing Taps and raising the ironed-on men up flag poles like dried herring. Everyone saluted and a feeble gun salute was fired, but the sound was tinny and weak. I just stood there looking at these human figure flags hanging there with horrible, twisted faces. It was so frightening.
Cathy: Oh Leah, it’s okay, Honey. [Hugs her fully] Dreams are just trying to iron out the wrinkles of our waking life. Sometimes the laundry gets piled up and your dreams have to work faster than an Irish washer woman to catch up.
Grandpa: Cathy, that is profound… hmmm, our dreams iron out the wrinkles of daily life. Genius!
Cathy: Oh Frank! Really, it’s just a what? A metaphor about ironing. Not exactly poetry.
Grandpa: Poetry is creating with words, Cathy. And you just created an enduring image for me. Thank you.
Leah: Yes, Cathy. That really helps me to unwind the visions. I know my dream was about those damn flags and the waste of young men’s lives. So now they are on display like meat and fish at the Butcher Shoppe.
Grandpa: Whoa! Another poet has emerged. Wonderful simile, Leah. You see? Pain can cause us to grow, by Golly. If we honor the pain with our undivided attention. For as long as mankind has been warring, we have swept the pain under a carpet of grass– Flanders Field, Arlington, Gettysburg, Antietam– and then we have the gall to call these sacred ground. They are no such things. They are glorified waste pits for the rubbish of war. The horror of war lies moldering in the graves, while ignorant weapons dealers and politicians plot their next crusade. Where ignorant armies clash in the night…
Leah: Grandpa? Please tell us about those good old days when you and your friends were innocently mischievous. At least your friends were.
Grandpa: Sure, Honey Bunch. Right after breakfast.
Cathy: So, you had a nice dinner and some reminiscing, Frank, Leah?
Grandpa: Uh huh, for the most part. Those hero flags are like ghosts, though, Cathy.
Leah: I just cried at the last one, Miss Cathy. It was just so awful.
Cathy: That’s strange. We were tickled and pleased to put them up and honor those guys. I don’t think it ever occurred to anyone that they would upset a soul. What bothered you so much, Leah?
Leah: Their pictures didn’t upset me, Cathy. I’m, I’m, uh, glad that they are not forgotten. It’s just such an insufferable waste of life. Some of those guys had another 50 or 60 years to live, you know? Families to raise. Stuff to contribute to this world. Instead, it’s just a poster on a light pole and a name on a plaque nobody reads.
Cathy: I never thought of it that way. I guess we do try to sanitize the horror of war with our honors and medals and praise. But you are right, young lady, war is a horrible waste of life. My brother was never the same young man who went over there…
Leah: He should be on a flag also, Cathy. He was a delayed casualty of war. His injuries led to his addiction, and that addiction killed him. If A=B and B=C, then A=C. He should have a flag.
Cathy: You know we never talk about Sam’s life or death around here, Honey. It’s so shameful.
Leah: [Angrily] Yes, it is a shame that the very people who sent him into a senseless war would abandon him when he returned all messed up from their dirty little charade. The shame belongs to the powers that were in charge not your family. [Shifts to compassion] I’m so sorry for what happened to your brother, Cathy. I have two brothers. I can’t imagine the agony of losing one to heroin after a senseless war.
Cathy: Why, uh, thank you, Leah. It’s been such a long silence. I guess I’ve been afraid to even say it out loud. Thank you. [steps forward to hug Leah] This is different. Our father was a proud Marine, you know. He put pressure on Sam to serve. After Sammy’s death my dad lived with such guilt and a jilted sense of a just war.
Grandpa: Cathy,Leah, let me tell you about before all the horror, okay? Back in the days of innocence.
Leah: Please do, Grandpa. We’ve had enough doom for one day.
Grandpa: Okay, okay. Let’s sit here in the living room. Uh, [slowly tries to shift moods] looooong before all the carnage and pain, the five of us worked out a teenager’s dream plan to chase his, that is MY fantasy. In my case it was Linda Magee, fair queen, prom queen, most likely to be envied queen, goddess in residence of Dacio High School. Back then I was naïve enough to think that a girl like that would be interested in a skinny nerd like me, but I was crazy enough to try and break through the goddess dating lottery odds.
Leah: But, what about Grandma, your first love?
Grandpa: It will all make sense, Honey. I promise. Grandma actually engineered the great switcheroo that October.
Leah: What?
Grandpa: Yeah, she borrowed some official looking papers from her Aunt Marge at the administration office of Dacio. With a little help from Stevie, they doctored up an official transcript from Yardley Secondary School, complete with official forged signatures. They made the mock-up in art class that September, and it did the trick. I mailed it from Yardley after they mailed it to me. What an illusion! Everyone kept the secret too. We were loyal like that.
Cathy: I never heard this story, Frank. Though I do recall Linda Magee. She was a young man’s dream girl, a cross between Marilyn Monroe and Farah Fawcett. Married a military man as I recall. Moved to California.
Leah: But you graduated from Yardley, Grandpa.
Grandpa: I know, Honey, I was there. It’s just that for one week I was sort of AWOL from Yardley doing (air quotes) college campus visits. That’s what my fake excuse letter said. Of course, it took me a while to forge my mom’s signature on that letter. Fortunately, like Aunt Marge said, the office was so chaotic that a little fake excuse letter and fake transcript slipped right by them. Or maybe Aunt Marge made sure they were filed sight unseen. In any event, the schools were both believing the same lie we had concocted on that summer night near the graveyard.
Leah: And your parents? My grandparents. How did you fool them?
Grandpa: Sharky, uh Mark, gave me the idea to fake my orientation to Penn State. Once again, Stevie and your Grandma worked up a nice Penn State letter with official looking emblems and signatures. Uncle Phil and my folks talked about it, and sure enough, they beamed with pride that I was doing a week-long orientation at State College for academically advanced students. My folks even gave me $50 to cover incidentals.
Leah: You truly were not beaten enough, Grandpa.
Grandpa: I know, Leah, but that does not get the story told, does it?
Leah: Okay, keep going.
Grandpa: I was so jacked up about living out my fantasy of going to high school with my best friends, I was walking on air. I packed all of my coolest clothes. Had a fresh haircut. My English Leather cologne. And I rehearsed my come-on line with Linda.
Leah: Oh brother!! I cringe to even ask you, but what was your come-on line?
Grandpa: Well, I’ll admit that it did not land as intended.
Leah: Grandpa? The line?
Grandpa: I eventually asked her if she’d like to help a red-blooded American 18-year-old…
Leah: No!! Grandpa, you didn’t pull the “I’m going to ‘Nam in the morning, and can I sleep with you tonight” crap, did you?
Grandpa: No, I tried another approach.
Leah: Well?
Grandpa: Well, I think I’ll make you wait for it, Miss Bossy Pants.
Leah: What? Ummmarrrrrghhhhh. That’s not fair!!
Grandpa: I’ll tell you when you get over that hostility. Now, uh, Grandma and Stevie walked to the main office with me on the Monday of my week in heaven. I was nervous. They were giddy with all their magic tricks and the fact that they were actually working in real time, right in front of us. I felt punch drunk on luck. The first problem, though, was with my schedule. I told the lady signing me in what my classes were in Yardley. See, I tried to parallel Linda’s schedule so that I could work up to my come-on moment casually in one of our classes together.
Leah: You were a stalker, Grandpa!
Grandpa: Would you hold your comments until an appropriate intermission?
Leah: Okay, but this is weird. And if you hurt Grandma, it’s gonna get ugly in this B&B.
Cathy: Frank, should I call 9 1 1 ?
Grandpa: No need, Cathy, I’ve tangled with Miss Bossy Pants for twenty years. She’ll be fine.
Leah: So keep going.
Grandpa: Anyway, I could not get into any of her classes. They were full or I was not qualified. However, your grandmother and Stevie coached me into two of their classes—art and music.
That way we could have the same lunch shift as Linda, and I could execute my plan.
Leah: I’m disturbed that you used my grandmother to advance your plan to get into Linda Magee’s pants!!
Grandpa: Whoa, my dear. I ask you to withhold your comments and especially your judgments until an appropriate time in the future. Okay?
Leah: Okay.
Grandpa: So, off we went, just like that. If Stevie wasn’t introducing me to someone, then your grandmother was. My head was spinning from meeting all these people. And then it hit me: one of these folks was bound to run into my Uncle Phil and innocently rat me out. But I could not think like that in my cloud of anticipatory pleasure. All I could think of was…
Leah: We know already, Grandpa. [Under her breath] Perv.
Grandpa: Leah, I heard that.
Leah: Well?
Grandpa: Well, wait until you have all the facts, okay? Let’s see, that Monday was a blur. I know in art class we worked on a Homecoming float with a bunch of paper flowers and glitter. I just kept laughing out loud at how awesome my luck had been. The plan was working, and I’d see Linda at lunch.
Cathy: You know, this could never happen today, Frank. You can’t even get in the buildings now unless you’re buzzed in, and I swear the schools will bar code the students next.
Grandpa: Not a bad idea, actually. But even then, high school kids would switch their bar codes and get into mischief another way.
Cathy: I suppose you’re right.
Leah: So, Grandpa, what happened next?
Grandpa: Okay, I went to home ec or sewing class with your grandmother and then music with Stevie. Same deal. The kids were rehearsing Homecoming songs. Everyone wanted to meet me. I was all the buzz at Dacio, you know. The new kid from Philly.
Leah: Uh huh, thrilling.
Grandpa: Anyway, I was slavering by lunch time, and I was not even hungry. When the lunch bell rang, Stevie and I took off for the cafeteria, me scanning the crowd for Linda, who was tall for a girl, maybe 5’ 7” or 5’ 8”.
Leah: What color were her eyes, Grandpa?
Grandpa: Crystal blue, pale topaz.
Leah: Yuck. I hate blue eyes. Grandma had the prettiest mahogany brown eyes.
Grandpa: So anyway, we went through the line and grabbed a table with Sam and Mark. A bunch of their friends wanted to meet me, and before you know it, lunch was over. I didn’t even eat my sandwich. And I didn’t get over to Linda.
Leah: So sad.
Grandpa: Leah, don’t be a poop. Truth is, I was so nervous that I could not have approached her inside her beehive of followers. All the in-girl drones were buzzing around their queen. I was sort of relieved, and—
Leah: And what, Player?
Grandpa: And I started to realize that I was more excited about being with my friends than being intimate with Linda. She was a star from a galaxy far, far away. I thought about how my friends already knew and loved me. I didn’t need a rehearsed line for their approval. Besides, they had already done all this work to help me catch my crazy dream. Even your grandmother. She coached me in girl talk. Told me what she would like to hear from a guy, you know. Not all the body, sexy, me touch your boobs, talk. No, she said she’d rather hear about what made her different and special in non-sexual ways. When she spoke like that about women, different parts of me grew warm and attentive. My belly got soft and warm, and I noticed my breathing slowed while getting deeper. I’d say Hope Accordino, aka, Grandma, massaged my psyche.
Leah: I’ll bet you felt like hot stuff, Grandpa Romeo.
Grandpa: I felt like a turtle without its shell. Grandma was so sweet and kind and gentle. I got confused. She had always been one of the guys. Much cuter and more feminine, but still one of the gang. I didn’t understand this new division, but I knew I could not unfeel it. I started focusing on Grandma’s soft voice and skin, and her eyes, and how she moved. How I did not want her to go. She was the diamond in the rough.
Leah: It’s about time. Couldn’t you sense it in all that she did for you? I mean, she broke the law for you.
Grandpa: I could not see it even as I looked right at it. I thought she was just having fun helping out a friend. I could not imagine that she was sweet on me. That was all unconscious, I suppose. Anyway, I had the mission of asking Linda to the dance on Saturday. All my friends’ efforts were about that goal. The funny thing is that the closer I got to the magic moment, the less I wanted it. I’d heard that Linda dated a guy in college and another guy in the Marines. And there I was, a piece of uncooked bacon. My imagination hit the wall of hard reality. But still I was stuck with the obligation of asking Linda out. Otherwise, the entire week would have been a failure. I didn’t want to let my gang down.
Leah: Okay, can we pause here, Grandpa? I don’t think I’ll sleep if you continue deceiving my poor old Grandma.
Grandpa: Sure, that’s enough of Gone With The Wind for one night, I suppose.
Cathy: You will finish the story tomorrow, won’t you Frank?
Grandpa: Of course, Cathy. I haven’t been able to tell this story since Hope died. In a very faint way, it’s like she’s with me again, in the embers.
Scene 7 Strolling along downtown Clearfield’s gallery of Hometown Heroes. Still bright outside on a clear July night.
At Uncle Phil’s flag.
Leah: Tell me about Uncle Phil. He looks so dashing in this picture.
Grandpa: He was the kind of man that just did what had to be done. Whether it was a concert with the band or a dinner at church. He threw down without complaining. Kind of a Jimmy Stewart type. Managed the Sears store for decades. He knew everyone and everyone knew him. Just a real man. Hated Trump and the Fascists with a passion, though. He was a real patriot who actually fought a righteous war against fascism. He saw through all their crap. The polar opposite of Trump.
Leah: Oh yeah, Mom told me about those awful times. Did they really storm the Capitol?
Grandpa: Absolutely. How can that even be a question? Didn’t you get that in history class?
Leah: All that was scrubbed from the books, remember? Don’t say Gay; Critical Race Theory; anything that didn’t justify the White Right. President De Santis just kept erasing law after law. Even in college, a lot of that was too radioactive to discuss. And I am still in Miami!!
Grandpa: So you have a history gap, a reality gap. It’s one thing to suppress voting, limit adults’ rights, and all the other crap the Maga Maggots did, but to steal the truth from kids is the worst. You didn’t even know you were robbed. God! That was only, what? A dozen years ago. It’s as if you were orphaned and then adopted by fascists. Ahhhh.
Leah: My entire adolescence. Well, that’s why I have you, Grandpa, to fill in the gaps. I wish I’d met Uncle Phil, you know, spent a summer here like you did, Grandpa.
Grandpa: You can’t always get what you want. Rolling Stones.
Leah: Mom says that same thing.
Grandpa: Does she say the next lines?
Leah: I don’t think so. What are they?
Grandpa: “But if you try some time, you just might find, you get what you neeeeeed.”
Leah: Grandpa, you are channeling your inner Mick Jagger.
Grandpa: I can’t, Sweetie. He’s still alive, I think, in a clinic in Switzerland trying to get a full body transplant. Some folks just never die.
Leah: Well, that’s good to know. I want you to live forever, Grandpa. At least until you meet my grandchildren.
Grandpa: Not to worry, Honey Bun. I’ve got my future all sewn up.
Leah: Oh no, there’s the fart voice. Okay, Grandpa, pull my other leg now.
Grandpa: No fooling here, Missy. I have arranged for a retired taxidermist outside of Lancaster to stuff me, so I’ll be around for weddings, graduations, bar mitzvahs, and baby showers. I even picked out my new eyes, sort of a milky hazel.
Leah: You are impossible!! [Laughs reluctantly] I shouldn’t laugh. Grandma always said not to encourage you.
Grandpa: I know. I was there, remember? I wasn’t beaten enough as a child.
Leah: She always said that.
Grandpa: She got it from Clark.
Leah: Okay, that didn’t seem like something she made up.
Turning the corner and looking at the Hero flags
Grandpa: Leah, this is Mark “The Shark” Milford. Forever young.
Leah: Oh, he was young. He’s just a kid in the picture. My age!
Grandpa: 20 years old.
Leah: What was he like, Grandpa?
Grandpa: To be honest, he was a horn toad. Always going on about sex. He said what most of us thought about but were too dignified to blurt out. He had no filter.
Leah: Ick! I’ve known guys like that. Do you know how he died?
Grandpa: Yep, a goddamned trip wire.
Leah: What’s that?
Grandpa: I guess they would be called IED’s now. They were two grenades affixed to tree trunks next to jungle paths. Their pins were tied to one another by a sturdy wire down low. The lead soldier or point man would be looking everywhere with his head on a swivel as he led his group into the dense jungle. Looking everywhere but down. When his boot tripped the wire, he would be obliterated by two grenades firing simultaneously. His feet in his boots would be all that could be retrieved. Dog tags disintegrated.
Leah: Oh my God! That’s so disgusting!! Horrifying.
Grandpa: It gets worse, Honey.
Leah: How is that even possible?
Grandpa: Well, it’s complicated. Um, you see, a lot of Mark’s over the top horny act was a screen to cover his bisexual desires. He was more or less an equal opportunist pretender when it came to sex partners.
Leah: Really? Why didn’t he just come out with it? Oh, never mind, it was the late ‘60’s and I can’t imagine the taboos then, right?
Grandpa: Right. Yeah, and let’s cross the street here. I mean even Elton John had to hide who he was. See that young man on this pole?
Leah: Steven Mueller. Was he another one of your gang?
Grandpa: Yes, he and Mark were really close, though Mark always outed Stevie, you know?
Leah: You mean Steve was gay?
Grandpa: Yeah, queer, fag, gay, homo, whatever. The thing is that he and Mark were sex partners.
Leah: You mean, uh, wait. Mark hit Stevie with homophobic put downs while at the same time he and Stevie were secret lovers?
Grandpa: Something like that. Some sort of sadomasochistic control thing, I guess. There was a lot of commitment from Stevie, though. I believe he followed Mark to ‘Nam out of love and concern, trying to stay attached.
Leah: Man, that’s extreme devotion, I mean he literally put his life on the line, well, I guess he got killed too, just to follow his lover. Almost romantic in a perversely twisted way.
Grandpa: I wish it were that simple, Honey. See, when Mark got killed, Stevie was already being processed for a dishonorable discharge for his homosexuality. Seems somebody told somebody, and there you have it– the greatest threat to America’s security in an undeclared war was a twenty year old gay man in Saigon.
Leah: No way!! That’s crazy. I mean sickening!!
Grandpa: Yeah, so while he was waiting for more of the shame show, he heard of Mark’s death.
Leah: And so how did Stevie die if he was being discharged?
Grandpa: He shot himself.
Leah: Oh my sweet Lord!! But, how, you know, how did he end up on this flag for Hometown Heroes?
Grandpa: He was reported as Killed in Action. You know, that’s so much better than saying that the Army and society killed him through persecution. Less paperwork too.
Leah: [Gasp] I want to go now, Grandpa. This is too much for me to handle.
Grandpa: Sorry, Honey. Life doesn’t always have happy endings, but when we get back to Cathy’s, I’ll tell you about the happy beginnings, okay?
Leah: I hope so. This last bit has been soul crushing. Like my soul is going to vomit.
Grandpa: I know that feeling too well, Queenie. Let’s go.
Leah: Okay, Grandpa. I’m ready to eat some good Italian food.
Grandpa: You, my dear, are in luck. One of the best Italian restaurants is across the river on Market Street. It was Uncle Phil’s favorite—Moena’s.
Leah: What’s your favorite dish?
Grandpa: It was your grandma, but now I think it’s the veal parmesan. Fabulous.
Leah: You know that’s a sexist thing to say nowadays, Grandpa.
Grandpa: I said it anachronistically, Leah.
Leah: I’m not even gonna ask what you mean. Let’s go. Mom told me to keep a short leash on you.
[Five minutes later they arrive at Moena’s. Frank is warmly greeted by the grandkids of the original owners. They make a big deal over Leah.]
Gina: Oh, Frankie, she looks like Hope at the same age.
Grandpa: You think she’s that pretty?
Leah rolls her eyes as if to say “Impossible!” in any language.
Gina: [False scolding tone] Never tease a woman about her looks, Frankie.
Grandpa: Gina, I love her just as she is.
Gina: That’s better. Don’t be un burlone scherzoso.
Leah: What’s that?
Gina: In Italian it means ‘a teasing jokester’
Leah: Yep, that’s about right. Grandpa says your restaurant is as good as any New York City Italian bistro.
Gina: True!! If you ever wanna comma back here, Honey, you ah say the samma thing. Si?
Leah: Si.
Grandpa: May we sit by the window, Gina? This is sort of my nostalgia tour, and I’d like to show Leah as much of Market Street life as I can.
Gina: Sure, Frankie. Come with me now.
[Seated. Smiling at the menu and one another.]
Leah: Grandpa, I love it!! The town, the B & B, this place. It just feels so cozy and familiar. Why didn’t we come hear years ago?
Grandpa: Well, you guys were out west, and when you got back you were into every sport, club, and activity on earth. Then that magnet high/ prep school. Let’s see then there was Mikey, Eduardo, Vince….
Leah: Okay, I had a few admirers.
Grandpa: and college in Miami. I’m not complaining, Honey, but choices necessitate exclusions. Maybe it was just supposed to be now? How about that? You know, destiny?
Leah: [Sighs] I don’t know, Grandpa. Don’t get me wrong: I’ve had a blessed life. Travel, skiing, music and voice lessons, the works. But this is like time travel for me. I can’t wait to see Grandma’s house and folks who knew her too.
Grandpa: Good. I’m glad you’re on the same page with me. I was afraid you’d be politely bored.
Leah: No way! I’m soaking up John Prine while soaking in a jacuzzi in Scarlett O’hara’s bedroom. This is awesome!! You know “Please Don’t Bury Me”?
Grandpa: Of course…. “down in that cold, cold ground. No I’d druther have’m cut me up and pass me all around. Throw my brain in a hurricane….
Leah: Grandpa! Show some decorum.
Grandpa: Okay, how’s this? [Simply smiles at her for a long minute, and she returns the smile, reaches for his hand.]
Leah: I love you, Grandpa.
Grandpa: I love you too, Sweetheart.
Leah: Even though I’m a pickle butt?
Grandpa: Especially since you’re such a pickle butt. [Stares out the window.]
Leah: You’re looking at those hero flags again. Do you know some of those guys?
Grandpa: See that one across the street before the corner?
Leah: Uh huh.
Grandpa: That’s my Uncle Phil.
Leah: Oh! Gosh, I don’t know what to say. You must be proud of him.
Grandpa: Absolutely, it’s just this war carnage that tears a hole in my heart. He survived World War II, but lots of other guys did not come back alive… Korea, ‘Nam, Iraq, Afghanistan. Pointless annihilation.
Leah: I’m coming to see how you must feel. Do you know any of the others?
Grandpa: I sure do. I’ll point them out after dinner.
Leah: I’d like that. Tell me about them first, though so I have some frame to place them in.
Grandpa: Honey, it’s not a pretty tale. No matter how you tell stories of war, they are not glorious, righteous, or beautiful. They are tragic.
Leah: I can handle tragedy. Remember? I’m one eighth Irish, I think. Anyway, I’m full Italian now. Let’s eat.
Grandpa: That veal is calling my name. How about you?
Leah: The ziti with prosciutto sounds heavenly. Um, think we can have a toast to Grandma?
Grandpa: That requires wine, Honey.
Leah: Duh! How about the chianti?
Grandpa: I’m not allowed, remember? Your mom has turned into my jailer.
Leah: Just one glass, okay? Our secret.
Grandpa: [Smiles widely] I like sharing secrets with you. And I have a ton of them to share.
Scene 5: The B&B, Gone With the Wind, on 1st Avenue
Proprietor: Welcome to our Bed and Breakfast. I’m Cathy Wilkinson. [meeting in the circular driveway carport] I want to make your stay in Clearfield just as rich as it can be.
Grandpa: Cathy, I’m Frank and this is my only grand-daughter Leah. And she is not the least bit spoiled.
All: How do you do? Welcome, thank you, etc.
Leah: My grandpa is a joker, Ms. Wilkinson. I’m a little spoiled.
Cathy: Mine was too, and I treasure his jokes. Please call me Cathy. You were the only girl?
Leah: Yes, Ma’am, I mean Cathy. I was the only girl and the first born.
Cathy: I was the only girl and the baby, so there’s that…. Uh, As you can see our home is decorated in Civil War themes. Your room is the Lee room, Frank. Leah, yours is the Tara suite experience. You know the movie?
Grandpa: I actually read the book decades ago. Movie, sure. Honey, did you ever see the movie?
Leah: Uh, no. I’ve heard of it. It’s all about the South in the Civil War, right? Rhett Butler? Scarlett O’hara? Uhum, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn!” That’s all I know.
Cathy: Oh, you must see it. I have it on DVD if you’d like to watch it while you are here.
Leah: That would be wonderful, Grandpa, don’t you think?
Grandpa: It’s a long one, Honey. We’ll see if we have time to sit that long.
Cathy: Well, I’ll just leave the disc on the cabinet under the television if you choose to watch it.
Leah: Thank you. I think we want to just wash up and rest before dinner.
Cathy: Of course, Honey. There’s a Jacuzzi in your suite.
Leah: Whoo hoo!! [Leah skips up the oak staircase.]
Cathy: She is dear.
Grandpa: Yep, she’s a good one, if you love lemons, which I do. [Rubbing his lower back.] The road to Philadelphia doesn’t get any shorter, no matter who’s driving.
Cathy: Do you mind if I ask what you are planning to do in Clearfield. Maybe I can make some suggestions.
Grandpa: That won’t be necessary, Cathy. I’ve been coming to Clearfield for as long as I can remember. Used to spend the summers here with my Uncle Phil Cameron over on Euclid Avenue.
Cathy: Phil Cameron? Oh my, my parents knew him and his wife Cassie quite well, from church and the town band, and you know, the grocery store, and Sears. What a nice man he was.
Grandpa: Yep, he was all that and a lot more. Big Army guy in World War II. A real patriot.
Cathy: I believe his picture is on one of the Hometown Heroes flags on Main Street.
Grandpa: So I’ve heard. It should be too. He loved this country and fought in Europe valiantly. Heard they put his flag in front of what was the old Sears store. You know he managed that store forever.
Cathy: Yes, I remember it well. It’s a shame that the company went bankrupt. It was the original department store, I think, going back to the catalog days. Remember when their Christmas catalog would come in the mail? I’d fight over it with my big brothers to look at the new clothes. They wanted to look at hunting stuff and baseball gloves.
Grandpa: Oh yeah, we’d turn down the pages when we found what we wanted for Christmas. Didn’t always get it, but that wasn’t the catalog’s fault.
Cathy: I know. Those days were slower and poorer for sure, but we appreciated the things we did get. Didn’t we? [Quiet nod. Pause. ] Frank, what career did you follow in Philadelphia?
Grandpa: Well, I did a lot of things at first—worked as an editor for a short while. Hated that. Worked in construction for a while longer until my wife told me I should be a teacher. So that’s what I did until I got into social work later on.
Cathy: Hmmm, so you went to college?
Grandpa: Yeah, a lot of college. I started at Penn State but finished up at Temple. I could commute to Temple from Yardley on the bus.
Cathy: So, I’m guessing you would have graduated in 1970 or so?
Grandpa: 1968, just in time for Vietnam.
Cathy: Oh, I’m sure that was tough.
Grandpa: Not for me. I got a deferment because of college and asthma, but my buddies went. Most folks have no idea, and the ones who do have an idea don’t want to talk about it like the imaginary soldiers do. Most of my peers are dying off anyway, so all the ugliness of that era can be swept away with their ashes, I suppose. [ Silent pause. Sigh.] You know, folks who’ve never been in war like to pull the levers to send young men to die. Easiest thing in the world to start a war. So it is. Like a bar fight. Damn near impossible to end one. I’m trying to cleanse my granddaughter’s mind of the myths of war. Sorry, I’ll get off my soap box by dinner.
Cathy: I see. She’s so sweet and pretty. You’re lucky to have such a grandchild.
Grandpa: Uh huh, just don’t cross her. Her younger brothers are still afraid of her, and they’re both big guys now. It’s funny to see them tippy toe around her. They can both bench press her with one arm, but she’s large and in charge, the substitute mother hen.
Cathy: I’m sure it will all level out as they grow into their adult lives. I adored my brothers, but they were both much older than I was.
Grandpa: I hope so. They’re really good kids. I’ve been living with them since my wife died.
Cathy: I’m sorry, Frank. When did she pass?
Grandpa: Let’s see, three years ago in September. Stomach cancer. 75 years young. [ Silence for a full minute] Huh, she was a local girl, you know?
Cathy: What was her maiden name?
Grandpa: Accordino, Hope Accordino.
Cathy: I went to school with the Accordinos! Umm, one of them worked at the high school.
Grandpa: That was Aunt Marge. She got me enrolled there for a week in 1967.
Cathy: What? You went to school at Dacio?
Grandpa: Yep, best week of my life
Cathy: Wait… you went to Dacio High School for a week in 1967? How? There’s got to be a great story in there.
Grandpa: Yes Ma’am, you got that right. I don’t want to tell it twice, so when my grand daughter is around and it feels right, I’ll share my story with you. How about that?
Cathy: I can’t wait to hear it!!
Grandpa: And what was your maiden name, if you don’t mind?
Cathy: Stone, yep we lived on—
Grandpa: [ interrupts her ] Everett Avenue, second house on the right after it crosses over Mullen, right?
Cathy (wide eyed in astonishment): You, um, how did you know that?
Grandpa: Your brother Sam was a close friend of mine back before ‘Nam. You look just like him, but I guess you were in diapers then.
Cathy: Maybe first grade. Well, that’s a story no one wants to hear, huh?
Grandpa: The wages of war, Cathy. Nobody wins.
Cathy: But not everybody lost like Sam did.
Grandpa: War is the final refuge of the incompetent, Cathy. You know that saying? Sam was a good friend to me. I tell him that every time I visit his grave. The rest doesn’t matter.
Cathy: His kids are a mess. It breaks my heart.
Grandpa: War does that on a grand scale, I’m afraid… it’s, it’s just legalized murder dressed up in a uniform.
Upstairs in the jacuzzi Leah listens to Sam Stone on her phone while bathing.
Sam Stone came home To his wife and family After serving in the conflict overseas And the time that he served Had shattered all his nerves And left a little shrapnel in his knees But the morphine eased the pain And the grass grew round his brain And gave him all the confidence he lacked With a purple heart and a monkey on his back
There’s a hole in daddy’s arm where all the money goes Jesus Christ died for nothin’ I suppose Little pitchers have big ears Don’t stop to count the years Sweet songs never last too long on broken radios
Sam Stone’s welcome home Didn’t last too long He went to work when he’d spent his last dime And Sam, he took to stealing
When he got that empty feeling For a hundred dollar habit without overtime And the gold roared through his veins Like a thousand railroad trains And eased his mind in the hours that he chose While the kids ran around wearin’ other peoples’ clothes
There’s a hole in daddy’s arm where all the money goes Jesus Christ died for nothin’ I suppose Little pitchers have big ears Don’t stop to count the years Sweet songs never last too long on broken radios
Sam Stone was alone When he popped his last balloon Climbing walls while sitting in a chair Well, he played his last request While the room smelled just like death With an overdose hovering in the air But life had lost its fun There was nothing to be done But trade his house that he bought on the GI bill For a flag-draped casket on a local hero’s hill
There’s a hole in daddy’s arm where all the money goes Jesus Christ died for nothin’ I suppose Little pitchers have big ears Don’t stop to count the years Sweet songs never last too long on broken radios
Leah’s face contorts in sorrow. It’s all too deeply sad for words.
In mathematics, a Möbius strip, Möbius band, or Möbius loop is a surface that can be formed by attaching the ends of a strip of paper together with a half-twist. As a mathematical object, it was discovered by Johann Benedict Listing and August Ferdinand Möbius in 1858, but it had already appeared in Roman mosaics from the third century CE. The Möbius strip is a non-orientable surface, meaning that within it one cannot consistently distinguish clockwise from counterclockwise turns. Every non-orientable surface contains a Möbius strip. [Wikipedia]
Memories, it seems to me, are like the half twist optical illusion of a Mobius strip. You can see an adult version of your life in a dream, and as you follow its course in either direction, you are looking at the backside of the dream memory, your childhood or adolescence, or even your future. A push/pull dynamic is established that is disorienting, like a swirling corkscrew roller coaster. Disequilibrium is the result on the roller coaster as your inner ear crystals are jostled about. It takes a second for your eyes to stop spinning in a whirlpool and find the horizon to re-orient.
So it is in dreams and brief dissociations into memory. Even if you slow down the speed, you find yourself upside down and twisted, off kilter, no longer in your familiar static reality. In these brief periods of reality reboot, I believe unconscious connections can and do cross over our supposed fixed consciousness, revealing unwarranted knowledge or deeper wisdom. Intuition and mystery are birthed as tangible narrative. Though the parts have always been present, in these Mobius strip trips they fire together for the first time along the same neural pathway. The wall between conscious control and unconscious potential falls and time/space unity flashes for a millisecond, long enough to spark doubt about all our preconceptions.
This series is just that–a Mobius memory corkscrew roller coaster, speeding in and out of fictional and factual past and future, where gravity, time, historical accuracy, the scientific method, logic, and space do not apply. Like the movie Waking Ned Devine, it’s a fantastic journey by a naked old man on a motorcycle pretending he won the lottery by faking his own death. True? As true as a corkscrew ride at Disney World. Dizzy yet?
Scene 4: The Second Half of the Mobius Strip Highway
Grandpa slowly wakes up
Leah: Good morning, Sunshine.
Grandpa: (Slowly licks his lips) Hello there yourself, Sunshine. Looks like we’re getting near coal country.
Leah: Yep. Did you have a good nap?
Grandpa: I’ve never had a bad one, not one in, let’s see, uh, 78 years of nap research.
Leah: Grandpa, you’ve been saying that line all my life.
Grandpa: And it’s still true, right?
Leah: I guess so. I listened to more John Prine while you slept.
Grandpa: Yeah? Still taste like sardines and honey?
Leah: What?
Grandpa: Bitter and sweet.
Leah: Yeah, and funny. Just real and really funny.
Grandpa: Good. If you find someone who likes John Prine, you’re gonna get along for life, or until you kill each other, whichever comes first.
Leah: He reminds me of you.
Grandpa: My oh my, Missy. That is the highest compliment you have ever paid me.
Leah: Well, he’s also nutty as squirrel poop.
Grandpa: Uh huh. You had to say it, didn’t you?
Leah: In my ‘fart voice’ though.
Chuckles. Looking out the windows at depressed towns and landscapes.
Grandpa: You remember my buddy Clark, don’t you?
Leah: Sure, Clark and Pat. Such sweethearts.
Grandpa: He came from up this way, over by Altoona. A little town called, get this, Hon, Gratitude.
Leah: Pretty bleak area, I guess.
Grandpa: Yesssiree kiddo. That’s the power of labeling, though. Greenland was covered in ice, but Iceland was green and fertile. That was a big Scandinavian Switcheroo. But Clark was exactly as advertised. Did he ever tell the best stories about growing up there in the 50’s and 60’s.
Leah: I know you miss him.
Grandpa: I do. He’d call me up and put a smile on my face and a laugh in my throat, yeah… Grandma always knew who was calling because I’d start laughing on the phone. But I’m so glad I have his stories. They take me back for a little while, just like Grandma’s picture books do for you. They are windows on the past.
Leah: Uh huh, I bet.
Grandpa: Did I ever tell you the story of the boney piles?
Leah: The boney whats?
Grandpa: That’s what I said the first time I heard the phrase. Clark had to explain it to me. Back in the coal mines near Gratitude, the outer layer of a coal seam would be part coal and part rock. In those days the mine company engineers couldn’t separate the two, so the miners just piled up these boney pieces of coal outside the shafts, into huge mounds. See, the rock was white and looked like a pile of bones scattered across the charcoal powder burial mound, so I guess the townspeople connected it to a funeral pyre, which they were sort of.
Leah: Charming
Grandpa: Well, over time these piles would somehow start to combust deep inside, and once they started to burn, there was no way to put them out.
Leah: Okay
Grandpa: The crazy part is that Clark and his feral friends would play on these piles. Can you imagine Max and Cambo scrambling around on such a monstrous furnace?
Leah: No, but I’m sure they would have tried if they could. Where were their parents? And OSHA?
Grandpa: Yeah, that’s just it, Honey. Clark and his pals were cast offs just like the boney pile chunks. They were half good and half bad, so they figured, and nobody would miss them if they did get killed there.
Leah: That’s awful. As much as my brothers irritate me, I’d never let them climb on a mountain of burning slag.
Grandpa: Good to know, Honey. So, Clark told me they would get long pieces of pipe and punch them into the boney pile where the ends would melt!! And then other times they’d pour gallons of water down the vent holes to make their own geysers. Lots of sublimated anger there.
Leah: That’s insane!! How could adults allow that sort of thing to go on?
Grandpa: Honey, unlike today, kids were expendable then. Families were large and nobody was special. If anyone said anything to them, it might have been to state the obvious. “You kids are gonna get killed up there.” That’s as far as the community went in caring for their fringe elements. They didn’t see the value in Clark and his buddies. Funny thing is that one junior pirate went on to become a doctor, as I recall. The other one was a minor war hero in Vietnam. Bones and Buggy. Everyone had a nickname back then. Of course, you know Clark became an artist.
Leah: What was your nickname, Grandpa?
Grandpa: Promise not to tell anyone ever?
Leah: Sure, I swear on your life as a sacred promise keeper.
Grandpa: I hear you, P.B. , but I’ll still proceed. ‘Satch’, I was called Satch in my group of friends back in the Hills.
Leah: Like Satchmo, Louis Armstrong. Wasn’t that his nickname?
Grandpa: Yeah, how did you know that piece of trivia?
Leah: I am a music major, Grandpa, I mean Satch.
Grandpa: I see how you wanna play. I was tagged Satch for Satch Sanders, though. He was a bench player for the Boston Celtics back in the day. He was famous for his lack of basketball talent as I was also.
Leah: Just like you. I can’t imagine you playing basketball. Wow! But why did you tell me about the boney piles?
Grandpa: It just is linked with bittersweet, good and bad, disposable collateral waste, and such things in my brain. But the ironic twist is this: sometime later on, Clark told me that the coal mines figured out how to crush the boney chunks and extract the attached coal in the 90’s or maybe in the early 2000’s. So, the value of the boney piles was finally recognized and extracted. Those boney piles only exist in memories now.
Leah: That’s cool, Grandpa. I love that story. It’s so meaningful on many levels. I mean, there’s the waste, the pollution, then the revaluation and redemption, and the Huck Finn feel to it all.
Grandpa: Yeah, good stories aren’t just a retelling of the facts, Honey. Like John Prine’s songs, they sweep across your heart and mind and soul, etching lessons there on your dream muscles.
Leah: Grandpa, you should write this stuff down.
Grandpa: I did once, a long time ago. I have a manuscript somewhere I’ll have to share with you.
Leah: I’d love that, Grandpa. Does it have more stories like this one?
Grandpa: Dozens and dozens, Honey. Wild and woolly tales of the Boney Pile Gang.
Leah: Why didn’t you finish it?
Grandpa: Well, we don’t always finish projects in life, Honey. Especially when you can tell the difference between a friend and a project.
Leah: Can you tell me another Clarkism?
Grandpa: Okay, but you can’t tell your mom or brothers.
Leah: Okay, I really promise this time, no fart voice.
Grandpa: One of my favorite Clarkisms went something like this, “You might as well bark up a dead mule’s ass.”
Leah: What did that mean?
Grandpa: I have no idea, but the tone was hopeless and rude, I’ll tell you that.
Leah: Do you wish you’d had more time with him?
Grandpa: Sure I do. The funny thing is that with true John Prine type friends, time stops mattering.
Leah: What do you mean?
Grandpa: Uh, well, when Grandma and I would rock you and Max and Cambo when you were helpless little glow worms, time and gravity stopped working. We just floated on every baby breath you took.
Leah: That’s sweet, Grandpa.
Grandpa: Yes it is, Sweetie. It’s honey in the desert.
SCENE 3 THE DRIVE OUT THE TURNPIKE AND UP 22, 522, 322
Techno music plays on the radio. Leah switches it to various stations searching for palatable tunes. “Proud To Be an American” blares.
Grandpa: Nope. (Switches it off.)
Leah: What’s wrong with that song?
Grandpa: It’s corporate B.S. patriotism, Honey. It rankles me, especially that line about “The flag still stands for freedom, and they can’t take that away”. Who the hell are they? It’s the old victim mindset that’s nestled deep in these patriotic songs. Exactly who is trying to take our freedom away? The very right-wing nuts who play these songs at their blood-soaked White nationalist rallies.
Leah: Aren’t you proud to be an American, Grandpa?
Grandpa: No, I’m humbled to be an American, not ashamed or embarrassed, just humbled to have been blessed with the unique privilege of being born in this country. I did nothing to deserve it any more than hopeful immigrants around the world did anything to deserve their fates for being born in poorer countries.
Leah: Oh, okay. I’m just gonna plug my phone in then. The stations out here are hopeless.
Grandpa: Hey, I’m sorry I spewed political vitriol out loud, Honey. Think I could I pick a song?
Leah: Sure, but it can’t be classic rock. That stuff nauseates me.
Grandpa: Really? I recall a little girl who loved Sheryl Crow and used to sing “Life is a Highway” while dancing in a Hershey grocery store with her mommy.
Leah: Do you ever forget anything? Or no, do you ever stop reminding others of lesser moments in their lives?
Grandpa: I think you already know the answer, Honey. Anyway, I’d love to hear John Prine.
Leah: Who’s he?
Grandpa: He was a favorite of mine back in the day. His lyrics still resonate with me fifty years later.
Leah: Here, just type his name into my music app and then scroll down to the song you want.
Grandpa: You don’t know how easy you have it, kiddo. In my day we had record players and boxes of albums. None of this invisible digital stuff.
Leah: So, are you saying you want to go back and get your record player so we can lug it around with a box of your old dusty records?
Grandpa: No. It’s just so amazing that I want you to appreciate the blessings of your technology. Your phone does the work of a dozen appliances we used to use separately. Camera, t.v., movie theater, phone, typewriter, calculator, tape player, clock, and every book imaginable.
Leah: Grandpa, you used an electric razor and electric toothbrush and a microwave before we left Yardley. Are you on your knees in gratitude?
Grandpa: Touche, my dear. Touche. I’m just a rambling old man, but I’m rambling with my only grand daughter.
Leah: Did you find your song yet?
Grandpa: Nice pivot, girlie. Yep, here it is. “Hello in There”.
Leah: Oh God! If I vomit, it’s not going to be pretty. I don’t have a puke bag.
Grandpa: No vomiting necessary, Honey. It’s a sad song but sweet, you know, bittersweet.
Plays as they drive by fields and woods near Reading, PA. Leah’s contemplative face is featured in reaction to the lyrics.
We had an apartment in the city Me and Loretta liked living there Well, it’s been years since the kids had grown A life of their own, left us alone
John and Linda live in Omaha And Joe is somewhere on the road We lost Davy in the Korean war And I still don’t know what for, don’t matter anymore
You know that old trees just grow stronger And old rivers grow wilder every day Old people just grow lonesome Waiting for someone to say, “Hello in there, hello”
Me and Loretta, we don’t talk much more She sits and stares through the back door screen And all the news just repeats itself Like some forgotten dream that we’ve both seen
Someday I’ll go and call up Rudy We worked together at the factory What could I say if he asks, “What’s new?” “Nothing, what’s with you? Nothing much to do”
You know that old trees just grow stronger And old rivers grow wilder every day Old people just grow lonesome Waiting for someone to say, “Hello in there, hello”
So if you’re walking down the street sometime And spot some hollow ancient eyes Please don’t just pass’em by and stare As if you didn’t care, say, “Hello in there, hello”
Leah: Oh, Grandpa, how can you listen to such sad stuff?
Grandpa: I’m Irish, Honey, and you are part Irish yourself. We love tragedy and whiskey, and the doctor says I can’t drink whiskey anymore, so there. All I got left is tragedy.
Leah: I don’t like either choice, but it is such a vivid picture he paints in that song. Don’t tell anyone this, but I like it in a weird sort of hate it at the same time way.
Grandpa: I get it exactly, Leah. It’s bittersweet. And your tenderness is safe with me until I tell somebody.
Leah: I know you will too. Kind of reminds me of you and grandma, you know? Three kids, then three grandkids.
Grandpa: How about that?
Leah: I can’t imagine losing one in a stupid war like Korea just so that greasy dude with the bad haircut can starve his people to death and shoot missiles at us.
Grandpa: Yeah, Kim Young Fool. He’s been dancing in a house of mirrors for your entire life. [Long pause] Honey, there aren’t many smart wars… you know?… cause there aren’t many wise people. Wise people figure out how not to turn violent. Isaac Asimov said, “Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent”. The history of war is the chronicle of human incompetence and ignorance.
Leah: That sounds anti-military, Grandpa. Daddy and Max, well, Daddy’s whole family wouldn’t agree with you.
Grandpa: Leah, being anti war is not the same as being anti-military. We need our military just like life insurance. We don’t need jingo jive invasions of other countries driven by greed and power-hungry politicians who are in bed with the military-industrial complex. The military does not declare invasions or war; our president does and then Congress has to go along with funding these wars. I’d be a bigger fan of foreign intervention if the House and Senate led the first wave into battle, followed by the arms merchants and contractors who eagerly sell weaponry to our government. But it’s always young kids who do their killing for them, you know.
Leah: Oh, I knew that… I mean I learned that in Civics class in high school. I guess it was your tone that made me think you hated the military.
Grandpa: Yup. Tone is stronger than the actual words, but you have to be able to correctly decipher where the tone attaches, Honey. My contempt is for human ignorance not the armed forces of our country.
Leah: Okay, but when you look at those hometown heroes’ flags, I know you’re disgusted. So, what’s that about?
Grandpa: Do you ever miss anything? You’re reading me like Grandma used to.
Leah: I learned a lot from her.
Grandpa: Yes, you did, but you’re a lot sassier than she ever was.
Leah: I got that from you.
Grandpa: There you go!! (laughs out loud) Pickle butt.
Leah: (false frown and outraged huff) You used to call Aunt Jess pickle butt too.
Grandpa: I sure did. She’d get so mad and stomp down the hallway and slam her bedroom door while shouting, “I am not a pickle butt”. Of course, I could have said ‘oyster eyebrow’ and she would have reacted the same way.
Leah: I could always tell when you were pulling a fast one, Grandpa. I used to say you used your ‘fart voice’ when you were messing around with me.
Grandpa: See? There’s the tone that overrode the actual words and actions.
Leah: Okay, so what was the disgust tone about when you looked at those flags?
Grandpa: Well, it’s a deep grief, really, at the waste of all those young lives. We call people heroes because ‘collateral damage’ would be unpalatable. What words we choose to label something makes all the difference in the world, Honey. One man’s patriot is another man’s terrorist. A drug dealer calls himself a pharmaceutical salesman. A prostitute calls herself a somatic wellness instructor.
Leah: So, you’re not against the military?
Grandpa: No. They are essential, just like a free press and the courts. They do a lot of good. Besides, you were baptized at West Point, or have you forgotten that little tidbit?
Leah: At Uncle Dan’s graduation, right?
Grandpa: Yep, it was a windy, rainy day, but all the family members were there, so we doubled up the ceremonies.
Leah: I could never serve in the army.
Grandpa: I know, Miss Bossy Pants. You’re like me in that way—insubordinate.
Leah: You’re only saying that because it’s true.
Grandpa: Hey, that’s my line.
Leah: (smiles) I know, but I said it in my ‘fart voice’.
Both laugh. Grandpa sinks into a nap.
Leah continues listening to John Prine “Your Flag Decal Won’t Get You into Heaven Anymore.”
Smiles and shakes her head then starts to nod with the beat. Zoom out to highway view as she continues driving northwest. Pan out to road map blue dot as they approach the hill country.
SCENE 2 MORNING IN YARDLEY, PA MAIN STREET CAMERA SLOWLY PASSES HOMETOWN HEROES FLAGS ON LIGHT POLES DOWN BOTH SIDES. CAMERA COMES TO 21 YEAR OLD LEAH’S HOUSE AT DAWN, July 2, 2034.
Leah: Grandpa, Grandpa, Wake up! You were twitching and yelling. (Gently rocks him awake)
78 year old Frank: Leah Bedeah. It’s still dark. What are you doing?
Leah: We’re going to Clearfield today, and we’ve got to get to the turnpike before traffic backs up around Philly.
Grandpa: Oh. Why are we going to Clearfield?
Leah: Ugh! Grandpa, it’s the 4th of July weekend, remember? And I want to capture it in a memory book before it changes too much. It can’t stay frozen in time forever. You even told me that. Then I’m gonna’ make a memory book like Grandma used to make for me and Max and Cambo. And you wanted to see it again, to reminisce, you said. Uhhh, Nostalgia Tour, those were your exact words.
Grandpa: Oh, yes. Thanks, Honey. I was lost in a dream, my dear glow worm, a very delicious sticky bun of a dream. I’m with you now. I’m present and accounted for. I’d like B lunch, if you don’t mind. Give me five minutes, girlie girl, and I’ll be ready to roll.
Leah: Okay, it’s supposed to be a good day, maybe 80 degrees. It will be cooler in Clearfield, though. Maybe bring a sweater.
Grandpa: Okay, you’re driving, right?
Leah: Uh, yeah. Mom would kill me if I let you even sit behind the wheel in the driveway.
Grandpa: Ask Mrs. Grazel Bird who taught her to drive.
Leah: I know, I know. But she’s the boss now.
Grandpa: Really? I thought I was the boss.
Leah: You were never the boss, Grandpa. Unless Grandma left you home alone.
Chuckle together.
Leahexits.
Grandpa stares hauntingly at his deceased wife’s photo on the wall.
Grandpa: I wasn’t beaten enough as a kid, Boss. You loved to tell me that, Hope. Some folks were beaten too much, so I guess I caught a break. Luck beats talent in Ireland, I guess. God, I miss waking up next to you. [Deep sigh]
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