A Silver Star

[Debbie]

<center>No one in Chig Stater's pool hall that hot August afternoon in 1944
knew who the young man was.
He just wandered in, sat at the bar and ordered a beer. He was a
clean cut youngster, no more than 20 or 21, but he wasn't a local, so the
folks at the bar paid him little mind as he quietly sat and sipped his
beer. He seemed to be listening to the talk of the older customers, and in
particular to Bob Stogstill and Lloyd Dilday, as they discussed young
Willis Brown, having been killed in action in the great invasion
"Dang shame," said Lloyd, "He was a mighty fine boy."
"That he was," responded Bob Stogstill, "He'd have taken over
Clifford's mill someday. Probably have married Glen Leiman's girl, and
Glen would have given them a mighty fine start."
"How's she doin?"
"Not too good, I hear. Ain't been out of the house since she heard."
"Does Clifford know what happened?"
"No. The telegram just said, 'We regret to inform you your son Willis
has been killed in action', and then a couple of weeks they got a letter
from Willis' commanding officer, but all it said was how Willis had been a
good soldier."
"Probably didn't even know him personal."
"Doubtful." The two men turned to watch the pool shooters. Perry
with his hooks was running the table.
The young stranger had heard all he needed to hear. He finished his
beer and left the pool hall.
The next afternoon, early, he knocked at Clifford Brown's door. When
Neva came to the door, he said, "Mrs. Brown, my name is Arnie Jones. I'm
from Alabama, and I was with Willis at Normandy when he died. Could I
visit some with you folks?"
Neva Brown, her lip trembling, led Arnie to the kitchen table and
poured him iced tea, leaving the pitcher beside him, and called Clifford in
from the back porch where he had been sitting in an old wooden rocker. He
sat there a lot since Willis died.
The three of them sat around the table and Arnie told of Willis' good
nature and many friends in the service, and of how he led his squad in a
fearless attack on an enemy entrenchment. He told how Willis had dug a
trench in just moments, and how he had run through enemy fire to drag six
wounded soldiers back to the relative safety of that trench, himself being
one of them, and he showed them the scar on his leg as proof. He said that
just as Willis dumped him in the trench, saving his life, there was one
more shot, and Willis fell in, too, dead.
"He never suffered, none, folks," said Arnie, "He was just there one
minute, and the next he was gone. There weren't no pain, none at all." "He
saved the six of us, and died himself, he was a hero."
Arnie reached in a small bag he had been carrying, and brought out a
silver star and another medal. "Here," he said, "These are Willis' medals;
with all the red tape, the government ain't real good at gettin' these sent
out proper."
Arnie left Willis' stunned and grateful parents, and drove slowly up
the highway to Greenfield. He went in the pool hall, ordered a beer and
listened.
The next day he knocked on Lee Templeton's door. "I'm Arnie Jones,"
he said, "I was in Bill's bomber when we all were shot down. Can I visit
with you a bit?"
He stepped inside, trying not to favor his football injured knee that
had kept him out of the service. The little bag he carried jangled softly.

Written by: Joe Edwards

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