The Indian

Sensational story of two young men approaching adulthood in the wake of the Great Depression and the challenges of the oncoming WWII. George and Schmitty encounter an old man with an antique motorcycle which seems to invoke the spirit of its previous owner—a soldier killed in WWI. Schmitty plans a cross-country trip to Sturgis and Mt. Rushmore to ponder his future, which brings unexpected results. With his and George’s futures weighing in the balance, they both make life-changing decisions which they will carry with them for the remainder of their days.

“Action, mystery and romance, The Indian has something for everyone. Barry Kienzle’s attention to detail is sure to impress even the most persnickety reader. A captivating story from start to finish.”

—ROBERT ZAPP, President (retired), The Bank of Kentucky “As the winds of World War II began to swirl, twenty year old Schmitty hopped on a 1915 Indian Big Twin motorcycle in 1940 and set out alone in search of his destiny. Kienzle takes readers along on this fly-by-the-seat-of–his-pants journey that leads Schmitty through the brave pasts of other men to his own future; a future defined by adventure, love and true courage in an era marked by uncommon valor. Kienzle’s extraordinary ability to perfectly capture the lives and times of ordinary Americans during the 1940s will make this story a favorite among readers who remember those days and will serve as a primer for those who have yet to discover them.”

—KAREN KUHLMAN, Northern Kentucky columnist Runner Up Great Southeast Book Festival Runner Up Great Northwest Book Festival Runner Up New England Book Festival Honorable Mention Paris, Los Angeles, and New York Honorable Mention Great Midwest Book Festivals

Barry Kienzle

Barry Kienzle, Kentucky native, author of the award-winning novel, The Crossings, won eight national and international awards including the Grand Prize at the Great Southeast Book Festival, Mom’s Choice Award and a Literary Classics Book Award Seal of Approval. The Indian, is its sequel and furthers the story of his father, George and his friend, Schmitty as they approach adulthood on the eve of World War II. Barry’s devotion to his community led him to serve on many boards over time including The Bank of Kentucky, Habitat for Humanity, senior citizens groups, and other not-for-profit organizations. He currently serves as President of the Northern Kentucky University Foundation and on the Advisory Board of BB&T.

Barry Kienzle

Publisher Page

an imprint of Headline Books

Terra Alta, WV

The Indian

by Barry Kienzle copyright ©2016 Barry Kienzle All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents, except where noted otherwise, are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any other resemblance to actual people, places or events is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any other form or for any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage system, without written permission from Publisher Page.

To order additional copies of this book or for book publishing information, or to contact the author: Headline Books, Inc. P.O. Box 52 Terra Alta, WV 26764 www.headlinebooks.com Tel: 800-570-5951 Email: mybook@headlinebooks.com Publisher Page is an imprint of Headline Books ISBN 13: 9781882658657 Library of Congress Control Number: 2016941637

P R I N T E D I N T H E U N I T E D S TAT E S O F A M E R I C A

I dedicate this novel to the millions of soldiers and support staff who served our military in World War II both at home and abroad.

They survived the trials of the Great Depression and then stepped forward when called upon to protect our freedom, many with their life. I’d also like to dedicate this story to the Native American Indian who were ravaged by the white man when their lands were stolen and they were forced to forgo their freedom to live on reservations.

Theirs is a story of faith and belief in a Higher Power, whom they served. I’m pleased to have merged these two proud groups in a story that emphasizes the principles which governed their lives.

Prologue “If the Great Spirit wanted man to stay in one place he would make the world stand still.”

—Flying Hawk, Oglala Sioux The sun reflected brilliantly on the road ahead as Joe Donoghue raced on his new 1915 Indian Big Twin motorcycle. What a day for a ride, he thought. The air was clear, the sun bright and the temperature perfect for his ride in the country. The Indian was by far, his most prized possession and he was as proud of it as anything he had owned in his eighteen years of life. Riding it was his passion and he indulged himself at every possible chance. He had saved his money for years to buy a new motorcycle, forsaking other cheaper used models and upon graduation from Holy Cross High School, took his $75 to the local Indian dealer and bought the best, top-ofthe-line motorcycle sold there. At the end of his ride he pulled into the yard at home as his father Jim, came out to greet him.

“We’ve hardly seen you since you bought that bike, Joe. Are you ever going to stay at home?” he joked.

“Not if I can help it, Dad,” Joe laughed. “Nothing against you and Mom, but I love riding this bike more than anything. It’s like we’re one. I saved my money so long to buy it that I can hardly bear not being on it. There’s so much to see in this world and there’s no better place than the open road to see it. I’ve got many more places to go and things to see.”

“It’s hard to believe you saved that much money, but you did,” Jim commented. “You are one determined fella’ and I’m awfully proud of you and I’m getting used to seeing the back end of that bike pulling out onto the road with your hair blowing from under your cap. I suppose you should enjoy it while you can. Life has a 5

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way of changing in a hurry and you don’t want to accumulate a list of things you wish you had done,” Jim commented as he put his arm around Joe and entered their home, until the next time Joe would again be back on the road - riding with the wind.

6

PART I

1 Vroom! Vroom! The racing of the engines was deafening.

Vroom! Vroom! The two eager racers continued to rev their motorcycles in anticipation of their big challenge. It was a bright autumn afternoon and a great day for a race. Bob Schmitz, whom everyone at some time or another called Schmitty, stared at his opponent as he pulled his goggles down over his eyes. The race was about to begin. He yelled over to his challenger, Johnny, a neighborhood acquaintance, “Two laps,” and stuck two fingers in the air as he most likely couldn’t be heard over the roar of the engines. Johnny nodded in agreement, and they both looked over at the starter, George Martin, Schmitty’s buddy, who was standing on the track’s fence ready to give the go sign. He raised his hand then quickly dropped it and the two speedsters were off in a cloud of dust.

Schmitty was on his favorite 1932 Harley-Davidson, and Johnny, a 1930 Triumph. Both cycles were in top running condition.

The two racers pampered them as if they were their most valuable possessions. The two cycles screamed down the straightaway toward the first turn, neck in neck with dust and debris flying in all directions, with neither rider backing away from the challenge the reward for winning being bragging rights until their next race!

The old Latonia Race Track, a thoroughbred racing venue, hadn’t seen this much action since it closed the previous year in 1939, a victim of the Great Depression. The racers laid their motorcycles down nearly on their side as they raced through the first turn and thundered down the backstretch. Neither was ever more than a 7

The Indian

wheel length ahead of the other as they sped side by side at breakneck speed.

As they negotiated the next turn they again laid their cycles down nearly to the ground to maximize their speed through the turn, hoping they wouldn’t hit a rock or soft patch on the abandoned track which would cause them to spin out. As they accelerated out of the turn, George stood on the rail yelling encouragement to Schmitty, who smiled while maintaining a transfixed look of determination in his eyes.

He barreled out of the turn faster than Johnny and began to pull in front. They both went hell bent for leather down the straightaway.

Schmitty’s superior racing skills allowed him to gain ground on Johnny. They rocketed down the backstretch toward the final turn and eventually the finish line. By now, he was three lengths ahead and almost assured of a victory as they approached the final turn.

Adrenaline rushed through him as he entered the turn before boring down the final straightaway. But midway through the turn the front wheel of his bike inexplicably veered sharply to the right causing it to hit the rail, catapulting him over its handlebars and onto the hardened dusty track, as Johnny sped by to the finish line.

A shocked George jumped over the fence and ran to his fallen friend’s aid.

“Schmitty, are you alright? What happened?” Schmitty laid there still for a few moments looking up at the sky trying to regain his bearings. He rolled over onto his side but hesitated getting up fearing he may have broken some bones or be more seriously injured. George grabbed him under his arm as Johnny rode back to help and together they lifted him to his feet and began brushing off the dust and otherwise checking him over.

“What happened?” George repeated.

“Yeah,” added Johnny. “You had me whupped good.”

“I don’t know,” Schmitty replied, slowly shaking his head. “It was like something took control of my handlebars. I’ve never had that feeling on a bike before. Very strange.”

“Well, at least you look okay,” George said reassuringly.

“Yeah,” Johnny replied. “You had me worried there, for a minute. Your bike though, it doesn’t look so good. I think the front wheel might be a goner.”

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They looked down at the Harley lying on its side in the middle of the track. The front wheel was so severely bent it couldn’t be ridden without repair, so George and Schmitty both kicked at its spokes with their boots to straighten it enough to be able to roll it home. They lifted it upright to examine and determine what may have caused the accident, but didn’t find anything out of the ordinary. As they tested its ability to roll to begin the trek home, Schmitty yelled, “Good race Johnny. I’ll get you next time.”

“Yeah, you probably will. But until then...” he just smiled.

George laughed. “You know what that means.”

“Yeah, I know,” replied Schmitty. “Bragging rights,” as he rolled his eyes and hung his head in mock sorrow.

“Okay, Defeated One,” laughed George. “We’ve got to get this chariot home, so let’s get a move on.”

George and Schmitty limped off the track with the wounded bike and began pushing it down Winston Avenue in Latonia, their hometown. The accident wasn’t their first brush with near disaster.

Their years growing up together were filled with similar mishaps.

The two friends were now twenty years old and moving on to the next phase of their lives. The two were the antithesis of each other.

George was the taller of the two with black hair and blue eyes while Schmitty sported blonde hair and brown eyes. They were both handsome all-American types and well known in the community.

Both lived at home, George with his mother and his sister Margaret Clare, whom everyone called Clare, who was separated from her husband, and her young daughter Connie; while Schmitty lived with his mother and father and two younger brothers. George was known more as the crafty, scheming, outgoing type and Schmitty his unwitting follower. His temperament however, changed as he matured. Schmitty, the more studious of the two, had just completed his sophomore year in the Engineering School at the University of Cincinnati while George, never the best of students, had taken a job at the Andrews Steel Mill in Newport, Kentucky. Though Schmitty was the more conscientious of the two, George had more street savvy which inevitably led them into circumstances to become the most talked about pair in the area. Many of their exploits were well known on Ritte’s Corner, the focal point of the town, and in the 9

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soda fountains and saloons in the area. Sneaking onto the closed race track to engage in a motorcycle race, which ended with a crash, would provide fresh fodder for more recounting of their exploits.

The Harley was difficult to roll with its bent wheel. They made slow progress toward home, which was little more than a halfmile away, stopping frequently to rest. During one of their breaks, Schmitty looked at George and commented.

“Remember the time we were excited about Opening Day at the track and we sneaked in the day before and ran on the track and got everyone worked up?”

“Remember?” George replied. “That may be the most fun we ever had there. We were right out of school for the summer with nothing on our minds but having a good time. We were looking for Eddie Arcaro, but he wasn’t there. And now he’s hit the big time and has won the Kentucky Derby on Lawrin. The security guard caught us but we got saved by Mr. Maloney, the conductor on the Railroad. He was a nice man. I don’t see him around as much, maybe because the track’s closed. Those were the days, though. It’s sad to see what’s become of the track. Do you think it will ever come back?”

“Naw,” Schmitty replied. “But it was fun while it was here.

Come on, enough chatter. We’ve got to get this thing home.” They continued down Winston Avenue for a short distance before nearing a house where an elderly gentleman was moving about in his yard and garage.

“Whoa, look at that,” Schmitty yelled.

“Look at what?” George replied.

“Let’s stop here for a minute,” Schmitty responded.

“Okay,” George replied.

The house was a little brown brick cottage which George and Schmitty had seen many times during their trips down Winston Avenue.

“Hello, sir,” Schmitty greeted the gentleman. “How are you today?”

“Fine, thank you. Yourself?” he replied politely.

“We’re good, thank you. I’m Bob Schmitz and this is George Martin. I was racing my motorcycle at the track and took a spill.

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We’re just making our way home and I couldn’t help but notice the motorcycle sitting back in your garage. Can we take a look at it?”

The man turned in the direction of the garage and replied, “Well, I guess so. I’m surprised you noticed it since it’s covered with a tarp.”

“Well, it is, but I saw the white front tire sticking out and it caught my eye,” replied Schmitty.

As they walked to the garage the man spoke up. “Where’re my manners? My name is Jim Donoghue. I’ve seen the two of you coming and going past here over the years. It’s nice to make your acquaintance after all this time.” The trio walked toward the garage.

Jim pulled the tarp from the bike.

“Oh my,” Schmitty gasped. “It’s a beaut.” George nodded in agreement. “Indians are some of the best bikes ever made,” Schmitty continued, “and this one is no exception. It looks new.

What year is it?”

“It’s a 1915 Big Twin, the one with the V-twin engine,” Jim replied.

“How long have you owned it?” Schmitty inquired.

“It belonged to my son, Joe. He bought it new in 1915 and gallivanted all over the Midwest on it. He was as proud of it as he was anything he ever owned.”

“And he just left it here in your garage?” Schmitty inquired with a puzzled look.

The old man stared at the ground and hesitated to respond.

Schmitty worried he was imposing with his probing queries. The old man gathered himself and spoke slowly as if dreading his response.

“My son, Joe, was killed near the end of The Great War, in the Argonne Forest in France,” he said with a quivering and cracking voice. He was sitting in a trench writing home when a sharpshooter shot him from a great distance in the head, right through his helmet. Those serving with him said it was the luckiest shot they’d ever seen. I’ve got his unfinished letter and I read it every year on his birthday. Losing him took a heavy toll on our family. His mother never got over it and I know it shortened her life. I miss him every day.”

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“I’m sorry, sir,” Schmitty replied. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s okay. It’s been a long time now, over twenty years, but it’s hard to forget. When he went off for training he parked the bike here in the garage and threw this tarp over it to keep it nice for when he came home. He never did. He was buried in France. After the war, the Army returned his remains and we buried him over in Mother of God Cemetery,” he said, pointing in the direction of the cemetery.

Both Schmitty and George, at a loss for words, said nothing, and after a long silence it became obvious Schmitty wasn’t going to continue his questioning, so George spoke up.

“So, Mr. Donoghue, this bike looks so well cared for you must have been looking after it for all of these years, in honor of your son, Joe.” “No, actually I haven’t touched it,” he replied.

“But the paint is perfect and the chrome still shines and the tires are still holding air,” George countered.

“You’re right,” the old man agreed. “But it’s probably been five years since I’ve even pulled off the tarp to look at it and it’s only to show it to you, today.”

George and Schmitty looked at each other and shrugged.

Schmitty thought the old man may have been confused so he didn’t pursue his comment. The bike was in extraordinary condition, no doubt about it. Schmitty thought for a moment and gathered enough courage to speak.

“Does it run?” he asked awkwardly.

“Well, I don’t rightly know,” replied the old man. “I don’t recall the last time it was running. Didn’t have a need to,” as he went searching for a can of gas. “Here, let’s give her a drink and see what she does. I’ll be mighty surprised if she kicks off, but we’ll give her a go. The spark plugs got to be all fouled out. We better check the oil. Yeah, she needs some lube too.” He poured a little gas into the tank which was bone dry, while George poured some oil he found on a shelf into the engine’s crankcase.

“Okay boys, let’s give it a whirl and see what she does!” exclaimed the old man excitedly. They rolled the bike out of the garage and Schmitty sat on its seat, opened the throttle and shoved 12

Barry Kienzle

his boot down on the kick starter. Much to their surprise it fired up on the first attempt. It sat idling a little rough at first but then smoothed out as it warmed up and was running as well as any engine possibly could – especially one that had been sitting idle for as long as it had. Schmitty and George were going over every part when Schmitty looked up to observe the old man’s reaction, who stood with a smile on his face but with tears running down both cheeks.

“Are you okay Mr. Donoghue?” Schmitty asked politely.

“Oh, I’m fine,” he said, drying his eyes with his handkerchief.

“When she fired up and I saw you in the seat, it reminded me of Joe and how he loved this motorcycle, and my emotions got the best of me. Pay me no mind.”

“Well, we didn’t mean to upset you,” Schmitty apologized. “I’m sorry if we did. I really am. You’ve already suffered enough.”

“To tell you the truth, I’m enjoying this whole thing,” Donoghue replied. “If I was twenty years younger I might take the old beauty out for a spin around the block myself,” he laughed and George and Schmitty joined in. Things were quiet for a few moments when Schmitty spoke up.

“Mr. Donoghue, have you ever thought about selling her?”

George looked over at him wide-eyed when he posed the question.

The old man hesitated before responding.

“That’s a good question. Joe was our only child. His mother has passed on and I’m getting up in years. I suppose I should have gotten rid of it long ago but I felt a certain bond to it. I always held out hope I would someday get to meet my only granddaughter, and I would want her to see the motorcycle her father cherished so much. Sounds silly now, but sometimes all we have is hope and a belief that anything is possible. At the same time we prayed for years we’d get to meet her, but we eventually gave up. You have to know when to accept disappointment and move on, but you never really forget.”

“So Joe was married?” asked Schmitty.

“Yes. When he enlisted in the Army in 1917 after the U.S. entered the War, he was sent to Ft. Dodge, Iowa for training. He met a girl, Emma, in nearby Sioux City, and after a whirlwind courtship, 13

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they got married there, and he was off to war. His mother and I never met Emma. After Joe was killed, she was notified by the War Department just as we were but our only communication with her was a letter she wrote telling us how much she loved him and had recently given birth to a baby girl. She didn’t mention the baby’s name and after the war when the Army tried to contact her about returning Joe’s remains, they couldn’t find her, so they contacted us and sent them here. We tried to make contact with her but our letters were returned, marked Undeliverable. His mother and I agonized for years that we weren’t able to comfort her at her time of loss and to show our love for our only grandchild.”

Schmitty and George looked at each other in stunned silence.

They happened upon this scene by chance while struggling to get Schmitty’s wrecked bike home and this kind old man tells them a story which most likely few in the area knew. After a while, Schmitty finally mustered enough courage to rephrase and present his question, again.

“Mr. Donoghue, would you consider selling the Indian to me?

I’d give it a good home and it would stay in the neighborhood if you ever wanted to see it.”

The old man showed surprise at the question, thought for a moment and said, “No, I don’t think I could ever sell it.” Then he continued. “But I might give it to you, because you look like the type who would care for it, and I think Joe would have liked you.

Let me think about it, some. Come back tomorrow and I’ll let you know how I feel.” Schmitty and George both shook hands with him so he knew they appreciated their meeting and the time he spent with them.

Schmitty looked at his watch and remarked, “George, look at the time, we need to get a move on and lug the Harley back. Let’s get going.” They returned to the street and waved to Mr. Donoghue as they continued their trudge toward home.

“The day sure has had some unforeseen twists and turns to it,” Schmitty commented. “I thought I’d be hanging out at Ritte’s Corner by now bragging what a skilled racer I am. Instead, I’m dragging the remnants of my bike home after meeting a man I’ve probably seen a hundred times but never knew, and listening to 14

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his incredible story. We don’t know what our future holds, do we, George. We never know.” ****** Schmitty and George finally reached Schmitty’s home on East Southern Street, parked the bike in the side yard and sat on the front porch to rest.

“Man, what a job,” George gasped. “The next time you wreck your bike, it’ll be easier burying it where it falls than dragging it home,” he laughed.

“Spoken like a guy who doesn’t own one,” Schmitty laughed as he gave George a playful shove. Schmitty’s father, Ralph, came out of the house with their collie, Sandy, who rushed to Bobby and licked his face.

“Hey, girl. How are you doing?” He patted her back and hugged her neck. “Did you miss me?” She licked his face again and moved on to George for more affection. Ralph smiled and sat on the porch swing. He was in his mid-forties but his blonde hair and muscular physique belied his age. Latonia had been his home for his entire life and he was well known in the community. For the past few years, he worked for the L&N Railroad, and was now a supervisor in the famed Decoursey Yard.

“What do you say, Pops,” George greeted.

“I wondered where the two of you were off to,” Ralph replied.

“By the way, you both look like you could stand a cold drink. What do you say I mosey on in the house and grab a couple and maybe one for me,” he laughed.

“Good idea, Dad,” Schmitty agreed as Ralph marched back into the house.

“Schmitty, your dad is a great guy,” George commented. “I wish I had an old man like him. He’s always treated me like a son, especially after my dad ran out on us years ago.”

“Well, he thinks of you as a son, even though he’s got two more of his own besides me,” laughed Schmitty, not wanting to sound too serious. Ralph returned to the porch with three drinks and handed one each to both Schmitty and George.

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The Indian

“Holy Cow. What happened to your bike, Robert?” Ralph said in a serious tone. “Did you get hurt?”

“No,” replied Schmitty. “Just my pride. I took a spill in a race on the race track. Darndest thing though. My handlebars went sideways on me, I lost control and hit the rail in the last turn just as I was about to whip Johnny. Don’t know what caused it.”

“Serves you right,” Ralph countered. “You aren’t supposed to be on the track. It’s private property, you know.” Schmitty rolled his eyes and replied.

“It’s better than racing through the streets of Latonia, don’t you think, Dad?” Schmitty retorted. Ralph tipped the neck of his bottle in his son’s direction as if to acknowledge, good point.

“So what are you going to do with your bike, stay in tonight and fix it?” quipped Ralph while winking at George.

Schmitty bit on the line and shot back, “Heck no Dad, it’s Saturday night. We’ll be out on the town. The bike can wait!” Then realizing his dad was pulling his leg he quickly shut up. Ralph and George both laughed, with Schmitty unresponsive hoping it would pass sooner than later.

George stood and said, “Schmitty, I need to go home and spend some time with Mother and Clare. I’ll meet you on the Corner at 7:00. Okay?”

“Okay, see you then,” Schmitty replied. “That drink hit the spot, Dad,” “Care for another?” Ralph asked.

“No thanks, Dad. Today I saw the most incredible motorcycle I’ve ever seen, and the story that goes with it was even more incredible.”

“Really souped up, huh?” Ralph responded.

“No, it was a Vintage 1915 Indian Big Twin, the one with the V-Twin engine,” Schmitty replied. “It’s the most beautiful bike I’ve ever seen. It’s dark red, almost a burnt color, and its chrome sparkles like the sun. It’s got those big bright white tires, and all of its accessories are intact. It looks like it just rolled out of the factory.”

“Can’t say as I’ve ever seen one like that,” Ralph replied.

“Somebody must have taken good care of it or restored it. How did you come across it?”

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“Well, that’s just it,” Schmitty replied. “It was the darndest thing.

George and I were pushing my bike up Winston Avenue after I wrecked and we stopped to take a break and I looked over and saw this bike covered up in this old man Donoghue’s garage. The tarp had fallen off part of the front wheel and there’s this bright white tire hanging out like a young girl showing some leg. I couldn’t get back to the garage fast enough to check it out. But here’s the weird part. The bike has been sitting there for over twenty years under the tarp in the garage but it looked like it was there maybe a week.”

“Well, but does it run?” Ralph asked skeptically.

“Yes. The old man gassed it up and it fired right up and purred like a kitten. The whole thing is pretty unbelievable,” Schmitty replied emphatically.

“It sounds like it. Does he want to sell it? Is that where this is leading?” Ralph asked, bracing for the inevitable answer.

“Well, here’s the rest of the story,” Schmitty continued. “The old man’s son, his only child, bought the bike new in 1915 and rode it all over before he went into the service in the Great War and was killed in France. The old man left it parked in his garage for the last twenty-something years because he couldn’t bear to part with it. He’s getting up in years and now his wife has passed on.

After he saw how excited I was and after I asked him if he would be interested in selling it, he said he couldn’t, but he’d think about giving it to me since I’d give it a good home.”

Ralph sat up in the swing and said, “Say it again. He wants to give it to you, for free?”

“Yes. He told me he wanted to think about it and to come back tomorrow,” Schmitty replied, punctuating his statement with an astonished look.

“Holy cow! It would be hard to pass up and you’d feel like you’d be doing him a favor at the same time,” added Ralph.

“I suppose,” Schmitty replied. “I feel like something is drawing me to this bike. I’ve already got one so I don’t need it for transportation, and it’s twenty-five years old so it’s a vintage bike.

I don’t know what’s causing me to feel this way. Maybe I just don’t want to see it go to waste under a tarp in the old man’s garage.”

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“Maybe so,” replied Ralph. “Why don’t you sleep on it tonight and see how you feel about it in the morning.”

“You’re right, Dad. I will,” he replied. ****** The next morning Ralph entered Schmitty’s room and shook his bed.

“Wake up sleepyhead. Church starts in a half-hour. Get a move on.” Schmitty groaned and responded.

“God, Dad. I’ve only been in here for a few hours.”

“Let’s go, Son. You know how your mother feels about Church on Sundays as long as you live under our roof. Up and at ‘em,” Ralph ordered.

“Yes, sir,” Schmitty groggily replied as he slid out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom to get ready in a hurry. Geez, I feel awful, he thought to himself. I hope I had fun. I know George sure did.

The family walked to Holy Cross Church which was only a few blocks away. Schmitty spotted George a few pews ahead sitting with his mother and his sister, Clare. He felt vindicated knowing he and George were living by the same house rules which required them to attend Mass on Sunday mornings, notwithstanding any social activities from the previous evening which would jeopardize their attendance. After the services concluded, George and Schmitty spoke as they walked up Church Street together.

“So, Schmitty,” George began. “Are we going back to look at the Indian again?”

“I guess so,” he replied. “I think Mr. Donoghue expects us. He said he’d think about giving me the bike but he most likely wanted to mull it over last night. My dad gave me the same advice to think about whether I wanted it or not, too.”

“So have you thought about it? What are you thinking?” George inquired.

“I’m thinking I’ve got a headache right now,” Schmitty laughed.

“Yeah, me too,” George snickered. “That settles it. We’ll go see him after lunch. I’ll be over then.”

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“Okay, I’ll see you later, George,” Schmitty nodded.

A few hours later George re-appeared and knocked on the screen door on the porch.

“Come on in, George,” a woman’s voice called from within.

George entered and greeted Mrs. Schmitz.

“How are you ma’am?” he asked politely.

“I’m fine,” she replied. George appeared and motioned a ‘hello’ sign to Schmitty.

They left the house and walked about a half-mile to Mr. Donoghue’s home on Winston Avenue and when they arrived, they were surprised to see the Indian sitting out in the yard in all its glory looking even better than it did the day before.

“I guess we may have the answer, Schmitty,” George spoke first.

“God, you may be right,” was Schmitty’s short response. The two made their way up the driveway as Mr. Donoghue walked from the house.

“Well, I see you’ve come back. That tells me something. Come sit with me and let’s talk.” He motioned for them to join him on the porch. Schmitty and George both sat without speaking. It was as if there was a certain reverence in the moment and they didn’t want to violate it.

“Young Mr. Schmitz,” Mr. Donoghue began, “you remind me so much of my son, Joe. He was tall and handsome like you, with blonde hair, but blue eyes. He rode his Indian every chance he got.

If I give you this fine motorcycle, what do you intend to do with it?

In some ways I feel like it holds the spirit of my son, so its destiny is important to me.”

Schmitty chose his words carefully, not so much that whatever he said may disqualify him from owning it, but more to show respect to the old man and his fallen son.

“My intent would be to hold it and give it proper care and to some day pass it on to my own sons along with your son’s story and hope they’d do the same,” he replied politely. Mr. Donoghue raised an approving eyebrow.

“That’s a good response, Son, and I’m glad you feel that way.

But I also want you to ride it and take it places. If there’s a piece of my son’s spirit in this bike, I want to think of him flying down 19

The Indian

a road with his hair blowing in the breeze, seizing the moment, carefree and fearless. I want to remember his free and easy spirit and his indomitable zest for life. You can give me that. Having the bike sit in my garage covered with a tarp is not right. I realize it now. Do her justice. She’s an Indian. Ride with the wind!”

All Schmitty could think to say was, “Yes sir,” and that was enough. The old man stood, handed him the key and said, “Do me proud, Son. Do me proud.” He turned and walked into his house and closed the door behind him without looking back. By his actions, Schmitty and George knew it was a moment in which he wanted to be alone, so they didn’t invade his privacy by delaying him with promises to fulfill his wishes or by thanking him for the gift. Rather, they came away with a sense of responsibility far deeper than caring for and joy-riding the bike.

They rolled it to the street and started it. Once again, it purred like a kitten. George removed the cap on the gas tank and commented, “He filled her up. You’re good to go. I’ll see you back at your house,” he said, as Schmitty slowly eased it down the street since it hadn’t been on the road for years. He gradually increased its speed and was home in a few minutes. He pulled into the yard as Ralph walked out of the house, hearing the engine’s lobe.

“Holy Cow, is this it? I never imagined it was this nice. Did he give it to you?” Ralph exclaimed.

“Yes,” Schmitty replied, as sat on it admiring its quality and features.

“Look at the big twin engine on her. Really nice,” commented Ralph. “What are you going to do with her? She’s too nice to be riding all the time. She needs to be preserved.”

“Well, one of Mr. Donoghue’s conditions is she be ridden a lot,” Schmitty countered. “He wants to remember his son on this bike out on the road. It’s almost like I’m a caretaker for it and his memories.”

“Hmm”, Ralph replied, “well, maybe if you take care of the bike, it will take care of you.”

“Maybe,” Schmitty replied. “May-be.”

Sandy trotted in from the back yard. She barked anxiously as if the bike was an intruder. Then she stared at it, whimpered and ran away.

20

Barry Kienzle

“What’s with her?” Schmitty asked.

“I don’t know,” Ralph replied. “She’s never acted like that before.

There may be a strange scent on the bike since it’s been sitting in a garage for so long. Who knows?”

George arrived on foot. “What do you think of her Mr. Schmitz?

She’s really something, isn’t she?” he exclaimed.

“She sure is, George. You boys really happened onto something special here. Bob’s not sure what he should do with her. Says the old man wants him to ride her in memory of his son.”

“He does,” replied George. “I heard him say it with my own ears.”

Schmitty finally got off the bike and stood by continuing to admire its beauty and craftsmanship.

“This thing’s got you mesmerized,” commented Ralph.

“I still can’t figure out how this bike remained in such good condition after all this time,” Schmitty replied. “With it out in the light you can see it has the original paint and tires and all. It should be a rusted out hunk of junk after sitting in a dirty garage for all these years. It doesn’t figure.”

“There’s your engineering mind at work,” laughed Ralph. “To you, logic drives everything. If you can’t reason through it, it’s illogical.”

“Schmitty, sometimes you just have to accept what is and later the answer will reveal itself. Stop fretting about it,” commented George. Ralph nodded his agreement.

“I need to head out,” George said, looking at his watch. “Mother is preparing an early Sunday dinner since she has to work on the switchboard at the hospital tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow night after work, Schmitty.”

“See you, George. Be careful at the mill,” Schmitty replied, as George walked toward home.

Schmitty commented to his father that he needed to find a place to keep the Indian out of the weather.

“Well, I guess we can find a spot in the garage,” Ralph replied.

“A car and two motorcycles and everything else we have stored in there take up a lot of space. Here, I’ll help you get it in. Then we’ll put the Harley in. Looks like you’re going to have to replace the front wheel. Looks too bent to straighten.”

21

The Indian

“It probably is. It took a heck of a whack when we crashed. I’ll look at it later,” Schmitty replied. They rearranged things in the garage, got both motorcycles in and closed the doors behind them.

“It looks like you’ve got some things to look after, Son. It’s been some weekend for you. I’m sure one you’ll remember for a long time. Let’s go in and see what your Mother’s up to. It’s Sunday, and I think I smell fried chicken in the making.” He placed his arm around his eldest son and squeezed his shoulder in affection.

22

2 Schmitty woke on Monday and got ready for work at the Times Star, a Cincinnati daily newspaper. When he was a boy, he delivered papers every afternoon on a regular route in Latonia. Now he worked in the printing department and being an engineering student, he was fascinated with the intricacies and precision of the printing presses. He normally rode his motorcycle to work but since it needed its front wheel replaced, he took the streetcar.

Throughout the day, he kept thinking about the Indian. Rather than having pleasant thoughts about the bike itself, they became intertwined with thoughts about his future and goals in his life.

Ordinary thoughts for a young man, but thoughts he hadn’t delved into much before.

“Schmitz,” yelled out one of his supervisors operating the printing presses. “You look like you’re in a trance. What the hell are you thinking about? You’re going to mess up a whole run if you don’t start paying attention to what you’re doing. Daydream on your own time. You hear?”

“Yes sir,” Schmitty replied. “I’ll pay attention.” He was happy his supervisor barked at him because it forced him to clear the other thoughts from his mind and concentrate on the job at hand.

At quitting time he walked to the Dixie Terminal on Fourth Street in Cincinnati to catch a streetcar to cross over the Ohio River into Kentucky and home. As he rode the route, his thoughts once again turned to the Indian and his future, which were now conjoined in his mind. He hopped off the streetcar at Ritte’s Corner and walked the two blocks home. When he arrived, he greeted his father and mother and moved to the bathroom to wash up before dinner. At dinner, he wasn’t very talkative or engaging which wasn’t noticeable at first, because his brothers were chattering about their 23

The Indian

days, most of which included the same story lines he and George experienced in their days on the streets of Latonia. After a while, Ralph looked over at Schmitty and spoke.

“Son, you’re awfully quiet tonight. Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine, Dad. Just thinking about some things,” he replied.

“Anything you want to talk about?” Ralph pressed.

“Naw. I’m okay,” Schmitty replied, with a shrug. He finished eating, left the table with his plate and utensils and placed them in the kitchen sink. He started out the back door, stopped and turned toward the dining room saying, “I’ll be out in the garage working on the Harley to get it back on the road.”

“Okay,” replied Ralph. “I might be out later to give you a hand.”

Schmitty opened the garage doors and decided to drag the Harley outside to work on it. He walked back inside to the rear of the garage where the Indian was leaning against the wall and stood staring at it, his mind occupied by the garage’s newest occupant.

Finally the silence was broken by George’s voice.

“Schmitty, what are you doing?”

“Oh hi, George. What’s up?” Schmitty replied, pulled from his dazed appearance.

“What do you mean, what’s up? I’m standing here with a rim for your bike and all you can think to say is, what’s up?” George admonished, raising his arms for enhancement.

“I’m sorry, George. My mind was somewhere else,” Schmitty replied meekly.

“No kidding?” replied George sarcastically.

“Wow!! Where’d you find a rim? It looks perfect,” Schmitty exclaimed.

“After I knocked off at the mill, I stopped by the junkyard to see what they might have. This rim, with a flat tire, was available so I picked it up for you.”

“Let’s check it out.” Schmitty said. “Yep, it looks like a perfect match!” he exclaimed, nodding in appreciation.

“Okay, let’s take ‘em both down to Joe’s garage and get him to mount your old tire on this rim so we can install it back on your bike,” George beckoned.

“But they won’t be open now. We’ll have to do it some other time,” Schmitty replied.

24

Barry Kienzle

“No, he’ll be in back playing cards with his buddies. And besides, he owes me a favor,” replied George. “Let’s go,” he urged.

Each took a wheel and rolled them both down toward Joe’s garage with Sandy following. On the way, George inquired, “Schmitty, you seem a little distracted. What’s going on?”

“George, I’ve been thinking. I suppose Mr. Donoghue’s story about his son has gotten me thinking, I don’t know. Life is pretty short, you have to admit. If you don’t start figuring out what you want to do with it, it may end before you even get to the first step,” Schmitty replied, in a philosophical tone.

“Schmitty, you always were the deeper thinker between the two of us, but where are you going with this?” George asked.

“I don’t know. I’m just saying for some reason I’m starting to think about these things,” Schmitty answered.

They arrived at Joe’s garage and went to the back and banged on the door.

“We’re closed!!” someone shouted from inside. “Come back tomorrow.”

“Open up, Joe. It’s me, George.”

“Oh, hold on a minute, I’ll be right there,” came the response.

The door flew open and Joe was standing there with a cigar in his mouth and cards in one hand.

“Oh hi, George. Hi, Schmitty. Did you come down to get dealt in?” Joe asked.

“No, we need this tire mounted on this rim,” said George pointing to the two wheels.

“Okay, no problem. Come on in,” Joe directed. “Let me finish this hand and I’ll get on it. Schmitty, you can sit in for me for a few hands, but don’t lose your, I mean, my money in the process,” he laughed. After the hand Joe jumped up from his seat. “George, help me get these wheels in the back.” Schmitty sat down and recognized Joe’s father who was in the game.

“How you doing, Bobby?” the man greeted.

“I’m good,” Schmitty replied. “Who’s the big winner so far tonight?”

“Been kind of spread around so far, but I’m getting ready to make my big move,” he laughed as he anted up for the next hand.

25

The Indian

“We were just talking about those Germans marching all over Europe like they own the place. Somebody needs to put that little Hitler fella’ in his place!” he declared as he shifted his cigar from one side of his mouth to the other without touching it.

“I suppose you’re right,” Schmitty replied.

“Yep, a job for you younger boys,” he replied, “assuming Mr. Roosevelt agrees!” he belly-laughed as he threw down a winning hand. Joe made quick work of his task and George and Schmitty were on their way after slipping Joe four bits for his trouble.

“Thanks, Joe. See you around,” shouted George as he and Schmitty strode out the door and onto the street.

They walked home, Schmitty rolling the mounted tire and George carrying the bent wheel, with Sandy following behind.

When they reached home they both made their way to the garage to install the new tire and wheel on the Harley to get it back on the road. At a slow point in the work, Schmitty spoke.

“George, I’ve been thinking lately…….”

“You’re always thinking,” George interrupted.

“No, I mean a different kind of thinking,” Schmitty responded.

“Like what?” George asked without moving his eyes from the work.

“Well, about what I should be doing with my life, and what I want to do with it,” Schmitty answered.

“I think you’re thinking too much,” replied George. “Mr. Donoghue’s story has really gotten into your head. Where are you going with all of this?”

“Well,” Schmitty hesitated. “I was thinking of doing something with my life with more significance than what I’ve been doing.”

“You’re studying engineering in college right now. That seems pretty significant to me,” George replied, surprised.

“Well, it could be, I suppose. But I’ll need to do something worthwhile with what I’m learning,” Schmitty added.

“Okay,” George slowly responded seeming not to understand Schmitty’s concerns, who quickly changed the topic.

“George, we need to take a road trip.” George jerked up from his work.

“A road trip? Where?” he asked.

26

Barry Kienzle

“Somewhere special. They’re working on a project out in South Dakota where they’ve carved the busts of Washington, Jefferson, Roosevelt and Lincoln into a mountain, Mt. Rushmore. Wouldn’t you like to see it? It’s a heck of an engineering feat. Maybe it would inspire me to greater things.” He laughed at the sound of his own comment.

“When are you thinking about going?” George asked.

“Around the end of July or the first week of August, I suppose.

I could ride the Indian and you could ride the Harley and we could hit the Black Hills Motor Classic in Sturgis, South Dakota. Sounds like fun doesn’t it? And the trip would give me time to clear my mind and figure out what I want to do with my life,” Schmitty replied, excitedly.

“How long do you figure we’d be gone?” George asked, trying to let the idea sink in.

“A couple of weeks, most likely. It’s a long ride out there and back,” Schmitty replied.

“What about your job at the Times Star? How could you just take off and be gone for two weeks. You don’t want to lose it. You use the money to pay for your schooling, too,” George answered.

“I know. But they could get by without me for a couple of weeks,” Schmitty insisted. “Besides, it would be a good story, two local guys travel to Mt. Rushmore to see the new monument. It’s a newspaper and they eat stuff like that up. We’d probably get interviewed and everything,” Schmitty countered. George shook his head in disbelief.

“Schmitty, to be honest with you, this sounds like some idea I would come up with, not you, if you know what I mean. You have always been the logical one with me trying to con you into something you didn’t really want to do. As much as I’d like to go, I can’t risk losing my job at the steel mill. Production is up, and if I try to take off or don’t show up, the Union will replace me, pronto.

My mother counts on my paycheck to help keep us afloat. I just can’t risk it,” George replied, disappointedly.

“I understand,” replied Schmitty. “Just think about it and maybe you can figure out a way to do it. It would be safer if we went together, but I understand your predicament.”

27

The Indian

“You sound like me when I was trying to convince you to hop the freight train to go to New Orleans with me to see Mardi Gras when we were twelve years old,” George laughed.

“Well, maybe I do, but eventually you did convince me to go,” Schmitty reminded him.

“Okay, I’ll give it some thought. Maybe there’s a way I can go. It sounds like a fun time,” George agreed.

“Okay, great,” Schmitty replied. “It looks like we’ve got this bike ready to go. Let’s start it up and I’ll take it for a spin around the block. I’m hoping to ride it to work tomorrow.”

“Okay, fire it up and let’s see what it does,” George replied in agreement. “I hope your crash didn’t hurt anything in the engine.”

Schmitty turned the key and jumped on the starter and the Harley fired up and sounded good. Schmitty’s was revving the engine as his father Ralph walked outside.

“Hey, it looks like you’re all fixed up and ready to go,” he shouted over the engine’s lobe.

“I thought you were going to help me get her back on the road, Dad,” Schmitty laughed.

“Well, I did too. But I sat on the sofa after dinner; I think today’s hard work caught up with me and I nodded off. Sorry,” he replied, sheepishly.

“It’s okay. George and I managed,” Schmitty replied. “Hop on the back, George and I’ll ride you home on my way around the block.” They took a trip around the block and Schmitty yelled back to George.

“Looks like we’re good. I’ll go ahead and drop you off.” George gave a thumbs-up signal to acknowledge. In a minute they were at George’s family’s home and he hopped off the bike.

“Now don’t forget to think about what we talked about, George,” Schmitty reminded.

“I won’t,” replied George as he walked up on the porch. “I won’t,” he repeated, as he walked into the house.

Schmitty turned the Harley around and retraced his route home. He arrived a few minutes later and stopped in the driveway leading to the garage behind the house. He opened the garage doors and turned on the light, a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. But 28

Barry Kienzle

instead of pushing the Harley inside, he walked back to the Indian and leaned against an old sawhorse to admire it. He found it hard to believe it was sitting in his garage, not to mention how it came to be there.

His thoughts turned to Mr. Donoghue’s son, Joe being killed in the Great War, he and his wife losing contact with their son’s wife and never getting to meet their granddaughter, their only grandchild.

Thinking it through, Schmitty felt there was an unfinished ending in that story, but didn’t know how or why. Sandy walked in and sat up in front of the Indian. She seemed transfixed and hardly moved a muscle, quite unusual for a larger dog.

“Well girl, I see you’ve made up with our new guest,” Schmitty laughed. Sandy barked and laid down on the garage floor but didn’t take her eyes off the bike. Schmitty sat there for a long time lost in his own thoughts when he heard a voice.

“Son, when I didn’t hear you come in the house I thought I’d come back out and check on you,” Ralph spoke. “Is everything okay?”

“Great, Dad. My bike is running again and I can use it to get me to work so everything is fine,” Schmitty assured him.

“Well okay, but you’ve been kind of distracted lately, if that’s the right word, and I just wanted to be sure you were okay,” Ralph pressed.

“I’m okay Dad. But I do have something I want to talk to you about.”

“What about?” Ralph asked.

“I’ve been thinking about what I want to do with my life. I’m doing okay in school but I think I’d like to take a trip on the Indian for a couple of weeks this summer. I’ve asked George to go with me on the Harley but he doesn’t know if he can swing it because of his job at the mill. He doesn’t want to chance it with the Union. There are guys lined up to take his job at any time what with the economy and all. Mr. Donoghue said his son trained for the Army out in the Midwest and I thought a little trip out there would help me sort some things out. The motorcycle rally out in Sturgis, South Dakota and Mt. Rushmore would be a good destination. Don’t you think?”

29

The Indian

“Geez, you have been doing some thinking. And I’m happy to know you’re thinking about your future. In times like this, what with the Depression and another war looming, people sometimes get pushed in certain directions and their lives get out of their control. Any time you can influence what you want to do, you’re better off. But that’s a long trip for an older bike, don’t you think?

And are you able to take a couple of weeks off of work? I know the money is important for your schooling,” Ralph replied.

“I have enough money put aside for this coming year, so I’m okay. I’ll be able to work things out with them to get off. And the Indian isn’t like any other bike. I’m sure it will be fine. I’ll take it easy,” Schmitty replied assuredly.

“You always were the practical one who figured things out before taking a leap,” Ralph observed. “I’ll start warming up your mother to the fact one of her babies may be taking a trip in a month.

Let’s hope George can go with you. It will give her some peace of mind, I think.” After a moment, they both laughed at the thought of her reaction to George going along given his and Schmitty’s history of trouble seeming to find them routinely.

“It’s getting late, Son, so we better move on in since both of us have to get up for work tomorrow,” Ralph urged.

“Okay, Dad. Thanks for listening,” Schmitty acknowledged, as they closed up the garage and turned in for the night.

“Come on Sandy, time to come in,” Schmitty urged. Sandy didn’t budge until he grabbed her by the collar and led her from the garage. “I guess we’ve all got things on our mind, don’t we, girl.”

30

3 George entered his family’s apartment on Eugenia Avenue as the sound of Schmitty’s Harley faded in the distance. His sister, Clare was home and they sat on the sofa for a chat before retiring for the night. Their mother would not be home until later from her job at St. Elizabeth Hospital in Covington, where she was the second-shift switchboard operator. When George was younger, he always enjoyed visiting her at her job and hearing her make announcements over the public address system with her velvety voice, “Visiting hours are over, visiting hours are over.” He once asked her why she couldn’t use the same voice when giving instructions to him at home. All he received from her in response was a frown, without a word uttered by her velvety voice.

“What are you and Schmitty up to these days?” Clare inquired.

“We had to fix his Harley. He wrecked it racing at the old race track. And then an old man gave him a motorcycle he was storing in his garage for his son who was killed in the Great War and Schmitty wants to ride it out to Mt. Rushmore this summer.

I’m tired and I’m going to bed, Sis. I’ve got to be at the mill early tomorrow. Good night.”

“Well, so much for the Reader’s Digest version of things,” she mumbled as she waved good night to George. George washed up and lay down in the same bed he slept in as a young boy. He felt comfort in his bed, as if it was a safe haven from the things in the world he struggled to understand and to change. The events of the past weekend caused him to reflect more than usual himself, even though he teased Schmitty about his own over-thinking.

George’s life changed forever when his father abandoned the family when he was just eleven years old. It was during the Great Depression when life was already very hard for most families. His 31

The Indian

mother needed to find work, he and Clare worked after school to earn money to help make ends meet then but over the years their efforts paid off as things slowly improved for them. His father never returned and made no attempts to keep in touch and George didn’t know if he lived a few or thousands of miles away. His emotional scars from the abandonment were healing but he needed more time for them to disappear, if they ever would. He especially admired Schmitty’s father Ralph, since he had no father figure in his life, and enjoyed seeing him interact with his sons and wife in a loving and caring way while being the provider and authority figure in their household. He also appreciated Mr. Schmitz’s caring ways toward him, as well.

Schmitty’s idea of riding to Mt. Rushmore and the Sturgis motorcycle rally was intriguing and reminded George of his own trip to New Orleans when he was twelve years old. He hopped a freight train in the Decoursey yard and rode there to see Mardi Gras. He eventually was able to talk Schmitty into going with him but Schmitty fell off the moving train, while they were trying to board, and he was forced to go alone. He wondered how Mr. Hansen, the kind, retired sailor there, was doing. He also regretted he didn’t stay in touch with Julianne who helped him out with a place to stay - even if it was in the family garage. She was cute then and must be a beauty now. He was also disappointed because he needed to tell Schmitty he probably couldn’t accompany him on his trip to the Midwest. They had always done most things together and he hated to pass up this trip, but he needed to keep his job at the mill for his own good and his family’s. He hoped there would be other trips for them to take together in the future.

The staccato tempo of his thoughts began to dissolve and he was soon fast asleep.

32

4 Schmitty woke the next morning and sprung out of bed to get ready for work, pleased he would be riding his motorcycle rather than the streetcar. His father left for work early, so his mother asked if he would like some breakfast before leaving.

“Just toast and coffee,” he replied. He glanced at the morning paper and saw tensions on the European war front were escalating and the U.S. would most likely be drawn in. The U.S. was already on a lend-lease program with Great Britain for equipment to support its war efforts against Germany and the Axis powers, so he felt it was just a matter of time before the U.S. was in the war, full force.

He just didn’t know what event would draw it in.

“I’ve got to go, Mom,” he said, as he jumped up from the table, kissed her on the cheek and charged out the back door to the garage and his motorcycle.

“Be careful, Bob,” she encouraged. “I’ll see you for dinner.”

“Okay, Mom. I’ll be careful,” he replied. Schmitty started his Harley and pulled out of the garage, and headed north toward Cincinnati to his job at the Times Star. As he rode, he thought about his conversation with his father the previous evening and how they discussed his desire to take a trip on the Indian to help clear his mind. Somehow, after talking to Mr. Donoghue and learning of his son’s death in the Great War, a sense of urgency had come over him about planning his own future. Perhaps Joe Donoghue’s death made him realize just how fragile life is.

It was Tuesday, July 2nd and Schmitty thought about Thursday’s Independence Day and a day off work and most likely taking in the area’s holiday activities. There would be parades and fireworks and picnics and it would also be a good day to take the Indian for a ride in the country. It was shaping up to be a good week.

33

The Indian

After the presses were rolling for the afternoon edition, Schmitty brought up the idea of asking for some time off to go on his trip with his supervisor.

“Mr. Duffy, do you think it would be possible for me to take off at the end of this month for a couple of weeks to go on a trip?”

“Say it again. I couldn’t hear you very well over the presses. It sounded like you said something about wanting to take some time off. I must be hearing things,” he replied with gentle sarcasm.

“No sir, you heard me right. I want to take a bike trip out to see Mt. Rushmore. Be a good story for the paper, don’t you think?”

Schmitty replied with humor to counteract Mr. Duffy’s gruffness.

“Well, we’ll let the editorial staff decide on that, but let me look at the schedule. This time of year is rather slow and providing we don’t get in the war the week you’re gone, we could probably manage without you.”

“Great,” Schmitty exclaimed. “Mark down on the schedule I’ll be off, please.”

“Will do,” replied Mr. Duffy. “Have a nice time.”

The permission to take time off put Schmitty in a good mood which improved as the day rolled on. At quitting time, he hopped on his bike to ride home, and when he arrived, he went in and spoke with his mother.

“Hi, Mom. What’s for dinner?” he greeted.

“Your favorite - roast beef and mashed potatoes,” she replied with a smile, knowing he’d be happy with her dinner selection.

“Sounds good. I’ll go clean up,” he also replied with a smile.

At dinner time the whole family sat down together as was the custom in most homes in the area. It was the normal chaos with his younger brothers talking non-stop about their days. It was after all, summer vacation which is a cherished time for school-aged girls and boys. Schmitty didn’t say much as they ate. After dinner, his two brothers charged off to continue the activities they were chattering about through dinner. Schmitty remained at the table with his mother and father.

“You look like you’re in a better mood, Bob,” his father began.

“Are you happy to have your bike back on the road?”

“I am,” Schmitty replied. “Dad, have you spoken with Mom about what we talked about last night?” he asked.

34

Barry Kienzle

“Uh, not really, Son. I was hoping you weren’t really serious about it and it would blow over. I guess I was wrong,” he answered, embarrassedly.

“Ask me about what?” Mrs. Schmitz interjected.

“Mom, I want to take off work for a couple of weeks at the beginning of August to take a trip on the Indian to see Mt. Rushmore and the Black Hills Motor Classic,” Schmitty replied enthusiastically.

“It sounds like a long trip on an old bike to me. What do you think, Ralph?” she asked, directly.

“I told him the same thing, but it appears he’s hell-bent on going. He’s trying to talk George into it but I don’t think he wants to risk his job at the mill to go joy-riding for a couple of weeks,” he replied.

“I don’t know about you going alone, Bob,” she said seriously.

“It’s such a long trip,” she added.

“I’ll be fine, Mom. I promise,” Schmitty replied.

Before either his mother or father could raise any more objections, he jumped up from the table and hustled out the back door toward the garage, to check on the Indian. He started going over it meticulously, changing the oil, lubing the gears and sprockets, changing the spark plugs and performing any other maintenance he thought of. When he finished, he washed and polished it to where it shined even in the dimly lit garage, its new home.

“We’re going to have some good times together, girl. Do some things, see some sights and make Joe proud. Yes, we are,” he spoke as if the bike could hear him. It was late when he finished so he turned out the light, closed the garage doors and walked toward the house. He took a few steps and heard a bump and returned to investigate. He opened the doors, turned on the light and noticed the Indian had tipped and was leaning against some storage shelves.

He straightened it and adjusted the stand to secure it and noticed a small piece of paper on the floor which was yellowed and tattered on its edges. He was curious where it came from, and realized it must have been tucked under the seat which was the only spot he had not inspected when he cleaned and serviced the bike. He 35

The Indian

peered at it closely in the dim light and noticed it appeared to be written in French. He wasn’t able to translate it so he carried it into the house.

“Mom, can you translate this French for me?” he asked. “I took German in school and my French isn’t very good. You took French so maybe you can take a crack at it and between us we’ll figure it out.” The note read, Suivez le Grand Esprit. Mrs. Schmitz looked it over for a minute and said slowly, “Follow the Great Spirit.” She looked at her son and asked, “Where did you find this?”

“It must have fallen out from under the seat on the Indian,” he replied. “First time I’ve seen it.”

“What do you think it means?” she asked.

“I don’t know, but the previous owner served in the Army in France, so that may be the connection.”

“Oh,” she replied, handing it to him. “That’s interesting,” she noted. “Sounds like good advice to me.”

Schmitty folded the note and placed it in his billfold and walked into his room to wash and retire for the evening. As he lay in bed his thoughts went to the note. “Follow the Great Spirit,” he thought. What does it mean? It sounded like an Indian saying but it was written in French. Joe Donoghue trained for the Army out in the Midwest which is in Indian territory, but most likely he wouldn’t have been fluent in French until he served in France. He was killed there so when would he have been home to write the note? Then again, maybe he didn’t write it. But then who did, and why? These thoughts kept turning over and over in his mind until he fell asleep.

It was a warm night and he woke a number of times hoping for a breeze to move through the house but It was July, and warm nights were the norm. He woke the next morning and headed off to work at the Times Star. It was a busy day on the presses because the afternoon edition was being printed as well as everything but the front page for the next day’s holiday edition. As a result, time passed quickly and soon it was quitting time. As he rode home on his Harley, he thought about the Fourth of July holiday and how he and George should celebrate. After dinner he rode over to George’s house and knocked. George’s mother, Julia answered and invited him in.

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“Hello Bobby. How are you doing? George just finished eating dinner and is getting cleaned up. He should be out in a minute or two. Have a seat.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I thought you’d be working tonight at the hospital on the switchboard,” Schmitty replied.

“No,” she answered. “I have to work tomorrow on the holiday, so I’m off today.”

“Oh, I see,” he said as George entered the room and she left for the kitchen.

“Hey, Schmitty. What’s going on?” George greeted.

“I just came by to see what you want to do tomorrow, for the holiday,” he replied.

“I dunno. What sounds good?” George answered with a shrug.

“I was thinking I’d like to take the Indian out for a ride. You could ride my bike and we could ride out to Ryland Lakes where my mom and dad are visiting friends for the day and then come back and check out the socials here in town. Maybe find some good eatin’,” he suggested.

“Okay,” George replied. “Sounds like fun.”

“Maybe come on down tomorrow around 9:00 then and we’ll take off,” Schmitty suggested.

“Okay, I’ll see you then,” George agreed, as Schmitty headed back home on his Harley. ****** The sun was shining brightly through Schmitty’s bedroom window the next morning and he could tell by the early morning temperature it was going to be a typical hot Fourth of July holiday.

He was anxious to get going so he jumped out of bed to begin his every day morning rituals, as any young man would, to make himself look sharp for whomever or whatever he’d encounter. He went into the kitchen for breakfast and nodded a good morning to his mother and father who had finished eating and were packing a cooler to take on a picnic.

“We’re driving out to Jim and June’s place at Ryland Lakes for the day,” Ralph reminded Schmitty. “You’re welcome to go if you like. Your brothers and Sandy are going with us.”

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“I think George and I are going to take a bike ride out in that direction,” Schmitty replied.

“If you’re riding the Indian, Jim would like to see the old beauty,” Ralph replied enthusiastically. “I think he owned one from the same era, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Well good. Maybe he can tell me something about it worth knowing,” Schmitty nodded.

“Well, maybe we’ll see you out there then,” Ralph replied as he moved out the back door with the cooler to the garage to get the car ready while shouting, “Get a move on boys,” to his other sons.

Schmitty ate breakfast and went out to the garage to check over the Indian before venturing out on it. He entered the garage almost reverently as he walked to the rear to the bike.

“Okay girl, we get to go on a nice ride today. We get to see what you can do out in the countryside. I need to know if you can make a trip out West and there’s only one way to find out,” he spoke.

“Jesus, Schmitty. You’re talking to it like it’s alive,” interrupted George as he surprised Schmitty and walked in carrying a leather hat, goggles and gloves. “It’s a bike, not a horse. You don’t need to sweet talk it to get it to run,” he laughed.

“Okay, wise-guy. Let’s get ready to go. Crank up the Harley while I go in and get my things” Schmitty directed.

George checked the gas tank and jumped on the kick starter as it started and rumbled inside the garage. He rolled it into the yard to await Schmitty’s return from the house.

“Sounds good, like it’s ready to run,” he yelled to George. “Let me get mine going and we’ll be off.”

The Indian kicked right off and Schmitty rolled it out in the yard and pulled next to George.

“We’re going to end up with my folks at Ryland Lakes for lunch where they’re visiting friends for the day. But let’s ride down to Cynthiana and stop at Ryland on the way back. It will be lunch time and we’ll have worked up an appetite by then,” Schmitty recommended.

“Sounds good to me,” George replied above the lobe of the two engines. “You lead.”

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Schmitty waved in acknowledgement as the pair pulled their goggles down over their eyes and rode toward Decoursey Pike for their morning jaunt.

The ride was exhilarating as the air was cool with many trees shading the two lane road. The bikes cruised along at a good pace with the Indian leading and not pushed by the Harley even though its engine was larger and more powerful than the older bike’s. After a little more than an hour they arrived in Cynthiana and rode down Main St. looking for a shady spot to rest. They came upon an Independence Day parade and some of the onlookers waved and shouted to them as if they were participants, themselves. One man yelled to Schmitty, “Great looking bike. Haven’t seen one this nice in a long time.” Schmitty looked over at George who pulled next to him and they both laughed and sat up straight in their seats while waving to the crowd, enjoying the special attention they were receiving.

“They like this old girl,” commented Schmitty as he revved the engine to the delight of the onlookers.

After a few blocks the parade turned a corner and George and Schmitty pulled into a parking lot to rest and let their engines cool.

“Wasn’t that a hoot?” George laughed.

“Yep. Can’t say as we’ve ever done that before. One for the books,” Schmitty agreed. They sat in the shade on the front steps of a hardware store and drank from some steel water bottles they were carrying. After a few moments Schmitty broke the silence and said, “George, I’ve been thinking about enlisting in the Navy.”

“Seriously? What makes you want to do that?” George replied, surprised. “If the U.S. gets in the war, we’ll most likely all end up serving. Why would you enlist now?” he added.

“If I join now, I feel I can control my own destiny a bit better.

With my engineering schooling, I figure I’d make a heck of a navigator in the Navy Air Corps,” Schmitty replied confidently.

“What about your schooling?” George continued. “You were really doing well, really making something of yourself. Why would you want to stop now?” he questioned.

“Just going to school isn’t really making something of yourself,” Schmitty replied. “It’s what you do with what you learn that makes 39

The Indian

a difference. I think I can put to good use what I’ve learned. Maybe make an impact somewhere.”

“Have you talked to your dad about it?” George asked. “I know you value his opinion.”

“No. Not yet. I was curious how you felt about it. And I haven’t totally made up my mind yet, anyway” Schmitty admitted.

“I’m not sure how I feel about it,” George replied. “It would really be different around here without you, I know that for sure.

Can I have your Indian when you’re gone?” he laughed as he stood up to remount the Harley. “We need to head back if we’re going to make Ryland Lakes by lunch time. My stomach’s telling me we need to get rolling.”

They both started their engines and since the parade had moved on, they were able to re-trace their route and return north on US 27. As they rode, Schmitty thought about his conversation with George, his best friend, and was beginning to feel more confident in his thoughts about enlisting in the Navy. After a cooling ride back they arrived at Ryland Lakes, and Schmitty pulled over near the entrance and stopped.

“George. Don’t say anything to anyone about what we talked about, okay?” Schmitty pleaded.

“Sure,” George replied with a nod. They rode in to Jim and June’s cottage where Jim and Ralph could be seen pitching horseshoes, and Schmitty’s brothers fishing in a nearby lake. He heard the last clang of a horseshoe against a stake as Ralph and Jim walked toward them when they saw them arrive.

“Hello there, Bobby. Nice to see you,” called out Jim. Sandy ran to greet them, but she seemed more interested in the Indian than in either George or Schmitty.

“Nice to see you too, sir,” Schmitty replied. “This here is my friend, George.”

“Oh yeah. I recognize you from down at Holy Cross. Welcome,” Jim greeted, as he offered his hand.

“Thank you, sir,” George replied, as they shook hands.

“How was your horseshoe game?” Schmitty inquired.

“Your old man whipped me again,” replied Jim, shaking his head feigning disgust. “He’s got those Popeye forearms and he can 40

Barry Kienzle

flip them old horseshoes any which way he wants. He is fun to throw against, though. Say, what are you riding there, Bobby? It looks like an old Indian Twin V. She running good?”

“She runs great. We just took a ride down to Cynthiana. She can gallop when you call on her,” Schmitty replied, proudly.

“She’s a beaut,” Jim agreed. “Nicer than the one I owned at your age. Hold on to her ‘cause you won’t regret it. I wish I still had mine. I think they get better with age,” he said reassuringly.

“Yes sir. I Intend to,” Schmitty agreed. Mrs. Schmitz and June emerged from the cottage and shouted that lunch was being served on the picnic tables in the shade of the adjacent grove.

“They don’t have to call me twice,” said Ralph as he wiped the sweat from his brow with his handkerchief. He called for his sons to put down their fishing poles and join them for lunch.

“Not until you wash those worm guts off your hands,” Mrs. Schmitz ordered.

They all found a seat in a shady spot and bowed to say grace and to thank the Lord for the freedom they enjoyed as a result of their forefather’s sacrifices. “And thank you Lord that none of our boys have to go off to war. No one wants any part of this needless fighting. Amen,” Mrs. Schmitz ended. George looked over at Schmitty who returned his glance showing no reaction to her pleading.

“Let’s eat!” Schmitty shouted. “Let’s eat!”

Silverware clanked on the plates as the hungry picnickers dug in for their holiday lunch. The aroma of fried chicken and smoked sausages permeated the air, beckoning each diner to forsake one to enjoy the other. The men and boys solved their dilemma by feasting on both. When the diners finished their holiday banquet, Schmitty’s brothers helped clear the tables as the men proceeded to the shadiest section of the grove where Adirondack-style lawn chairs sat in a circle. As they settled in, Jim spoke. “So Ralph, do you think we’ll end up in the war?”

“I think we’re already in the war, just not officially,” Ralph replied. “I can tell by how much steel and materials are running through our rail yard and everyone knows production is up at the mill for war-type equipment. I’m glad my younger boys are too 41

The Indian

young to serve and Bobby is in school. I’d hate to think they could end up serving in this mess.” Schmitty looked at George, swallowed hard and offered no response to his father’s remarks.

“Well how about those Reds,” Jim remarked. “It looks like they might win the pennant again this year. McKechnie’s really got ‘em playin’. And Frank McCormick is knocking the ball all over the park and Bucky Walters is throwin’ as good as I’ve ever seen him.

Let’s hope if we win we don’t run into the Yankees in the World Series like we did last year,” he added.

“Well you know what they say about being in first place on the Fourth of July,” replied Ralph.

“I do. Let’s hope we stay there and don’t test the theory by not winning it,” Jim replied with fingers crossed to denote, good luck. The chatter moved from the war and the Reds to many other popular topics of the day. Schmitty and George weren’t asked and didn’t offer their opinions on the topics with the exception of one.

“Say there, Bobby,” Jim started. “How you doing in school? You must be proud Ralph, having a son in engineering school. Gonna make something of himself.”

“I just hope he stays there,” replied Ralph. “He’s only got two more years till he graduates. It will be a proud day for his mother and me when he does. I hope his brothers take after him,” Ralph replied enthusiastically.

“I’m doing fine, sir,” Schmitty replied.

“Good. We’re all proud of you,” Jim said assuredly.

“Thank you, sir,” Schmitty acknowledged. He stood, with George following his lead and announced, “We need to get going.

We want to see what’s going on down on Ritte’s Corner for the holiday.”

“Go in and tell your mother good-bye. She and June deserve a thank-you for the nice spread they put out,” Ralph urged.

“Yes, sir.” Schmitty strode toward the cottage as George sauntered toward the bikes after thanking Jim and Ralph for their hospitality.

“You’re welcome, George. Thanks for coming by,” Jim responded. “See you in church.” Schmitty emerged from the cottage, and caught up with George at the bikes. Sandy followed them and acted like she wanted to run with them.

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“Stay, Sandy,” Schmitty ordered. “Not this time. Some other time. Good girl,” and they were off making their way toward town.

In a half-hour they arrived at the Schmitz’s home and parked the bikes in the garage.

“The Indian did really well today,” commented George.

“It sure did,” Schmitty replied. “I’m going to keep riding her until we go on the trip so I know she’s good for it.”

“Uh,” George stammered. “I really can’t go. I talked to my Union steward at the mill and he told me I’d probably lose my job if I took off. I can’t risk it.”

“I understand,” replied Schmitty disappointedly. “I know you’d go if you could. By the way, since I’m going to be riding the Indian full-time, you can use the Harley. No sense in it sitting around tempting my brothers to sneak a spin on it.”

“Great. Thanks,” George replied. “In that case, I think I’ll run home to clean up before we leave for the Corner to see what’s up.”

An hour later he returned and knocked on the door at the Schmitz home. “Hey, Schmitty. Shake a leg. I can’t stand out here forever.”

The door swung open and Schmitty appeared.

“Pipe down. I’m coming. What’s the hurry?” he asked.

Schmitty closed the door behind him and he and George marched toward Ritte’s Corner to see what was going on for the Fourth of July celebration. When they arrived they were greeted by some of their friends who had gathered for the same purpose.

“Hey, George. Hey, Schmitty. What are you guys up to?”

“We’re just seeing what’s going on tonight, for fun,” replied George. “What are you guys up to?” “Same thing. We’re talking about going over to the Methodist Church down the street for their social. We heard they’re serving some mighty fine fried chicken,” one of their friends replied.

“I couldn’t eat another piece of fried chicken today,” replied Schmitty, holding his stomach as he spoke. “But we’ll go over and see what’s going on too.”

The group moved out together for the short walk. One of the guys in the group walked up to Schmitty and said, “Hey Schmitty, I saw you buzzing around on an old Indian. Where’d you pick it up?”

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“From Mr. Donoghue down on Winston Avenue. It was his son’s, who was killed in the Great War,” Schmitty replied.

“You’re lucky to own a bike like that. How much did you have to pay for it?” the friend asked.

“Nothing. He gave it to me but he wants me to use it in memory of his son,” Schmitty replied.

“Hmm. So you’re riding a dead guy’s bike. Doesn’t that seem a bit creepy?” the friend continued.

“I didn’t think of it that way. But it does seem like it has a life of its own. Its condition defies logic, if you ask me,” Schmitty replied.

“Well, if you’re okay with it, who am I to suggest it may be controlled by some spirit of the dearly departed?” he joked as they arrived at the church social.

As they entered the grounds, George and Schmitty broke off from the others who used their sense of smell to direct them toward the fried chicken stand. The two scanned the crowd for some familiar faces and they saw two girls they knew from the neighborhood.

“It’s Lillian and Virginia,” Schmitty commented.

“Hey, Lil. Hey, Ginny. How are you girls doing today?” greeted George.

“We’re fine. How about you?” Ginny replied.

“Okay. We took a bike ride this morning and visited some friends of my family at Ryland Lakes and now we’re here to enjoy the rest of the day with you,” Schmitty replied, showing embarrassment at his presumptuous sounding statement.

“Why Bobby,” Ginny replied, “I never knew you to be so glib. I like it,” as she moved closer to him.

The two pairs moved through the crowd at the social enjoying the food and drink and the atmosphere of the neighborhood coming together to celebrate the holiday. As the sun began to set, Schmitty spoke up. “They’re supposed to shoot off some fireworks at dusk at the old race track. Why don’t we walk over and take it in.” Lil looked at Ginny who nodded her okay and the four of them strolled leisurely down Church Street to East 38th Street onto Winston Avenue toward the track. As they passed East 39th Street Schmitty saw Mr. Donoghue sitting on his porch and waved to him.

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“Hello, Mr. Donoghue. Enjoying the evening?”

“I am. How is the Indian running?”

“Fine sir. I’m taking good care of it.”

“Great,” he replied. “I knew you would. I miss my Joe most around holidays, but I’m glad to know his bike is out and about.”

As they moved down the street toward the track, Ginny asked Schmitty who the man was he was speaking to.

“He’s Mr. Donoghue. His son died in the Great War and he recently gave me his old Indian motorcycle.”

“It sounds like a sad story,” she replied. “Lil and I will have to keep him in mind and maybe look in on him from time to time.”

They arrived at the track and a crowd from the Latonia neighborhood was gathering for the fireworks which would cap the day’s official activities. They sat in the top row of the bleacher seats as the sun set behind the hills and the crowd’s anticipation grew. About ten minutes later as the sky grew dark, the night air was pierced with the boom and crackle of fireworks that lit up the sky and reflected on the faces of the admiring crowd. For twenty minutes or more the barrage continued until there was a pause and the grand finale brought the spectacular event to a close.

The crowd cheered its approval and began to disperse. George announced he wanted to show Lil the old barn and paddock area where the horses were boarded when the track was open. The two made their way in the direction of the barns as Schmitty put his arm around Ginny’s bare shoulders as the night air chilled.

“It was fun today, Bobby. You’ll have to call me sometime,” she said, as she kissed him on the cheek to validate her comment.

“It was. You’re fun to be with,” he replied awkwardly, without making a commitment to call her. About a half-hour later George and Lil reappeared and the four of them began the walk back home. As they strolled, Ginny whispered to Lil, “How did you and George get along?”

“He’s a nice fellow but maybe a little too frisky for me,” she giggled. Soon they arrived at Ritte’s Corner and Schmitty asked if he and George could walk them home.

“Thank you, but we’re just a block away. Thanks for taking us to see the fireworks. It was fun,” Ginny replied.

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“You’re welcome,” Schmitty answered and George nodded in agreement. “We’ll see you around.”

“Well, tomorrow is a work day so we’d better head home,” George commented as he looked at the big clock on the corner.

“You’re right,” Schmitty acknowledged. “I’ll catch up with you this weekend. We’ll have to do another bike ride. I need to keep the Indian moving to be sure it can do a long trip.

“Okay. I’ll see you later, buddy,” George said as he made off in the opposite direction toward home. ****** For the next few weeks, Schmitty rode the Indian to work each day and took long rides on weekends to determine if it would hold up on a cross-country trip after not having been ridden for nearly twenty-five years. It performed exceptionally well and he decided to get serious with his plans to travel to Sturgis and Mt. Rushmore.

One evening he sat at the family dining room table and spread out a map. His father, Ralph walked through the room and hesitated when he saw his son poring over it meticulously.

“Looks like you’re sizing up the area out there in the Midwest, Son. Getting serious about your trip?” he inquired.

“Yes, sir. I’m deciding the best route, and how long it will take me,” Schmitty replied without looking up.

“Mind if I sit down and take a gander myself? Sounds pretty interesting,” Ralph replied as he pulled up a chair next to his son.

“Dad, I’m thinking I’d like to take a route that lets me see places I’ve never seen before, yet isn’t too taxing on the Indian,” Schmitty announced.

“Makes sense to me,” replied Ralph. “See it all, if you can.”

Schmitty traced an imaginary line on the map with his finger while describing the route to his father. “I like this route the best,” he started. “West from here through Indianapolis, to St. Louis to Kansas City then turning north to Omaha to Sioux City before turning west through South Dakota to Sturgis. I’ve chosen a route further north through South Dakota which has less extreme altitude changes than the more southern route. I don’t want to push 46

Barry Kienzle

my luck with the Indian. The last thing I need is to get stranded in no-man’s-land trying to find parts for a vintage bike. I’m hoping to make it in four days, so I’ll have to average about three hundred and fifty miles or so per day,” he ended, glancing at Ralph for his impression of his plan.

“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out,” Ralph replied. “But it’s a lot of miles for an old bike, Son. It’s four days of hard riding.”

“I know Dad. I think it will be in the thirteen to fourteen hundred mile range. But the bike’s got a lot of heart and we’ll be fine. I plan to leave on August 1st and be gone for maybe two weeks.

I’m really excited about this trip. It’s a shame George can’t go, what with work and all, but being alone on the road will give me time to think and plan my future.” Ralph chuckled upon hearing his son’s comments.

“Son, you’re going to be like a sponge taking in all you encounter. Your brain is going to be working in the present dealing with things on the road, not planning your future. Enjoy the trip and worry about everything else when you get home.”

“Good advice, Dad. No sense in over-thinking things,” he agreed.

Schmitty hadn’t told his parents about his thoughts of joining the Navy to train as a navigator. So far, only George knew. He folded the map and walked out to the garage to piddle around with the Indian. He turned on the light and was surprised to see Sandy lying there next to the bike.

“Are you on guard duty, girl?” he said, reaching down to pet her head. “Seems you have a love affair with this bike. Too bad you can’t come with us on the trip.” Sandy gazed up at Schmitty, and rested her head on her paws to continue her sentry duty. ****** The next two weeks passed quickly for Schmitty as he planned his journey. He and George spent time together in their normal haunts and took a few bike rides through the countryside with Schmitty on the Indian and George on the Harley. After one of the rides on the evening before Schmitty was to leave, they talked about the trip.

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“So you’re really going to do it, huh,” George commented in a teasing tone.

“Yep, I am” replied Schmitty. “And you’re jealous I’m going and you’re not.”

“Can’t say as I disagree with you, Schmitty. I’d love to go, but duty calls. Besides, your renditions of the trip will probably be more exciting than the trip itself,” he joked as he moved away before Schmitty could take a swipe at him.

“Take care of the Harley for me while I’m gone George,” Schmitty directed.

“You know I will, buddy,” George said as he grabbed Schmitty’s hand and shook it more firmly than normal. “Be careful, you hear?

It’s hard to find good friends these days,” he laughed as he rode off on the Harley.

Schmitty appreciated George’s friendship and knew he would miss him on the trip but didn’t want to forsake it on account of their friendship, nor would George want him to. When George planned the trip to see Mardi Gras when they were boys and Schmitty fell off the train, and George continued alone, he did so because he knew he must go on. Schmitty felt the same way about this trip - he must go!

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Part II

5 The next morning arrived early for Schmitty, who didn’t sleep well the night before, given he was about to undertake the most exciting trip of his young life. He bounded out of bed before dawn to get an early start and avoid as much of the heat of the day as possible. He gulped down toast and orange juice before making his way to the garage to pack up the bike. Sandy followed closely behind. On both sides of the small luggage rack behind the driver’s seat he tied on two knapsacks which contained clothes and provisions. After one last inspection he returned to the house to see if his mother and father had risen so they could see him off. He strode into the kitchen looking much older than his years in his riding jacket, gloves, hat, goggles and boots. His mother appeared with a scarf for his neck.

“Mom, it’s August. I don’t think I’ll need a scarf,” he said while rolling his eyes.

“Take it anyway. You never know when it will come in handy.

It could be cool in the mountains and you’ll be glad you have it,” his mother insisted.

“Okay,” he replied as he gave her a hug and kiss. He could tell from her embrace she was trying to hold back the tears of seeing her first-born motor off on such a long trip, alone, to places unknown.

Ralph walked in rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“I didn’t know you were leaving so early, Son,” he said, as dawn began to break.

“I wanted to get an early start, Dad. I’m hoping to make St. Louis by nightfall.”

“Well then, don’t let me hold you up.” He reached out to embrace him as a father would his son.

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“Don’t forget to call us from time to time,” Ralph said in an authoritative tone.

“I will, Dad. But be ready to take a collect call. I need to be careful with my money,” Schmitty warned.

“We will, won’t we Mother,” Ralph assured him as they both nodded in agreement. Schmitty moved out the door toward the garage.

“Sandy, you have to stay,” he said as he started the Indian and revved the engine before pulling out of the driveway and right onto East Southern Avenue. As he neared the intersection to turn right on Decoursey Avenue he stopped and turned left instead onto Winston Avenue and rode the short distance to Mr. Donoghue’s home. He made a turn in the street and revved the engine briefly to bid him farewell. He saw a light go on in the house and knew the old man would recognize the sound and would know the Indian was leaving on a special trip with his son Joe’s spirit aboard - to ride with the wind!

After Schmitty’s obligatory gesture, he made his way north up Decoursey Pike and within ten minutes he had ridden through Covington and was crossing the Ohio River into Cincinnati. From there he turned west toward Indianapolis. He was anxious to travel through Indiana since he hadn’t spent much time there but he knew the terrain was relatively flat and he could make good time.

As he rode northwest on State Route 1 he was impressed with the massive farms which lay before him. The fields seemed endless as one farm touched the next. There were few natural barriers like hills, creeks and woods to hem them in as was often the case in Kentucky.

Corn crops dominated the landscape, the tall stalks waved in the breeze waiting for the farm hands to gather their fruit to send to market. Farm houses with barns and silos, all painted white, dotted the landscape which stood in testament to the hard working farmers and their families who grew and tended to the crops. The roads through the farmlands were also relatively flat and straight.

The Indian was cruising like a stallion which had broken free of its corral and at times Schmitty felt he was being driven rather than driving.

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It was nearing mid-morning and there was more noticeable activity on the roads and around the barns and houses. More than once he slowed to pass a slow-moving tractor driven by an old weathered farmer who would wave a friendly hello as Schmitty eased by and sped away. He drove by a farm with a white three rail fence, presumably to contain livestock, and came upon three youngsters running barefoot in the shade along a creek, a scene more common than not in such rural settings. It reminded him of his own younger days spent with George passing time on Banklick Creek near home.

In late morning Schmitty reached the outskirts of Indianapolis, a decent sized Midwestern town. It was his first time there but it wasn’t intimidating and in many ways resembled Cincinnati, but without the hills. He pulled into a filling station to gas up but more to get off his bike to stretch his legs and have a bite to eat.

“How ya’ doin buddy? Fill ‘er up?” the attendant greeted.

Schmitty nodded affirmatively and the pump clanged as it started.

“That’ll be 42 cents,” he announced. Schmitty handed him four bits. “I need to run in and get some change for ya,’ buddy,” the attendant commented.

“You keep the change,” Schmitty replied. He pulled out his map and perused the route to St. Louis as he munched on fruit he had packed for the trip. He had ridden about 125 miles so far but still had another 250 to St. Louis. If he could maintain his current pace he could make it by late afternoon or early evening.

The ride from Indianapolis to St. Louis didn’t vary much from the ride from Cincinnati to Indianapolis other than it was twice as far with a slight decline in altitude over the distance as it approached the Mississippi River basin. Farms and fields again dotted the landscape before he approached a sleepy town and spotted a church steeple or two and maybe a town hall from a distance before entering the city limits. Each town was hard to decipher from another but they shared something in common - they were peaceful and quaint and combined with their neighboring farms, played a major role in the identity of each area. Schmitty enjoyed every mile of the journey. The further he rode the more distance he put between himself and home, but each mile brought him closer 51

The Indian

to his goal of seeing Mt. Rushmore and the motorcycle rally in Sturgis.

He rolled down the road as the Indian was running better with each passing mile as if it anticipated its destination, and wanted to race to it. He came upon Terra Haute, located on the Wabash River.

It was much larger than all of the other towns, besides Indianapolis, he passed through, which is often the case for towns on waterways which spur settlement and development. He decided to stop there for lunch and pulled into a diner. After a quick lunch he gassed up at a nearby filling station, studying his map as the attendant pumped another gallon into his tank. He paid and was back on the road again. 160 more miles to St. Louie, he thought to himself. He began to tire from the ride but was determined to stay on schedule.

Come on baby, you can do it, he whispered as he patted the gas tank as a rider would urge a horse for a little extra effort.

He rolled through the green Illinois countryside. The day warmed and he shed his riding jacket. The closer he got to St. Louis the more humid it got as the altitude drops gradually as you approach. Finally, around six o’clock he rolled across the Mississippi River on the Eads Bridge into the city. After nearly ten hours on the road he had finished the first leg of his long journey. He was pleased with both himself and the Indian, but needed to find a place to stay for the night. He followed along Washington Avenue for a few miles and stopped when he noticed a sign that read, Miss Molly’s Boarding House. He parked the Indian in the yard, walked up on the porch and knocked on the door.

“Come in, it’s open,” a voice responded from inside. Schmitty slowly opened the door and peered in. “Don’t be shy, come on in!” the voice once again beckoned. Schmitty entered and saw a matronly-looking woman, sitting in a rocking chair in front of an oscillating fan. Her figure was a bit portly, and her bright blue eyes complimented her engaging smile. She spoke while sitting. “May I help you?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Schmitty replied politely. “I’m looking for a room for the night. Is Miss Molly here?”

“Yes,” replied the woman. “That would be me,” she said.

“Do you have any vacancies?” Schmitty inquired. She did and he booked a room for the night for a dollar-fifty which included 52

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breakfast. She also invited him to share a meatloaf dinner with her which suited him well after a long day on the road. After dinner he called home and spoke to his mother to let her know where he was and that he was safe. He was happy to have met Miss Molly, a nice woman, on his first night on the road. ****** At dawn, Schmitty woke and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

He made his way down to the dining room, gulped down breakfast as he was anxious to get on the road. “I must be on my way, Miss Molly. Here’s my $1.50 for the accommodations and I sincerely appreciate your hospitality. I may look you up on my return trip,” he said hurriedly.

“I hope you do stop by on your way home. I’d like to hear how things went for you. By the way, here’s a meatloaf sandwich for you for the road. You seemed to enjoy it so much last night for dinner.

No sense in it going to waste,” she said as she handed him a full brown paper bag.

“Thank you ma’am, I appreciate it,” he said, as he gave her a goodbye hug.

“Take care of yourself, Bob. Hope to see you soon.” She waved and he made his way out the door. An hour later he was at the point where he was about to cross the Missouri River, whose nickname is The Big Muddy because of the silt it carries in its waters.

He was still headed in a north-westerly direction. The scenery on the country roads was consistent with what he experienced in both Indiana and in Illinois east of St. Louis, but it was beautiful nonetheless. Magnificent farms continued to dot the landscape.

The roads crossed a number of meandering streams and creeks and farm ponds, and lakes were plentiful. The hours passed quickly as the road was relatively straight and Schmitty was motoring at a pretty fast pace as the Indian was showing no signs of fatigue and was performing better than expected. For mile after mile, the road was as straight as an arrow with only a slight increase in elevation the further he traveled away from the Mississippi River valley at St. Louis.

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Near mid-morning at Columbia, Schmitty estimated he was half-way to Kansas City. He had made good time once he got out of St. Louis and he hoped the remainder of the day’s trip would be equally as efficient. Near Boonville, he crossed back over the Missouri River in a southerly direction as the river turned north.

With about one hundred miles to go to Kansas City, he was hoping to arrive by early afternoon.

As he rode, his thoughts once again turned to his idea of enlisting in the Navy to be a navigator in its air corps. He knew his engineering schooling would serve him well and being able to travel to who-knows-where seemed pretty appealing to him at this point in his life. He began to wonder which types of planes he’d be assigned to and if he would be able to pass the training courses to qualify to navigate them. How would he tell his parents? What would they think about his decision given the U.S. may be drawn into the war at any time? Would he make a career of it or serve and then resume his engineering studies? At that moment he crossed over a rise and nearly collided with a slow-moving hay wagon pulled by a tractor.

He was able to swerve and avoid colliding, although he startled the farmer, and decided he’d leave his heavy thinking to when he wasn’t riding a motorcycle on a country road. He continued to follow US 40, arrived in Kansas City at one o’clock, and decided to stop for gas and lunch. Miss Molly’s meatloaf sandwich was really going to hit the spot!

He studied his map carefully as he ate for the proper route which would carry him north to Omaha, a full afternoon’s ride at 160 miles or so. Much of the route followed the winding Missouri River along the Missouri-Kansas then Iowa-Nebraska borders which would provide scenic views.

He rested a bit longer knowing the afternoon ride would be a test of his endurance. His goal was to reach Omaha by evening though, and he was bound and determined to do so provided the Indian could endure the marathon, but given the way it performed so far, it was more likely he would succumb to fatigue before it did. He rose to his feet, stored his riding jacket in his duffel bag, strapped it down, snapped his goggles over his eyes, tugged on his gloves, started the bike and sped off. Within a half-hour he was 54

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north of the city, but needed to cross the snaking Missouri River twice to do so. Once there, the open road was inviting and the Indian zoomed along again almost as if it was on a mission.

The Missouri countryside was similar to Indiana and Illinois with one farm after another filling the landscape. A large difference was the effect of the Dust Bowl disaster, where the drought which plagued the area in the 1930s coupled with the aggressive farming techniques used, caused much of the precious topsoil to be blown away in dust storms. The farmland was still trying to recover, and abandoned overgrown farms could be seen standing adjacent to well cared for plots. The challenge to overcome both an economic depression and a natural disaster was evident, but the tide seemed to be turning to better times.

Schmitty followed Missouri Route 111 for much of the ride and was pleased when about 85 miles into it he rode along the shore of a lake for a few miles. It seemed a good place to take a break and to let the Indian rest, so he searched for a shady spot under a tree overlooking the lake. He closed his eyes for what seemed like a minute and a cool breeze combined with his fatigue caused him to doze off. A bird fluttering in the tree above eventually jolted him awake. I must have dozed off, he thought. How long have I been asleep? he wondered. He glanced at his watch and realized he had napped for more than a half-hour. He was now behind schedule if he wanted to make Omaha by evening. He also realized he dreamt during his siesta although he couldn’t remember many details but it seemed to involve an Indian tribe and some sort of ceremony.

Must have been the Indian artifacts he had seen in the area that triggered it, he thought. He was invigorated by his nap and it served the Indian well too as they were both refreshed and off and running, hoping to make up some lost time.

In about eight miles he stopped in a little town called Craig to get gas. He rode through town and finally found a filling station on Ward Street. He pulled in and an older man sitting in a rocking chair stood to pump the gas.

“Howdy, feller. Need some gas? Hot one today, ain’t it,” he greeted.

“Yes it is,” Schmitty replied, with a nod.

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“Where ya’ headed?” the old man inquired.

“Omaha. I hope to make it by evening,” Schmitty replied.

“Well, if you get a move on and quit chattin’ with me you might make it,” the old man laughed as the pump clanged and stopped.

“That’ll be two bits for the gas. The conversation is free,” he laughed once more as he screwed the cap on the Indian’s tank. Schmitty felt this most likely wasn’t the first time the man used the line, but he said it with such enthusiasm it was amusing. Schmitty flipped him a quarter, with a thank you, hopped on his bike and rode off before the old man could slow him down with another worn out one-liner. He stopped a few blocks away to check his map which showed eighty or so more miles to Omaha, which may take two hours or more. If he could make it there he would have covered more than four hundred miles for the day. Sitting at Miss Molly’s breakfast table that morning seemed like an eternity ago, but his day wasn’t nearly over. He re-focused on the goal of making Sturgis on Sunday in order to take in the entire Black Hills Motor Classic which would begin on Monday. “Let’s go,” he shouted as he patted the gas tank again, much like one would urge a horse, and off they shot down highway 111.

After a few miles he picked up US 275 going north and within an hour crossed over the state border into Iowa. The scenery changed little as the Indian glided down the straight country roads with the only difference being a slight increase in elevation the more northward he traveled. The Indian labored more at times but Schmitty was excited to be closing in on higher elevations and moving out of the flatlands. While he was tired from the day’s long ride, the last few hours passed relatively quickly, as he was focused on making it to Omaha by evening.

He crossed the Missouri River into Nebraska at Plattsmouth, and from there traveled north up US 75 and entered Omaha near 7:00 p.m., more than twelve hours from when he left St. Louis. It was one of the hardest most grueling days he ever experienced, but one of the most rewarding as well - Illinois to Missouri to Iowa to Nebraska in one day. He hadn’t broken down or wrecked, and he had traveled more than half of the thirteen hundred miles to Sturgis. Mr. Donoghue would be pleased to know where the Indian had been riding in the wind!

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****** Schmitty made Omaha before nightfall and was pleased with both himself and the Indian even though he was exhausted from the day-long ride. Finding a place to stay for the night would be his next priority. He was motoring north on the south side of Omaha and passed what looked like a nice little motel with a vacancy sign lit in front with an adjacent café which would provide a good place to eat. He pulled the Indian up to the office and walked in as he pulled off his goggles and gloves. An elderly man who looked of Indian descent with pure white hair sat behind a counter listening to a radio station which was announcing current corn, wheat and other farm prices. The man stood as Schmitty approached the counter.

“Looks like you’ve been eatin’ a lot of dust today. You lookin’ for a room?” he asked as he looked Schmitty over from head to toe.

“Yes sir, I am. How much is a room for one night?” Schmitty replied.

“Two-fifty,” the clerk responded. Schmitty winced. “Are they all the same price?” he asked.

“Well, it is getting late. I’ll let you have a room for $2.00.

Okay?” asked the clerk. Schmitty hesitated but then nodded, yes in response. “Pay me now and sign in here,” the clerk directed. “Here’s the key for room number 8. Enjoy your stay. Oh, and if you want something to eat, the café next door gives a discount if you show them your room key,” the clerk finished with a smile.

“Do you have a place I can park my motorcycle for the night where it will be safe?” Schmitty inquired.

“Around back is probably the best spot. Nobody should bother it but you can open the window in the back of your room if you want to keep an eye and an ear on it,” the clerk replied motioning with his hand.

“Thank you,” Schmitty acknowledged.

“You’re welcome. Enjoy your stay,” the clerk repeated. The room was modest but clean which suited him since all he was looking for was a place to lay his head down for the night. He moved the 57

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Indian around to the back of the motel and opened the window as the clerk directed. He walked next door to the café and sat at the bar as the bartender walked up and greeted him. He ordered a plate of stew and a Coke and made quick work of his meal as he was hungry from his hard day’s ride. The bartender handed him his check, Schmitty dropped a tip on the bar and made his way to the cashier, paid and returned to his room to prepare for the next day’s ride. Once there, he peered out the back window to check on the Indian which still stood like a sentry.

As he pulled back the sheets on his bed, something caught the corner of his eye on the dresser which he hadn’t noticed before.

It was a brochure-type booklet. He looked it over and saw it was about the Indian heritage of the area. He didn’t know where it came from, whether the previous occupant of the room left it behind or the motel owners placed it there for the benefit of any tourists who may be interested in Indian culture. He sat in his bed and began to slowly page through it. It was quite an interesting read for someone like him who, not being from the area, knew very little about the Indian culture. He learned it was tightly woven into the history of the entire area.

A common theme in the descriptions of the Indian culture was the preponderance of the influence of the value of the extended family. Indian families often included mothers, fathers, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins all living together or nearby. Schmitty was intrigued by what he was reading and began thumbing through parts of the booklet looking for more nuggets of information on Indian lore. Toward the back of the booklet was a section on spirituality. It mentioned how religious thoughts and actions are integrated into every aspect of Indian life and culture - that spirituality is considered a natural component of daily life and necessary for the harmony, or wellness, of the individual, the family, and the entire community. It said that among the American tribes there was a single concept of religion regardless of tribe or geographic location. They believed that both the finite and the infinite were expressions of one universal, absolute being that furnished guidelines for their morals and conduct, and motivated every living thing. They called it the Great Spirit.

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It went on to describe, how in the Indian spiritual traditions, the importance of relation, as a way of existing in the world, is symbolized by the Circle of Life, comprised of the basic elements of life. The different Indian tribal cultures described the elements in their own way. One tradition spoke of fire, earth, water and wind as the elements, while another described them as spirit, nature, body and mind. Life was commonly viewed however, as a series of circles having a common center. All life was considered to exist in a state of harmony and balance. The section concluded by repeating how religious thought and action is integrated into every aspect of life and that spirituality is a natural component of all things.

Schmitty thought about what he had read and learned about Indian culture and beliefs, even from a small booklet. It was an unexpected bonus considering his purpose for being in the area at all was primarily to see Mt. Rushmore, an engineering feat, not to learn about Indian traditions. While Indian tribes inhabited all of the territories of the United States including his own state of Kentucky, which does bear an Indian name, not as much was known at home about Indian culture. He was grateful for what he learned since he was in the heartland of Indian culture and would be spending the majority of his time in South Dakota, an area of strong Indian influence. He rose from his bed to check on his bike which he could see in the moonlight. It was okay. He lay down to browse through the booklet once more, closed his eyes once and fell asleep. His long day was done. ****** The next morning dawn broke and shone through the window.

He hopped out of bed and hit the bathroom to prepare for the day, and he packed quickly to get on the road. It was Saturday and he had high hopes of making another 350 miles to get deep into South Dakota before turning west toward Sturgis. He grabbed his belongings, strapped them onto his bike and walked to the office to turn in his key. A middle-aged woman, who also appeared to be of Indian descent, sat in the same spot as the man, the day before.

She smiled as Schmitty walked in and laid his key on the counter.

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“Checking out sir? Did you enjoy your stay?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you. I especially enjoyed reading the booklet on Indian culture,” he replied thinking he was complimenting her on her heritage.

“Which booklet is that?” she questioned.

“The one placed on the dresser in the room,” he replied quizzically.

“It’s not one of ours,” she replied pointing to their rack of tourist pamphlets.

“Well maybe the last occupant of the room left it,” Schmitty replied with a shrug.

“I dunno. You stayed in number 8 and I cleaned the unit myself a few days ago. There wasn’t a booklet on the dresser then. I’m glad you enjoyed it though, wherever it came from,” she laughed.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Schmitty replied as he left and began his walk back to the bike. He rode north on US 75 and decided to follow it to Sioux City. The ride on US 75 was pleasant as it was a bright sunny day with few clouds. There were numerous farms on both sides of the road which was the norm for the trip and more trees on this section of the route helped break up the monotony of the ride. The ride through the plains states was dramatically different from home. In Kentucky, roads followed natural routes which were constructed accounting for the lay of the land. One would encounter many changes in altitude when traversing over hills, then through valleys. On the plains though, where the topography is relatively flat, the roads were often constructed as the shortest route between two points and were usually flat and straight for several miles. It made riding efficient but monotonous, and the lack of visual stimuli caused Schmitty’s mind to wander sometimes.

He began thinking about the Indian culture he had read about in the booklet at the motel. He had packed it with his belongings and brought it with him. He was fascinated by the spiritual aspects of Indian life as their religion seemed to be a natural one born of their subsistence which was closely tied to nature. Their religion is focused on the whole being and the synergy and harmony which must exist for it and them to survive. It is both complicated and simple, he thought.

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His thoughts quickly turned to Mr. Donoghue and the story of his son, his daughter-in-law and granddaughter whom he never knew. He’s all alone now which is the opposite of the close-knit, communal spirit of the family promoted by Indian culture. Would he ever meet or learn anything about his granddaughter? If he had, the Indian would most likely be with her, he thought, and not on the road with me. Does the Great Spirit, God to the Indians, ever intervene to change things for the better? Do we worship the same God, who is blind to race, color or creed? he wondered.

He decided not to get too lost in thought and crash into a vehicle ahead as almost occurred in Illinois. The scenery changed the further north he rode as the eastern side of the road still showed farms as far as the eye could see, but the western side exhibited slightly higher terrain and therefore wasn’t as suitable for farming. The higher terrain also provided a nice wind break from the prevailing winds and kept him from being buffeted when a heavy breeze would kick up from time to time. Near mid-morning he rolled into a small town in Nebraska named Decatur, located on one of the many bends of the Missouri River. He hadn’t eaten breakfast and was famished and he would also be able to gas up and stretch his legs. He found the town filling station and the attendant was alert; a johnny-on-the spot.

“How are you doing, sir. Need some gas?” he bubbled. Schmitty was surprised someone nearly his own age called him, sir, but was pleased and replied, “Yes. Fill her up. Do you have a pay phone inside?” he inquired.

“We sure do. Right inside the door. Help yourself,” the attendant responded politely. Schmitty made his way toward the building and saw an older man, a mechanic, working on a car. The man looked up and nodded a friendly hello and Schmitty returned the gesture before entering the building. He was relieved to find a telephone.

He called home. He dropped a nickel in the slot and dialed “0” to get the operator.

“This is the operator, how may I help you?” she asked in a melodic tone borne of the thousands of times she must have asked the same question of a caller.

“I’d like to place a collect call to Latonia, Kentucky,” Schmitty replied distinctly.

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“And what is the name and number,” she inquired. He gave her his name and the phone number he wished to reach and waited a few moments until the sound of a voice broke the silence.

“Hello,” he heard the voice of one of his younger brothers.

“This is the long-distance operator. Will you accept a collect call from Mr. Robert Schmitz?”

“Uh, yeah I guess,” the voice replied. Schmitty recognized his brother, Jimmy.

“Hey, Jimmy. This is Bobby. Is Mom or Dad there?” Schmitty asked.

“No, they’re out shopping. Mom dragged Dad along. He didn’t want to go but Mom made him and…….”

“Jimmy, I don’t have time to chit-chat. This is long-distance,” Schmitty interrupted. “Tell Mom and Dad everything is fine and I’m doing okay. Can you do that?”

“Well sure, I can. Tell me about your trip first,” he replied.

“Where are you now?”

“I’m in a service station in uh, Decatur, Nebraska,” Schmitty replied.

“In a service station? Did you break down?” Jimmy asked curiously.

“No Jimmy, I’m getting gas,” Schmitty replied, annoyed by the question. “Gotta go, Jimmy!” he blurted and hung up in order to cut off the call and avoid any additional long-distance charges and returned to his bike. “Do you know where there’s a butcher shop or delicatessen nearby?” he asked the attendant.

“Sure, right down the street. Can’t miss it,” the attendant replied.

“Thanks,” replied Schmitty as he hopped on the bike and rode down the street. He saw a Swanson’s Market and figured it was where the attendant was referring him. He bought a couple of sandwiches and found a place near the river to eat one of them. The river moved by at a snail’s pace and it reminded him of the Licking River at home, except there were no hills on either side. He gazed across the river into Iowa and knew he’d eventually be crossing it, probably near Sioux City. When he finished, he hopped back on his bike where he checked his map again to verify his route. Another hour and we’ll be in Sioux City, he thought. You’re doing great, girl, 62

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as he patted the Indian’s frame. Mr. Donohue would be proud of you if he knew what you’ve done and how you’ve been running so far, he mumbled to himself. Let’s get on our way.

He picked up US 75 north again and passed through a few small towns including Macy and Winnebago, along the way. The road through Nebraska, while overall relatively flat, did have gradual increases in elevation which weren’t very noticeable since they occurred over long distances. At another small town called Homer, the road began dropping gradually as it approached the South Dakota border near Dakota City. Soon, he was crossing the Missouri River into Sioux City, Iowa where the Big Sioux River empties into the Missouri. It was the first larger city on the trip but he wasn’t going to stop. He remembered it was in this area near Sioux City where Joe Donoghue met his wife while he was training at Ft. Dodge. He wished he had time to cruise through the area for old man Donoghue’s sake but he wanted to stay on schedule as much as possible. Maybe he’d have time to stop on the way back, he thought. He stopped briefly to check his map and get his bearings before heading in a north-westerly direction. He decided to stick with his original plan to cross South Dakota on a more northern route rather than tackle the higher terrain on the southern side of the state, so his next destination would be Sioux Falls before turning west across South Dakota.

After a few minutes he entered South Dakota and though there were still hundreds of miles to go, he felt exhilarated to finally be in the state of his final destinations - Sturgis and Mt. Rushmore.

Once he passed through Sioux City he was back in the country on the straightest of roads which continued for many miles. The road ran parallel to train tracks so the occasional passing train gave him a change in scenery and Schmitty would give a smile and a wave to the engineer who would reply with a whistle toot, most likely for providing him with a change in scenery as well. On the road between Sioux City and Junction City, before Schmitty would turn north toward Sioux Falls, it was one farm after another on the straight flat road with few trees except near farm houses or when he passed through the occasional one horse town on the route.

Near Junction City he spotted a filling station and pulled in for gas.

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“Howdy, partner,” greeted the attendant who crawled out from under a pickup truck to man the gas pump. “You’re not from these parts, are ‘ya?”

“No, I’m from Kentucky actually,” Schmitty replied. “On my way to Sturgis for the motorcycle rally and to see Mt. Rushmore,” he finished.

“Did you ride this here Indian all the way from Kentucky?” the attendant asked as he began to fill the tank.

“I did. She’s some bike,” Schmitty replied as a proud father would about one of his children.

“Them Indians are some of the finest bikes ever made,” the attendant drawled. “She’s a beaut, even if she does have some age on her,” he finished.

“She’s not short on fight, though,” Schmitty interjected. “I’ll be interested to see how she does up in the highlands.”

“I’ll bet she does just fine if she’s come this far already,” the attendant said. “I hope you stop by on your way back to let me know how the rally was and how she did.”

“I’ll try,” replied Schmitty, as he paid for the gas, started the Indian and revved its engine for the admirer before charging down the road. He estimated he would be in Sioux Falls in less than two hours given the flat terrain and straight roads, which would help maximize his touring speed.

The flat terrain and bright sun and the onset of fatigue caused Schmitty’s mind to wander again. I wonder what George is up to this weekend? he thought. He’ll probably enjoy tooling around on my Harley. He also couldn’t get the information he read on Indian culture off his mind. They are such a devoted, proud, noble and religious people. What the U.S. government did to them by forcing them off their lands must have been devastating. The government will never be able to make it right, he thought to himself.

The remaining ride into Sioux Falls passed quickly as Schmitty’s mind was occupied with the other thoughts. When he arrived it was already mid-afternoon and he felt like a break to gas up again before moving west across South Dakota made sense. He studied his map and decided to follow state route 38 west, intending to travel another 100 to 150 miles before stopping for the night. He 64

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found route 38 and began the journey westward which would cover nearly all of South Dakota. He was soon back into farmland but the elevation was gradually increasing so it provided a variety of views as there were elevation changes at times from one side of the road to another. This gave rise to more creeks and streams than he had encountered so far on the trip north. However, the areas were becoming more secluded as the population was more widespread than in the eastern side of the state.

After about a hundred miles, Schmitty approached a small town called White Lake and decided to stop to rest and refuel. He found a filling station which was open and pulled in as the attendant was walking from the garage. The young man greeted him politely and opened the cap on the tank to fill the Indian. The pump clanged its familiar sound as it pumped at eighteen cents per gallon. The attendant screwed on the cap and spoke.

“Mighty nice old motorcycle you’ve got there buddy. Headed out to Sturgis for the motorcycle rally?” he inquired.

“Yes, I am,” Schmitty replied. Schmitty paid for the gas and hopped back on the bike. “You be careful now,” the attendant warned. “I hear we may have some bad weather moving in this evening from the west. We don’t get much rain out this way but when it comes, it’s really rough. You don’t want to get caught out on the road in a storm.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Schmitty replied as he waved and turned out onto the highway. His map showed another forty-five minutes of riding before he would once again cross the meandering Missouri River into a town called Oacoma. The further west he rode though, he could feel the winds picking up and the weather beginning to change. He turned up the throttle on the Indian to try to make better time to beat the storm. He wasn’t near any other towns and needed to either try to make Oacoma or turn back to Kimball. He decided to try to make Oacoma, but it soon appeared he made the wrong choice when the skies opened up and he was pelted by sideways blowing rain. The storm was far more violent than those at home and he knew he had to find shelter – and fast!

He saw a farm house nearby and made a bee-line up its gravel road.

He ran up on the front porch and sat down to wait out the storm so 65

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he could complete this leg of his journey and stop in Oacoma. After the violence of the storm passed, the rain settled in and Schmitty sensed it would remain in the area for the evening and possibly the night. He figured the occupants of the farmhouse would notice him trespassing on their porch and either invite him in or run him off, but apparently no one was home. He sat for a couple of hours, soaking wet, as the rain continued to fall. He wasn’t going to ride off into the storm in an unknown part of the country and he needed more shelter than the porch for the night so when the rain lightened a bit, he walked around the side of the house to see if there was a barn or other out-building available to hole up in.

He spotted a small barn which didn’t appear to be bolted shut so he went in and looked about. It was clean and dry. He returned to the front of the house to roll the Indian to its new haven for the night. There was no lighting in the barn so he made use of the fleeting daylight to arrange some straw for a place to lie down.

He remembered a small flashlight he packed in the tool kit on the Indian and retrieved it and sat in the barn looking at his map, planning the next day. You’ve really messed up here, he thought to himself. You need to be smarter next time and be sure you’re safe.

He looked out the barn door to see if anyone had come home, but still no lights shone in the house. Another hour or so passed and he fell asleep.

In the middle of the night he was awakened by a strange noise.

He was in a barn so it wouldn’t have been unusual for a critter to have crawled in to get in out of the rain. He lay there in the dark listening for some tell-tale sign of its origin but all he heard was heavy breathing, more like a pant. He became uneasy when it continued, so he felt around for something to use to protect himself if necessary and grabbed a piece of wood. He gathered enough courage to turn on his flashlight and when he did so was shocked to see a huge gray timber wolf glowering at him with steely eyes.

He froze not knowing how to react to the intruder. Should he turn off the light and possibly be attacked in the dark by this monster?

Was the bright light holding it at bay? He dared not strike out at it as he stood little chance against it, so he sat as still as possible so not to antagonize it. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he realized 66

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the wolf wasn’t staring at him, but rather at the Indian. Why would a wolf stare at a motorcycle? he thought. He remembered that Sandy, his collie at home, would spend hours sitting in the garage with the bike. Was this the same kind of behavior? He strained to see more closely and noticed the wolf was sitting upright on the ground facing the bike. It sat as still as a statue focused solely on it, completely ignoring him. Schmitty tried to plan his next move but couldn’t think of any prudent move or any angle where he could defend himself from such a ferocious-looking animal. Then most unexpectedly, the animal stood, turned and disappeared into the night, as if dispatched by orders. Schmitty was shaking, probably more from relief than fear. He didn’t know how the wolf either entered or left, but hoped it would stay away. After the harrowing episode, he didn’t sleep well for the remainder of the night.

Morning finally arrived, none too soon, and he began packing to move on when suddenly the barn door flew open.

“Holy Jesus!” an elderly woman shouted. “You scared the daylights out of me. What are you doing here?” she shouted as she pointed a shotgun in Schmitty’s direction and she looked like she knew how to use it. “I was just checking on things after the storm.

Didn’t expect to find anyone in here.” Her piercing eyes appeared oversized on her weathered face as she stared intently at him to determine if he was friend or foe.

“I’m sorry ma’am,” Schmitty pleaded. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I came in here last night during the storm. I’ll be on my way as soon as I gather my things. I didn’t know anyone was home. I didn’t see any lights on. Sorry.”

“Oh,” the woman said, appearing more relaxed. “There weren’t any lights on because I scampered to the storm cellar as soon as the bad weather blew in. I live here alone and I have to look out for myself. We get some pretty nasty storms out here on the plains. I didn’t come out and back into the house until late last night when it stopped raining.”

“Ma’am did you know there’s a big wolf roaming around here?”

Schmitty interjected as he scrambled around gathering his things.

“Why do you think I’m carrying this shotgun?” she responded.

“Can’t be too careful. So you saw the wolf?” she asked quizzically.

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“Yes, ma’am. It was here in the barn,” Schmitty replied, emphatically.

“Really? And it did no harm? It must have scared you though,” she replied.

“Yes ma’am. It certainly did. I was happy when the sun came up.

But when you threw open the barn door pointing a shotgun at me, I was thinking I liked my chances with the wolf better,” Schmitty laughed which helped ease the tension. “My name is Bob, ma’am.

Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said in a gentlemanly way.

“Say Bob, you look like something the cat drug in,” she observed. “You seem like a nice enough fella’. Why don’t you come inside and get cleaned up. A little breakfast probably won’t hurt you none, neither,” she added.

“Well, it would be right nice of you ma’am, especially after I caused such a fuss,” Schmitty replied politely.

“Follow me,” she ordered. They went into the house through a rear door which led into the kitchen.

“I may have some clothes of my late husband’s which will fit you, so you can get out of those wet smelly ones,” she commented.

“Thank you ma’am. I’d appreciate it,” he replied. She went upstairs and returned a few minutes later with dry clothes.

“Here, try these on. They look like they’ll fit you. You can use the dining room over there to change while I fix us some breakfast,” she directed. Schmitty returned to the kitchen after changing, and with an agreeable nod acknowledged that even though they were a bit baggy, they served their intended purpose.

“Let’s hang your clothes out on the line to give them a chance to dry and air out. Get the wet straw smell out of ‘em,” she said as she bolted out the back door. When she returned, she began cooking bacon and eggs with biscuits and gravy and Schmitty helped with the preparations. As they sat to eat there wasn’t much conversation until she spoke.

“You remind me of my son, Joe,” she said. “Or should I say, my late son.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, ma’am,” Schmitty replied. He didn’t feel comfortable inquiring as to how he passed on, so he said no more.

“He was our eldest, the apple of his father’s eye,” she volunteered.

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“The two did everything together – farmed, hunted, fished, raised barns, you name it. They were inseparable.” Schmitty still didn’t respond. He noticed a tear running down her cheek and was prepared for the conversation to get emotional.

“He died in the Great War, in France, in the trenches. War is horrible,” she choked. “There is no true glory in war, only heartaches,” she continued. “It takes children from their parents, husbands from their wives, and fathers from their children. Who decides who lives or dies? Is it just bad fortune? Is it by the hand of God? Does it even matter? Or is it part of the theory, The Circle of Life? When Joe died, it sucked the life right out of my husband.

He was never the same. I think it took him to his grave early. It was hard on our other children, too because they looked up to Joe so much. Since he was gone they didn’t want to stay. As soon as they were old enough they left the farm and moved away. Now I’m here all alone, with nothing but my memories,” she sobbed. After a moment, Schmitty mustered enough courage to speak.

“Why have you stayed?” he asked quietly.

“I grew up on this farm. It was in my family for a couple of generations - our homestead. Joe loved farming so much that even after all these years it feels like he never left. When I look out over the fields I feel his spirit is still here, in the ground, in the crops, everywhere. I can still see him on the tractor waving, with the wind blowing through his hair, so enthusiastic – so alive!” She choked back more tears and buried her face in her hands. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to lay this all on you. You remind me of Joe and the memories just came flooding back. I’m okay now. Say, you stopped eating. Get back on those biscuits and gravy, young man,” she ordered, sounding more like she did when she tore into the barn. Schmitty didn’t want her to dwell on her sad memories but wanted to be sympathetic.

As they continued to eat he told her about the Indian, and Mr. Donoghue’s own son, Joe, who was also killed in the Great War, his trip to see the motorcycle rally and Mt. Rushmore as well as his own thoughts about joining the Navy to train to be a flight navigator.

“You’ve got a lot going on in that young head of yours,” she 69

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observed. “Decisions to be made. I hope you get it all figured out. I think you will. You seem pretty level-headed,” she ended.

“I must be leaving now, ma’am. I’m hoping to make Sturgis by mid-day so I can be ready to go when the festivities start tomorrow,” Schmitty said apologetically as he stood.

“Before you go, let me show you some pictures of my Joe. I’ll be quick,” she said. She ran from the room and quickly returned with an old tattered box which housed the physical evidence supporting her memories. “Here’s his picture in his uniform. So handsome and brave.”

“He is,” was all Schmitty could think to say.

“Here,” she said as she reached into the box, “I’d like you to have one of his medals. I’d like to know it’s going to go places and see things Joe never got to see. Hang this somewhere on that pretty motorcycle of yours, and let his spirit ride with you in the wind.”

Schmitty was taken back for a moment because her comment sounded so similar to Mr. Donoghue’s exhortation when he gave him the Indian. Ride with the wind, he directed. Maybe it was just a coincidence they both used nearly the same words.

“Now, be on your way,” she directed. “Maybe you can stop by on your way home and tell me about what you’d seen and experienced.

And I won’t make you stay in the barn,” she laughed and he with her. “Here’s a bacon and egg sandwich I made for you to take with you. You youngsters always seem to be hungry,” she added with a smile.

“Thank you ma’am. That’s real thoughtful of you,” Schmitty replied, a bit embarrassed by her generosity. “I’m sorry ma’am, but I never caught your name,” Schmitty commented nervously fearing he may be violating some rule of etiquette by asking.

“It’s because I never told you,” she replied with a smile. “My name is Abigail Roberts.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance Mrs. Roberts,” he replied politely.

“You too, Bob,” she replied. Schmitty gathered his belongings, including his clothes drying outside and entered the barn. The Indian was waiting for him as usual. He secured his belongings,

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hung the medal on the front frame, checked his map, started the engine and drove it outside. He closed the barn door behind him and started riding slowly down the gravel drive past the front of the house where Mrs. Roberts was waiting and waved to him. He turned to the west out of her driveway and continued on his way.

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6 It was Sunday morning and George was preparing to attend Mass at Holy Cross Church with his mother, Julia, and his sister, Clare.

“It’s odd to see you up and about this early, Son,” his mother commented. I usually have to roust you after you’ve been out on the town with Bobby, half the night,” she teased.

“Yeah, it is different with him being out of town,” he laughed.

“Are you saying he’s a bad influence on me?” he laughed.

“Truth be told, probably the opposite,” she laughed. “Clare, time to go,” she shouted. Clare emerged from her room with her young daughter, Connie in tow. They walked out of their apartment into the cool morning air and headed to Church. As they walked, George thought about the days when his father was with them to attend Sunday Mass. It had been ten years since his father deserted the family, leaving him, his mother and sister to fend for themselves. His father worked at the Andrews Steel mill like himself and many of the old-timers there would occasionally ask George if he heard from his father. Nope, would be his normal response which was a sign to the inquirer to move on, because he wasn’t interested in talking about it. Thoughts of the steel mill evoked a thought and George spoke up as they walked.

“Mother, I heard I have a shot at a promotion at the mill,” he mentioned eagerly.

“Really? That’s great,” she replied.

“It is,” added Clare. “Doing what?”

“I’d be moving off the slag line to the yard to be a locomotive fireman,” he replied. “It’s a little more money and I love being around the trains, as you know. Someday I want to be an engineer

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and drive the trains in the yard,” he added. His mother stopped in her tracks.

“So you’re following in your father’s footsteps,” she said quietly.

“Well, I don’t see it that way,” George replied, who was grateful they arrived at Church. Their conversation ended as the bells began to peal their notice that Mass was about to begin.

They took their normal places in the pew and George noticed the Schmitz family across the aisle. He normally would be looking for Schmitty and it seemed odd for him not to be there. He wondered how things were going for him on the trip. He was enjoying riding Schmitty’s Harley while he was away, which may have triggered the sneer from across the aisle from one of Schmitty’s younger brothers when they made eye contact, but it wasn’t the same with his being gone. Mass dragged on as it often did as the heat of the sun inside the church sent the ladies reaching into their purses for their folding fans. After the final hymn the Martins crossed paths outside with the Schmitz family as they greeted others before moving toward home.

“How are you, Mrs. Schmitz?” George greeted. “Have you heard from Bobby?”

“He called and I spoke with him Friday. He was in St. Louis, and doing fine. He called yesterday and spoke with Jimmy. I think he said he was somewhere in Nebraska. We’re hoping to hear from him today,” she said anxiously.

“Good. Sounds like he’s on schedule. I’m sure he’s alright,” was all George thought to say, as they walked down Church Street together. When they reached the corner, the two families said their goodbyes and turned their separate ways toward home. As they neared home, Mrs. Martin spoke.

“George, I’m hoping you get the promotion to locomotive fireman. You love being around trains and I’d rather see you working on the trains than on the line in the mill, anyway,” she said sincerely.

“Thanks, Mother,” he replied, as they hugged.

“Oh, I see. If you get a promotion, you get a hug,” Clare teased as George then chased her up the steps and into their apartment.

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7 Spirit of the wolf You who wanders in the wild lands You who stalks in silent shadows You who runs and leaps Between the moss covered trees Lend me your primal strength And the wisdom of your glowing eyes Teach me to relentlessly track my desires And to stand in defense of those I love Show me the hidden paths and the moonlit fields Fierce spirit Walk with me in my solitude Howl with me in my joy Guard me as I move through this world —Indian Wolf Prayer Schmitty was disappointed the storm caused him to cut short his travel the previous day, but was happy he met Mrs. Roberts.

Her story of her son Joe’s death in the Great War was sad though, and its effect on her as well as her family was truly regrettable. It was amazing the similarity between hers and Mr. Donoghue’s story of losing a son in the War, he thought. And her reference to the Circle of Life was curious, as well. He read about the Circle in the booklet on Indian culture. All these similarities seemed to be tied together somehow. But how? he wondered. What about the darn wolf? Holy smoke, it was scary. Be hard to get it out of my mind for sure, he thought. He refocused his thoughts before lighting out west down Highway 16 toward Chamberlain where he would cross the Missouri River toward Oacoma. Soon he arrived at river’s edge and crossed on the old trestle-type bridge which spanned it.

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His map told him it was over 200 miles to Sturgis. Schmitty knew this last day of travel would be the most difficult yet because the elevations were getting noticeably higher the farther he traveled from the Missouri River basin. He continued to ride along Highway 16 where farms were still in abundance but where there was little vegetation along the road. The road wasn’t as straight as others, since the higher terrain required circumventing some hills.

The Indian however, was running as good as ever, almost as if it sensed its destination and was hurrying along the route. The cadence of the engine was strong as it glided along, climbing the increasing elevations, almost as if it was running with a continuous tailwind. What’s going on with this bike? Schmitty wondered. I’m thrilled it’s running good because it’s more isolated out here, but why?

He took advantage of its performance to increase his speed to help make up for lost time. He passed through many small towns and after about a hundred miles, rode through a town named Belvidere with a quaint looking church. I wonder if George is in church thinking about where I am and what I’m doing? No doubt Mom and Dad are. I need to remember to call them today, he thought.

His map showed the elevation at Belvidere at over 2,300 feet which was a thousand feet higher than when he crossed the Missouri River at Chamberlain. The Indian was handling the change in elevation as if it enjoyed the challenge. Schmitty was concerned he was pushing too hard but the bike acted like it was the one in charge. He continued along Highway 16 but the scenery changed dramatically as he entered an area known as the Badlands.

He remembered reading in the booklet on Indian culture that the area was called mako-sica by the Lakota Indians which means, land bad. The terrain bore no resemblance to anything he ever seen before, other than in the cowboy and Indian movies at the local movie theatre back home.

Upon seeing it, Schmitty was impressed by the beauty and uniqueness of the area. It was immense beyond measurement.

Huge grasslands waved in the breeze, yet it was the magnificent geologic formations that captured his attention. Those craggy soft-hued rock contours seemed to erupt majestically from the surrounding flat grasslands which were still trying to recover from 75

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the drought on the plains of the 1930s. It was an area of nature with farmhouses few and far between. Highway 16 ran through the northern edge with the predominance of the Badlands to its south. When the route seemed to end, Schmitty detoured for eight miles north toward Cottonwood and US 14 which he could travel west to the town of Wall. On the road to Wall he saw many roadside billboards advertising free ice water at Wall Drugs, which he didn’t expect out on the prairie lands. He also hadn’t considered seeing the Badlands National Park when he was planning this trip, but after seeing parts of it, his interest was piqued. The elevations continued to climb but the Indian was running like a horse across the prairie. The altitude climbed to over 2,800 feet near Wall with the area now completely surrounded by the Badlands.

Schmitty, tired after getting little sleep the night before and generally fatigued from days of riding, decided to take a break and find a place to eat and gas up. About a mile down the road he saw a roadside diner called Mom’s Place. He saw the parking lot was jammed with motorcycles no doubt all heading to Sturgis for the rally. He strode through the door and looked for a place to sit. He spied an open spot at the counter and sat down. A waitress behind the counter spoke.

“Well I’ll be, if it ain’t another biker. What can I get you honey?” she winked as she laid a menu in front of Schmitty, and used her rag to take an extra swipe at the counter. Schmitty quickly perused the menu to decide what to order. “I’ll have the number two special with a cup of coffee, black. Thank you.”

“Coming right up,” she replied cheerfully. Within a minute she placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. As Schmitty took a sip, a man seated on the next stool glanced over, nodded, and spoke.

“You headed up to Sturgis for the rally?” he asked.

“Yes. Are you?” Schmitty replied.

“I am. My name is Bob, but my friends call me Junior,” the man said as he offered his hand.

“My name is Bob too, but my friends call me Schmitty, mostly,” he laughed. “Nice to meet you, Junior.”

“You too, Schmitty,” Junior nodded. The waitress returned with a steaming plate of eggs with hash brown potatoes. She laid his 76

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check down on the counter and refilled his cup. Schmitty realized he had forgotten that Mrs. Roberts had packed him an egg and bacon sandwich which was sitting out on the Indian in the hot sun.

Nevertheless, he dug in on the plate just as Junior was doing with his. They both finished their meals without much conversation due more to their hunger than their unsociability. Schmitty dropped a tip on the counter, grabbed his check and spoke to Junior.

“See you around, Junior. Safe riding.”

“You too, Schmitty. Maybe see you in Sturgis,” he replied with a wave of his hand. Schmitty approached the cash register and the same waitress who served him was waiting there to cash him out.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Yep,” replied Schmitty as he paid his bill. “Give my best to Mom,” he added. She laughed.

“I sure will,” she said. “See you later, honey.” Schmitty proceeded out the door and into the brilliant sunshine. He held his hand over his eyes to allow them to adjust to the light before adjusting his goggles. He mounted the Indian and rode off down the highway, excited to be closing in on his destination. He remembered he needed to gas up so he pulled into a nearby filling station. The attendant bounded out of the building.

“How you doing, buddy?” he spoke as he pulled the hose from the pump.

“I’m good,” Schmitty replied as he surveyed the area.

“Mighty nice bike you got there,” the attendant commented.

“You going up to Sturgis? Lots of bikes been through here this weekend headed there.”

“I am,” replied Schmitty as the pump clanged for the final time and the attendant replaced the cap.

“Tell me what you know about this Badlands area,” Schmitty inquired.

“Well, the park opened a couple of years ago,” he said. “It gives you access to parts you couldn’t get to before so lots of tourists are coming through now. You ought to ride through it. It’s a good ride on a bike. I’ve done it myself,” he added. Schmitty looked at his map which didn’t show much detail of the park area.

“I don’t know if I’ve got the time,” Schmitty commented.

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“They’ve cut a rim road on the north end of the park,” the attendant noted. “It’s unpaved, but decent road. You can follow it around until you get to a little town called Scenic. Then you can follow route 44 on a straight shot northwest up to Rapid City,” the attendant explained using his hands to emphasize the route.

Schmitty thought for a moment while still examining his map.

“How much time do you think it will add?” he asked.

“Hmmm. I’d say it’s about forty miles, give or take, from here to Scenic through the park. Then it’s about, oh, another forty miles from Scenic to Rapid City which is on good road.” Schmitty estimated it might add only twenty-five miles or so to his trip, but probably an hour or so of travel time.

“How do I get to the park entrance from here?” he inquired as he folded his map and stored it in his bag.

“Now that’s the spirit!” exclaimed the attendant. “Go straight down route 240 here about eight miles. Make a sharp right onto the rim road. It’s marked.”

“Okay. Thanks,” replied Schmitty as he paid for his gas and rode off toward the park. He was excited to venture off to see the Badlands up close, even if it meant a detour of a couple of hours, because he didn’t think he would ever be back to see it again.

He roared down route 240 as instructed and after nearly eight miles came upon the park entrance. A ranger stopped him at the gate.

“Welcome to Badlands National Park,” he greeted in a friendly but authoritative tone. “Have you been here before?” he asked.

“No sir, I haven’t,” replied Schmitty.

“Would you like a map?” asked the ranger as he reached for one in the satchel attached to his belt.

“Thank you, sir,” Schmitty replied as the ranger handed him a new sharply folded one. “Someone told me to take the rim road around to a town called Scenic,” he added.

“Okay, the road is a half-mile down on the right,” the ranger began. “It’s not paved but it’s okay this time of year when it’s dry.

Just be careful out here because you may encounter animal herds on the move. They generally avoid people but they go to where the grass is greener, so they can feed. Understand?”

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“Yes sir,” Schmitty replied. “I’ll be careful.” The ranger nodded, stepped back and Schmitty rode down the road toward the rim road entrance. Once there he turned right, heading west and stopped.

He patted the tank on the Indian, thinking of Joe Donoghue, rubbed Joe Roberts’ medal, and said, “Okay Joes, let’s go!” as he charged down the dirt road in a cloud of dust.

The view on the northern side was mostly of grass prairie land. On the southern side it was a panoramic view as far as the eye could see of sharply eroded buttes, and sky-piercing rock formations with pinnacles and spires that were blended in with the native prairie grasses. The rocky areas as majestic as they were, looked treacherous and impassible while the grassy areas looked serenely beautiful. The two areas, one the opposite of the other, seemed in perfect harmony. It was such a contrast to the foothills of Kentucky, where trees covered nearly every hilltop and streams flowed through most valleys.

Schmitty continued on the unpaved thoroughfare at a slower rate of speed than he normally would in order not to miss any sights. After nearly ten miles he pulled to the side of the road to rest and to further enjoy the views. He observed a seemingly motionless herd of buffalo grazing in the distance in contrast to earlier, in the rocky areas, where he watched bighorn sheep leap from one ledge to the other like ballerinas, without missing a step.

As he sat in the bright sun gazing into the never-ending vista he became lost in his thoughts and was oblivious to his surroundings.

When he refocused to move on, he noticed another large wolf about a hundred yards away perched on a rock, observing him. It was alarming to be in the wilderness unarmed except for a pocket knife, being stalked by a wolf. The more he thought about it, he realized if a wolf was stalking him it wouldn’t be sitting in plain sight on a rock, but would be hiding in the prairie grass waiting to pounce. He also noticed that the wolf was sitting up on its haunches much the same way the one in the barn was, the previous night, when it was staring at the Indian. The wolf wasn’t stalking, it was observing him, or maybe the Indian. What’s with that? he thought.

He decided to quickly move on, started the Indian and rode away.

He looked back and saw the wolf hadn’t moved from its perch.

Soon he was out of sight.

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Schmitty refocused on his path to Scenic to pick up Highway 44 to Rapid City. The road temporarily turned toward some farmland before returning to cut directly through the rocky areas. There he encountered one of the most beautiful views of the entire trip, with rock precipices seemingly standing guard on both sides of the road. He stopped for a moment and wanted to sit for a while, to enjoy the expansive ever-changing views, but was conscious of the time and kept moving. Schmitty was pleased he took the detour even though it knocked him off his pre-planned time schedule, just as the previous night’s storm had done. Soon he rolled into Scenic, a very small town which looked like something from the Wild West, probably for the tourists’ benefit and searched for a filling station before leaving for Rapid City. The last twenty-four hours were definitely the most exciting as well as the most tiring.

As he rode up Route 44 he wondered what the rest of the day’s trip may bring. ****** Schmitty cruised along at a good rate of speed. It was good to be back on paved road but there wasn’t much to see. As each mile passed, Schmitty reflected on what he had learned about Indian culture. From his experience riding across South Dakota, especially in the Badlands, he could tell how their culture was tightly bound to nature with the Great Spirit being the artist, whose canvas was the entire earth, if not the universe. He realized his own recent experiences bore a certain spiritual feeling.

He crossed the Cheyenne River where the scenery once again turned to grasslands sporting the occasional farm, and the road itself began to show bands of motorcycle riders, all no doubt headed to Sturgis for the rally. He grew anxious with each passing mile. He could feel the elevation increasing gradually as he closed in on Rapid City and the Black Hills Mountains. The markings on his map told him Rapid City had an elevation of 3,250 feet, far greater than the 1,400 foot elevations he encountered on the eastern side of South Dakota. The Indian though, ran like it was in a stampede, still performing at a much higher level than he 80

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ever expected, passing other more powerful bikes on the road with ease. As he thought, he made Rapid City in less than an hour. Schmitty stopped to study his map and stretch his legs. He was feeling fatigued but was still exhilarated by being so near his destination. He looked about noting the beauty of the Black Hills, that rose above Rapid City to the west, which was the focal point of the area and lived up to its billing. He remounted the Indian and motored west to Sturgis Road for the remaining twenty-five miles. It followed along the base of the Black Hills through a few small towns so Schmitty decided to stop in the first town he came to, which was Black Hawk, for gas. Since it was late Sunday, he was concerned the filling stations would be closed. He pulled into the first one he came to which had a half-dozen motorcycles already in line for fuel.

“Be with you in a minute,” the attendant shouted over the din of cycles starting up to leave and those idling waiting for their turn for gas. Schmitty found it an exciting atmosphere with an abundance of anticipation in the air. He waited patiently for his turn and as the hose was moved over to dispense its potion, the attendant spoke.

“It’s been crazy around here today. Folks are worried Sturgis will be run dry so they’re gassing up down here. That’s a nice old bike you have there. Are you going to race it?” he asked.

“I don’t think so,” Schmitty replied. “It couldn’t hold its own against the bigger newer bikes.”

“I heard they have a race for vintage bikes,” the attendant commented. “Check into it,” he added.

“Okay, I will,” Schmitty replied. He paid for the gas, bid farewell to the attendant and turned out toward the highway. Several motorcycles sped by with their normal rumble before he was able to pull out to continue on.

As he advanced up Sturgis Road the more congested it became.

He was following a group of bikers and as he came around a curve before entering town, suddenly, with no warning, the Indian’s front wheel unexplainably veered sharply right and Schmitty and the bike flew through a hedge row, coming to a stop in a rocky ravine fifty feet or so from the road.

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He lay dazed and bruised, having gone headlong over the handlebars before rolling down the hill into a rocky dry creek bed.

He could hear a following group of bikers speed by, not knowing of his plight as the overgrowth blocked their view. He stood, brushed himself off as best he could and surveyed the Indian to determine its damage. What caused the bike to react that way? he wondered.

Did he hit a rock or some other obstacle in the road? It felt the same as the time his Harley crashed at Latonia Race Track when he was racing Johnny - an abrupt turn of the handlebars for no apparent reason, he thought. He gathered himself and pushed the Indian up the creek bed to where the hedge ended before pushing it back up on the road. Fortunately, it was near a filling station that looked to have a garage and a general store attached. He rolled the Indian up to the front door, but noticed a closed sign hanging in the window.

He could see a light on inside so he tried the door. It opened.

“Hello,” he yelled in.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” a woman’s voice answered. “I just haven’t locked up yet. We’ll be open early tomorrow morning.”

“Ma’am, I’m just looking for a place to wash up. I’ve had an accident on the road,” Schmitty replied. Immediately, a young woman’s head popped up from behind the counter.

“What happened to you, Cowboy?” she asked inquisitively.

“Why, you look like you rode through a briar patch. Step over here under the light so I can get a better look at you,” she instructed.

Schmitty complied and she stepped out of the shadows as well.

He was immediately taken by her stunning beauty as she was definitely not what he expected to find in a filling station with a general store in Sturgis. She was tall and slender, but not willowy and her long arms and legs were well toned. Her red hair was tied in braids which were knotted on her head and her blue eyes glowed like sapphires when she smiled. A cream-like complexion – clear and pale, sublimely complimented her fine facial features.

He hadn’t seen anyone so fair-skinned and alluring since he had been in South Dakota or maybe, ever. She appeared to be only a couple years older than him. He was so taken with her appearance he became embarrassed and tongue-tied and couldn’t immediately respond to her inquiry. “What happened to you?” she asked again.

“Was anyone else hurt?”

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“Uh, no” was his short reply as he composed himself enough to speak. “My motorcycle must have hit something in the road and I crashed through a hedge row into the creek,” he replied, trying to appear stoic despite his mishap.

“Holy cow,” she replied as she moved closer to get a better look at his injuries. “There’s a restroom in the back. Go clean up and I’ll go find the first-aid kit,” she instructed.

“Thank you,” Schmitty replied as he made his way to the back.

He reappeared a few minutes later and she was standing at the counter waiting.

“Let me look at you again,” she said, moving even closer than before. “Hmm,” she observed. “It looks like your goggles and cap protected the area around your eyes and forehead but the rest of your face is covered with nasty scratches,” she observed.

“Uh-huh,” Schmitty uttered not knowing what she was proposing for treatment. She opened a wooden box which appeared to hold medicinal supplies and wrapped a cotton ball around a toothpick.

“This will have to do for a swab,” she said. “Let me get some Mercurochrome on those cuts so they don’t get infected,” she said as she opened the bottle and dabbed the cotton swab in the orange solution. “This is gonna sting,” she warned as she moved toward him with the swab. It did, and he jerked his head in reaction.

“Hold still,” she urged, “or I’ll have this stuff all over the place,” as she tried to steady his face with one hand and dab on the solution with the other.

Her hands were much softer than he expected for a woman working in a general store. As she applied more solution, he jerked again. She held her face so close to his, as she applied the antiseptic precisely in the cuts, he could feel her breath. He tried to look away so she wouldn’t think he was staring into her eyes, but found it hard to resist as he struggled to concentrate on her treatment. He wanted to steady himself by placing his hands around her waist for support but decided against it, so he tried his best to keep from swaying. She stopped for a moment looking directly into his eyes as she seemed to sense his uneasiness.

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“Hold onto the counter here and quit moving around,” she urged. He complied and she finished the treatment. “There,” she said as she stepped back to peruse her handiwork.

“Oh my,” she laughed. “You look like an Indian chief in full war paint with all the orange stain on your face.” She held up a small mirror from the box and handed it to him.

“You’re right,” he laughed embarrassedly.

“Now let’s go out and check on your bike,” she urged as she stowed the first-aid kit. “Does it still run?” she asked as they walked into the lot.

“I don’t know, I pushed it out of the creek to here,” Schmitty replied. As they approached the Indian she stopped in her tracks, looked at the bike, looked at Schmitty and said, “This is the bike you wrecked?” she asked. “It looks perfect.

Not a scratch on it.”

“Uh, yeah,” replied Schmitty, himself surprised at its incredible condition.

“See if it starts?” she urged. He turned the throttle and jumped on the kick-starter and it did.

“Is the steering okay?” she asked. Schmitty drove it around the lot putting it through turning paces.

“It seems fine,” he said as he rolled to a stop and shut off the engine.

“Not leaking oil or anything?” she asked, leaning down to inspect the engine and transmission housings.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Schmitty replied, as he tried to inspect the bike without taking his eyes off of her.

“Hard to believe,” she said. “Are you here for the motorcycle rally?”

“Yes, I am,” he replied as he awkwardly stuck out his hand. “Hi, my name is Bob Schmitz. I’m from Kentucky - the northern part. I appreciate what you’ve done for me, cleaning my wounds and all.”

He was so nervous around her it showed in his speech.

“Well my name is Maggie - Maggie Andriacco,” she said with a sweet Midwestern drawl. “I didn’t do anything for you I wouldn’t have done for any other customer,” she mused while rolling her eyes. “You are a customer aren’t you!” she feigned seriousness.

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“I am now,” Schmitty laughed, which seemed to ease his nervousness, if only temporarily. “I must be on my way. I need to find a place to stay tonight,” he said.

“That’s not going to be easy,” Maggie replied. “Most rooms are spoken for or taken by folks who came in yesterday or earlier today.”

“Oh,” Schmitty replied as he fought to think of a plan all the while being distracted by her. “I’ll ride on in and see what I can figure out.” A pensive look appeared on her face and he felt she was devising a plan.

“Tell you what, Bob, I’ll take you into town and see if we can get you a cot in Mama Hoel’s place,” she said eagerly.

“Who?” Schmitty replied.

“Mama Hoel is Pappy Hoel’s wife. We call her Aunt Pearl. Pappy runs the rally. It’s only a couple years old and lots of the visitors end up sleeping in their house and yard on cots, ‘cause there aren’t enough rooms in town,” she replied eagerly.

“I don’t want to impose on anyone,” Schmitty insisted.

“Don’t worry about it none,” she replied. “I used to babysit their kids. We’re almost like family,” she insisted. “You’ll just have to explain your war paint,” she laughed.

“Well, okay, if you think it’s all right,” Schmitty replied.

“It is. Quit worrying,” Maggie ordered. “I need to lock up,” she shouted back as she ran back in the building. “I’ll be right out.” A moment later a red pickup truck sped from behind the garage and she motioned for Schmitty to follow her. She took off like a bat-outof-hell, and he hurried to catch up. What a woman, he thought. It was definitely worth going through a hedge row to meet her.

As he rode down Junction Avenue, the main street into downtown, a large banner hung across that read, Welcome to the Black Hills Motor Classic. Schmitty felt a sense of relief as he had finally arrived at his destination in one piece, so to speak. He had a feeling though, things may go differently than planned. He followed closely behind Maggie and soon they arrived at the Hoel home which was jammed with motorcycles with many people milling about in the house and yard. The pair walked onto the porch and went in the house. Maggie spotted Aunt Pearl who spoke first.

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“Well howdy, darlin’. Nice to see you,” she greeted as she hugged Maggie as if she hadn’t seen her for some time. “Who’s this with you?” she asked.

“This is Bob Schmitz. He’s from Kentucky, here for the Classic.

He uh, stopped by the store, and he needs a place to stay,” Maggie explained without giving any details.

“We’ve got a few spots left if he doesn’t mind sleeping on a cot in the parlor,” as she strode closer to Bob to get better look at who she was inviting into her home. “What happened to your face?

You look like you lost a fight with a porcupine!” she laughed as she reached for his hand. “Looks like somebody tried to fix you up though,” she said, as she eyed his scratches. “That somebody wouldn’t be Miss Maggie here now would it?” She looked toward Maggie and gave a wink. “You’re welcome to stay here, Bob. Just mind your manners, Son.” “I will. Thank you,” he replied meekly. “I’ll get my things and find a place to bunk.”

“The boys are cookin’ up a storm out in the yard. You ought to be able to get your fill out there,” Aunt Pearl encouraged, motioning with her hand.

“Thank you ma’am. Much obliged,” he replied.

He and Maggie walked out toward the Indian where he loosened his knapsacks to carry into the house. Neither one said anything until she spoke.

“Well, I guess I’ll be going, Bob,” she said slowly. “It was nice meeting you.” The awkwardness of the moment filled the air.

Schmitty hesitated, but then spoke.

“It was nice meeting you too, Maggie.” He hesitated once more then added, “When will I see you again?” She smiled and replied.

“I don’t know, but I suppose someone needs to look after those scratches of yours. I’ll stop by tomorrow to check on you, okay?” she added.

“Okay, but you don’t need to bring the Mercurochrome. I’m sure they’ll be healed up by then,” Schmitty replied. They both laughed and she sashayed to her truck and he watched her drive away. He carried his bags inside before ambling out to the yard to join the others who were roasting a pig on a spit, with barbecue cooking 86

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on grills and all the fixin’s for a feast. There were banjoes and harmonicas making good melodies and plenty of cold beverages.

Schmitty, with his friendly face and easy going temperament, made friends easily. He met “Pappy” Hoel who organized the rally and owned the Indian dealership in town. Pappy was really interested when Schmitty told him the story of his bike. “You must have been sent here for some reason,” was one comment Pappy made which stuck with Schmitty. He was pleased Maggie steered him toward the Hoels, but due to his long day on the road he turned in earlier than most, as they partied well into the night. As he lay on his cot in the parlor, he couldn’t get Maggie off his mind. For all of the girls he knew, she made a huge impression on him, and he knew he definitely wanted to see her again.

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8 “Certain things catch your eye, but pursue only those that catch your heart.”

—Old Indian saying Schmitty woke the next morning relieved not to be on the road and able to enjoy the Classic. He learned from some of the participants the previous evening there were races run both crosscountry and on the track located near town. He rode through town looking for the sights and found a number of locations where crowds were gathered. There were restored bikes that had been shipped for display, bikes for sale, parts for trading and anything motorcycle related one could imagine. The camaraderie amongst the participants was plain to see and Schmitty could envision the popularity of the event growing as the participants carried stories back to their home towns. He walked about and found a familiar face. It was Junior, the biker he met the previous day at Mom’s Place.

“Hey, Junior, how you doing?” Schmitty greeted.

“Oh hey, Schmitty,” Junior replied. “Nice to see you again. I see you’re riding the vintage Indian. Are you going to race it tomorrow when we race the old bikes?”

“I don’t know, I hadn’t thought about it,” Schmitty replied.

“Why don’t you,” Junior encouraged. “I’m running my 1914 Harley Davidson. The entry fee is only a couple of bucks. It will be fun racing against a familiar face. Maybe have a side bet. Of course, you don’t have a chance against my Harley,” he added teasingly.

“Well, how can I turn down such a dare?” Schmitty laughed.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he added as they shook hands to formalize their wager. Schmitty turned and saw Maggie approaching from across the street. She looked even more beautiful than he 88

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remembered. Her hair was no longer in braids, and it draped very attractively onto her shoulders.

“Hey, Cowboy, there you are,” she greeted. Schmitty smiled.

“Maggie, good to see you,” he replied.

“I came to check on your wounds from yesterday,” she added, as if to justify a reason for their interaction. “The Mercurochrome must have done the trick. Why you look almost as good as new,” she boasted.

“They feel great and the sting is gone. Thanks for your fine care,” he replied. Schmitty felt another awkward moment coming so he spoke first. “Can you stay and take in the displays with me?

I’d like to buy you lunch to thank you for finding me a place to stay,” he said, to justify his reason to invite her to join him.

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” she replied. “I have to get back to the store.

My family owns it, I run it and my two younger brothers run the garage and the filling station. I don’t dare be gone too long for fear in what shape I may find things when I return,” she replied.

Schmitty was disappointed she couldn’t join him, but was happy it was for the reason she gave. He perked up when she added, “Why don’t you stop by the store when you get time. I’m sure my brothers would like to see the Indian.”

Schmitty, caught off guard by her comment, simply replied, “Oh, okay, I’ll see you later.” She turned and sashayed across the street to her truck as he watched her the entire way, his enthusiasm buoyed by both her actions and comments. Junior, who was standing nearby and observed their interaction walked up and commented.

“Schmitty, it looks like you’re a little sweet on that filly. I’ve been here for this show for a few years and I think she may be spoken for,” he warned. “Maybe things have changed though, since last year,” he added.

“Nobody else has been around,” Schmitty replied. “Thanks for the warning though, Junior. No sense in me wasting my time.”

“You’re right,” added Junior. “Plenty of fish in the sea, as they say,” he laughed. Schmitty strolled about looking for other motorcycle parts for sale which he could use for the Indian, and his Harley.

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After a few hours he decided to take a ride over to Maggie’s store, especially since she invited him. He pulled up in front of the store, excited to be able to see her again, but feeling a bit awkward after hearing Junior’s comment that she may have another love interest. He walked in the store and saw her behind the counter waiting on a customer. She noticed him but didn’t say anything as he walked about the store waiting for the customer to leave. He spotted a pay phone in the corner and suddenly realized he forgot to call home the day before. He rushed to the phone, dropped a nickel in the slot and dialed the operator. Again, he placed a collect call and his mother answered.

“Bobby, is that you?” she asked when the operator announced the caller’s name.

“Yes, ma’am, it’s me,” he replied. “I’m sorry I didn’t call yesterday but...”

“Is everything okay?” his mother interrupted before he could explain.

“Everything’s great, Mom. Couldn’t be better. How are things at home?”

“Well, your brother Jimmy got into a fracas yesterday and...”

Schmitty rolled his eyes impatiently knowing the operator would soon be cutting in to announce it was time for an additional charge.

As if on cue, she did, but Mrs. Schmitz kept talking right through the operator’s announcement.

“Say Bobby, are you getting enough to eat? I know you’ve got a big appetite.”

“Yes ma’am. I’m getting my fill. Good food, a clean bed and great people. Couldn’t be better,” he replied in a monotone.

“Well good. I’ll tell your father you called when he gets home from work,” she said assuredly.

“Thanks, Mom. I’ve got to go. I love you,” he replied, hoping to end the conversation before the operator cut in again.

“I love you too, Bobby. Be careful, and call back soon,” she said as she hung up. Schmitty turned to see if Maggie was still with her customer, only to find her standing behind waiting for him to finish his call.

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“That was really sweet,” she said. “Calling your Mom to let her know you’re okay. You must be a really good son.” Schmitty, caught off guard by her comments, unaware she was listening to his conversation, was more embarrassed than flattered. He tried to quickly change the topic.

“Oh hello, Maggie,” he started small talk. “You have a real nice store here. How long has your family run it?” he continued. She smiled, sensing his intent.

“Oh, maybe forty years, I believe” she replied. “It started out as a general store and the garage and pumps were added about twenty years ago.”

“Oh,” was all he offered in reply.

“Thanks for coming by,” she responded. “Did anything in town catch your fancy?” she added.

“There are a few things that caught my eye. I’m waiting to see if the prices come down later in the week, though,” he replied.

“Good idea,” she agreed. “Say, why don’t you come out to the garage and meet my brothers. I think they’d like to see the Indian,” she finished.

“Oh, okay,” Schmitty replied. He bolted out the door to roll the Indian toward the garage. She was there with both brothers when he walked in. He was surprised they bore little resemblance to her, with dark hair and brown eyes.

“Bob, these are my two brothers, Tony and Lenny. Boys, this is Bob from Kentucky. He’s here for the rally and he’s got the vintage Indian I was telling you about,” as she introduced Schmitty to them.

“Oh yeah,” the pair replied as they tried to wipe dirt and grease from their hands with the nearest rag before extending them for a handshake.

“How are you doing guys,” Schmitty greeted. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” they replied in unison. “Some bike you got there,” as they inspected it closely. “Rode it all the way from Kentucky?”

Tony asked.

“I did,” Schmitty replied proudly. “And she galloped all the way here,” he added.

“Well, until she threw a shoe and you went through the hedge!”

Lenny laughed.

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“Well yeah, I guess,” was all Schmitty offered in response, being surprised by his direct remark.

“Sorry,” Maggie interjected sheepishly. “I guess I spilled the beans,” as she sent a glare toward her youngest brother, the wisecracker.

“Nice meeting you guys,” Schmitty acknowledged as he immediately rolled the Indian back into the lot. “I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, nice meeting you too. Thanks for coming by,” Lenny responded, in an attempt to make up for his dig about Schmitty’s accident. Maggie followed Schmitty out to the lot.

“Sorry,” she apologized.

“It’s okay,” he replied. “That’s normal for a younger brother. I know.”

“You’re probably right,” she added. “But I’m sorry, just the same.” Schmitty gathered enough courage to speak.

“Maggie, I’m riding in the vintage bike race tomorrow. A guy I met on the road asked me to race in it and I thought I’d give it a shot and I was wondering if maybe, if you weren’t busy here at the store tomorrow, maybe you’d like to come by and see me, I mean the Indian run, I mean if you’re not too busy and all.” Schmitty realized he was babbling so he stopped and hoped she understood his message. A quizzical looked crossed her face and a moment passed before she responded.

“When is the race?” she asked.

“Oh yeah, it’s at two o’clock. I understand if you’re too busy and can’t make it but I was just thinking maybe if you weren’t...,” his chatter continued.

“Let me see how things are going tomorrow here at the store and I’ll see if I can make it,” she replied.

“Oh, that would be wonderful, I mean, okay,” he replied, realizing he probably sounded too eager. He jumped on the Indian, started the engine and pulled his goggles in place, hoping he looked like a young Clark Gable as he pulled out of the lot and raced down the road yearning to turn to see if she was watching, while fearing she wasn’t.

He rode into town with the intention of spending the evening at the Hoel’s. The previous evening in the yard was so pleasant he 92

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was hoping it would repeat once more. He entered the house and Mrs. Hoel, or Aunt Pearl as she was known by most, greeted him.

“Hello there, Bob. Did you enjoy your day?” she asked.

“I did ma’am. There’s more bikes and parts and all than I could ever imagine seeing in one day,” he replied.

“And a lot of worn out stories to go with them,” she laughed, “They get better with age, too!”

“They sure do,” Schmitty agreed. “But the stories are what stay with you long after the bikes and parts are gone,” he added.

“So true,” she agreed. “Say, get cleaned up and get on out there in the yard and start chowing down on whatever’s cookin’. If you don’t get enough to eat it’s your own fault,” she added with a smile.

“Yes ma’am. I’m on my way,” he replied eagerly. Schmitty washed, changed his shirt and moseyed out to the yard where the aroma of smoking meat filled the air and whet his appetite. A man playing a banjo motioned for him to join him.

“Come on over here young man,” he beckoned. “You look like you’re here all alone. Pull up a chair,” he urged. Schmitty obliged and sat down with him. “My name is Rufus,” he introduced himself.

Where you from?” he asked.

“My name is Bob. I also go by Schmitty or Bobby or whatever someone wants to call me,” he laughed. “I’m from Kentucky.

Pleased to meet you. Sounds like you’ve been pickin’ your banjo for quite some time. Where are you from?”

“Anywhere and everywhere,” Rufus replied with a smile, his nimble fingers continuing to ply the strings of his instrument. “You ride the Indian, all the way here?” he asked.

“Yes sir, I did,” Schmitty replied. “It ran good, too. I’m going to run it tomorrow in the vintage bike race. See what she can do against those old Harleys,” he said proudly.

“Well good for you,” Rufus replied as he continued strumming.

“Maybe tomorrow night we’ll be celebratin’ your victory!” which he punctuated with a final hard strum on his banjo.

Schmitty ate heartily of the vast array of cooked delicacies, one dish better than the next. After Rufus ended another solo number and as a harmonica player approached to join him, Schmitty spoke.

“Do you know where I can find some boot polish?” he asked.

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“Boot polish? Do I look like a boot black?!!” Rufus exclaimed, invoking laughter from those nearby. “Maybe you want some of that fancy new Esquire polish they’re makin’. Oh, maybe you need to be lookin’ fine for a young lady. You gettin’ sweet on little Maggie we saw you with last night when you rolled in?” as he jabbed the needle in a little deeper trying to draw a retaliatory response.

Schmitty, familiar with this normal razzing between guys, spoke calmly.

“Actually, I want to look good when I’m accepting my trophy tomorrow,” he replied, trying not to laugh.

“Maybe you ought to be out there shinin’ up your Indian then,” replied Rufus with a laugh as he and the harmonica player broke into a familiar tune. Someone who overheard their conversation reached into a satchel and flipped Schmitty a can of shoe polish who felt obligated to shine his boots right there given all the brouhaha caused by his request. After he finished shining and admiring his boots, Schmitty sat on a stump for a few hours taking in the goings on and interacting with the other visitors in the yard.

They were all just ordinary people enjoying each other’s company with a common interest – motorcycles. He hoped tomorrow would be just as enjoyable. ****** Schmitty woke the next morning eager for the day to begin. He dressed and made his way out to the yard where one of the selfproclaimed, “expert” cooks, Max, was frying bacon and preparing to fry eggs.

“You’re up early, Son. Pull up a chair, pour yourself a cup of coffee and brace yourself for one of the best breakfasts you’ll ever have, or maybe today,” Max laughed.

“Thank you, Max” Schmitty replied. “Sounds good,” as he took his advice and sipped a cup of hot coffee. “I didn’t think when I planned this trip I’d be spending most of my time eating,” Schmitty laughed.

“What ‘cha got planned for today?” Max inquired.

“I’m going to be running in the vintage bike race this afternoon, so I’ll be fussing with the Indian to get her ready to run.”

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“You think she’s got it in her to run a hard race?” Max inquired.

“You better take care of her since she’s got to get you all the way back to Kentucky,” he added.

“I will. She’s got guts,” Schmitty replied.

“Let me give you some advice,” Max added more seriously.

“Those who run in these races here aren’t beginners and they don’t take prisoners, so to speak. So whatever they give you, you need to give it right back, and maybe a little extra, or they’ll run right over you and then tell you they didn’t mean it to happen, after the race is done run. You get my drift?”

“Loud and clear,” Schmitty replied. “Every man for himself.”

After breakfast, Schmitty inspected every inch of the Indian to ensure it was in good running order. He tuned up a few things and tightened some others but was basically killing time. He wanted to ride up to Maggie’s store to see if she thought she was going to make the race but didn’t for fear he was imposing, or looked too anxious to see her. If she was interested in him, he decided, she most likely would find a way to be there. Either way, he wanted to make a good showing. Bringing home a trophy from The Black Hills Motor Classic to show the guys on Ritte’s Corner would be something special, not to mention how proud he would be to present the trophy to Mr. Donoghue. He was getting himself in the right frame of mind for the race.

Shortly after noon, Schmitty decided to ride down to the track to check it over. It was a dirt oval near town and the only race he ever ran on an oval track was when he raced his Harley against Johnny on the Latonia Race Track, which didn’t turn out very well.

The track had much tighter turns and shorter straightaways than the longer thoroughbred track at home. He’d have to be in a close position going into the turns and hit the throttle hard coming out or he wouldn’t be able to make up ground in a crowded field. This is when the experience Max talked about would be an asset, but a smart rider and a bad bike wouldn’t win either. Schmitty felt very confident in himself and the Indian going into the race.

The other riders began drifting in and going over the track just as Schmitty was. They spoke to each other, trying not to appear nervous, but each one knew the others probably were, or even more 95

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nervous, than themselves. Schmitty remembered hearing a jockey at Latonia once say, “If you ain’t nervous, you ain’t alive.” Schmitty spotted Junior who appeared on his 1914 Harley-Davidson. He moved in his direction and greeted him with a slap on the shoulder.

Junior turned with a surprised look.

“How are you doing, Junior,” Schmitty greeted.

“Oh, good to see you, Schmitty. Ready for the big race?” he replied.

“Yeah, I’m feeling good about it,” Schmitty replied confidently.

“Well, don’t feel too good about it,” Junior warned. “I know every inch of this track and my bike and I won this race last year,” he boasted. “I like my chances,” he added. “Still want to wager?” he challenged.

Schmitty, not known for backing down, replied, “Of course.

How about two dollars?”

“Sounds good to me,” Junior replied. “Easy pickin’s,” he boasted again.

“Well may the best man win,” Schmitty replied as he moved away.

“I will,” replied Junior. “I will.”

A big burly man, who looked to be in charge, appeared and spoke to the group of racers who had assembled on the track. No one wanted to approach the starting line for fear it would bring them bad luck. Schmitty perused the crowd who had gathered, hoping to catch a glimpse of Maggie. No luck. He looked at his watch and saw there was only five minutes to race time. The Indian was idling and he rocked it back and forth as if he was conjuring up its spirit for the run, but still no Maggie, and now with only a few minutes to go. He decided she wasn’t coming so his mind immediately shifted to thoughts of the two Joes - Donoghue whose bike he was riding, and Roberts, whose war medal hung on the bike’s frame, feeling he was running this race for them.

The official in charge started giving instructions to the riders who slowly approached the starting line in unison. His announcements were difficult to decipher due to the noise of the idling engines, nevertheless, he got his message across by shouting through a megaphone.

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“Gentlemen, welcome to the Vintage Bike Race of the Black Hills Motor Classic,” he yelled. “This race is for 1915 and older bikes. They must be stock engines with standard parts and no souped-up engines. If you feel your bike isn’t competitive after a lap or two, get out of the way of the faster ones. Does everyone understand?” The confident riders all nodded in agreement most likely thinking the warning applied to everyone but them. “As you can see we’ve got a large field with twelve racers. We want this to be fair and fun, with no one getting hurt, so we won’t tolerate any shenanigans out there. The race is four laps around the track,” as he held up four fingers for emphasis. “Okay, everyone, move up to the starting line and we’ll fire the starting gun,” he instructed.

Schmitty pulled up to the line and thought, Okay, Joes, let’s get this Indian around the track in first place. We didn’t come all this way to lose. The thought hardly passed through his mind when he barely heard Maggie’s voice over the crowd noise and the din of the racing engines.

“Bobby, Bobby,” she shouted and waved, her auburn locks bobbing up and down as she jumped up trying to get his attention.

He waved and a big smile spread across his face.

The gun sounded and the riders thundered down the track toward the first turn. Schmitty didn’t get a particularly good break and with the big field, he was way behind entering the first turn.

The group thundered down the back straightaway but he wasn’t able to gain any ground on the leaders, one of whom was Junior. As they entered the next turn Schmitty, now eating lots of dust, tried to make a move but couldn’t find an opening. Suddenly two bikes bumped each other and both spun out and were finished, leaving Schmitty, who narrowly missed being a third victim, grateful he escaped the collision.

Junior was now in the lead and pushing hard to put some distance between him and the rest of the pack. The laps continued and Schmitty was able to make up some ground and got into fourth place, but was running out of time to overtake the leaders. As they passed the official he signaled, last lap. Schmitty, now desperate, yelled, “Come on, let’s go!!!” and downshifted as the Indian took off like a Comanche pony racing down a slope in a battle. He began 97

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moving up and was soon neck and neck with Junior who looked over in disbelief. They looked like two steel chariots in a duel to the finish. As they neared the finish-line, the Indian nudged ahead and beat the Harley by a wheel-length in a cloud of dust.

They rolled to a stop and Junior jumped off his bike, threw down his goggles and ran over to Schmitty.

“Where in hell did you come from?” he shouted. “My Harley was giving all it had and you moved up like I was standing still.

These bikes are supposed to be stock. What have you got in that thing? Are you telling me you’re running fifteen horsepower with a stock Schebler carburetor? Bullshit!” he shouted angrily as he moved closer to Schmitty’s face. Junior, now red-faced, and very upset and wasn’t tempering any of his remarks, so Schmitty, sensing an imminent fight, quickly pulled off his racing gloves thinking he may need his bare knuckles for defense. Pappy Hoel raced out of the crowd.

“Take it easy, Junior. You got beat fair and square. Bob is staying at my place and I looked his bike over and it is stock. No one better to know it than me, being an Indian dealer and all. He’s just a helluva rider, if I say so myself, and he’s on a damn good bike,” as he congratulated Schmitty with a pat on his back. “Sometimes things just come together. Junior, you just got beat today. That’s all.”

Junior, now quiet as a result of Pappy’s admonishment and his acceptance of his defeat, as well as feeling embarrassed, removed his glove and extended his hand to Schmitty, who shook it heartily.

“Congratulations. You ran a good race,” Junior acknowledged sheepishly.

“As did you,” Schmitty replied.

“Luck would have it I’d run into you today,” Junior mumbled as he picked up his goggles and reached into his pocket to retrieve two dollars to settle their wager.

“You better come back next year so I can redeem myself,” he said assuredly, as they shook hands once more. “And get my two dollars back,” he added, and laughed heartily. Schmitty just smiled and nodded, not figuring he’d be back next year for Junior to extract his revenge, but at the same time knowing sometimes things have an odd way of working out.

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Maggie pushed her way through the cheering crowd as Schmitty was removing his dust covered jacket and cap, which now resembled those of a man working in a sawmill. She rushed toward him as if they were going to embrace, but stopped suddenly and merely touched the sleeve of his shirt.

“Congratulations, Cowboy. You won,” she greeted. “You must be proud.”

“I am happy you came,” he replied.

“I am too,” she answered awkwardly, not expecting his response. “Say, how would you like to come to dinner at my house tonight? I’m sure my father and brothers would like to meet the new champion and hear every last detail of your victory. And my mother always likes company to try out her new recipes on.”

“Well, okay. If it’s no bother,” Schmitty replied.

“No, not at all. We’re at 834 Dudley Street. See you at six, okay?

I have to get back to the store. Don’t forget to bring your trophy!” she reminded as she turned to leave.

“Okay. See you at six,” he replied. She disappeared into the crowd. He was swarmed by the throng and accepted their wellwishes and the champion’s trophy, with delight.

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9 Schmitty returned to the Hoels’ with his trophy in hand and was greeted like a conquering hero. The vintage bike race wasn’t a headline event at the Classic as were those for the newer bikes and the cross country race that would be held later in the week.

However, Schmitty was the only racer at the Hoels’ with a trophy in hand, so he was the current hero and he enjoyed recounting his come-from-behind victory to anyone who was interested in listening to it. It was quite a surprise to him to have competed, much less to have won a race, since he had no such aspirations when planning this trip. As the afternoon grew old, and he recounted his story numerous times, his thoughts shifted toward dinner with Maggie’s family, the Andriaccos. She invited him so he wanted to go, but didn’t quite know what her family’s reception would be. He wanted to put his best foot forward so he decided just to be gentlemanly and see how things played out. He rode the Indian the short distance through town to Maggie’s home, leaving the trophy behind, and arrived precisely at six o’clock. He knocked on the front door and Maggie answered.

“My, you are punctual, aren’t you,” she greeted. “I like that in a man. Come on in.” Schmitty entered, removed his cap and hesitated in the doorway.

“Please come in and make yourself comfortable,” another woman greeted. “I’m Maggie’s mother. Pleased to meet you.” She was an attractive woman who bore a striking resemblance to Maggie with similar hair color and features.

“Very pleased to meet you, ma’am. I’m Bob Schmitz. Thank you for having me to dinner, I really appreciate it. Maggie tells me you are quite the cook.”

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“Thank you for joining us. I hope she didn’t talk up my cooking so much you’ll be disappointed,” she joked. “Sit down and relax.

Maggie will fetch you a cold glass of lemonade.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” Schmitty replied as Maggie moved to the kitchen followed closely by her mother. Schmitty sat quietly looking about the room. The home was charming, clean and neat and well furnished. There was an upright piano across the room on which family pictures were displayed. One seemed to be a recent photo of a man in a military uniform and from a distance it looked to be Army. Schmitty wondered who it was but wouldn’t feel comfortable asking, so he hoped someone would volunteer the information later. Immediately a man who must have been Maggie’s father entered the room, followed by her two brothers, Tony and Lenny. Schmitty stood to greet them.

“Hello, I’m Maggie’s father, John. I believe you’ve already met my two sons at the garage,” her father greeted.

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Schmitty replied. “Nice to see you again, guys,” he nodded in the direction of the two brothers who smiled in return. Maggie reappeared a moment later with the lemonade.

“I’m glad someone is taking care of you,” John laughed. “We’ve forgotten our manners,” he joked apologetically. Both he and Maggie sat and Schmitty followed suit as the brothers made their way toward the dining room, not being much interested in chitchat.

“Maggie was telling me you won a race today. How about that?

You must be pleased. Congratulations.”

“Yes, sir. It was fun,” Schmitty responded with a smile. “I never expected it, but I was definitely going for it,” he said proudly.

“Well good for you. Congratulations again,” John replied sincerely. Maggie’s mother entered the room.

“Dinner’s ready,” she announced, motioning toward the dining room. Schmitty stood and they proceeded toward the room where Tony and Lenny were already seated.

“Sit here where Alan usually sits.” John urged Schmitty. Who is Alan? Schmitty wondered as he sat where he was directed. Is he the guy in the picture on the piano? Is he a relative? Is he Maggie’s 101

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boyfriend Junior was referring to? I’m going to go crazy trying to figure this out. Schmitty was grateful Maggie sat by him which made him more comfortable, but also uneasy thinking he may be sitting in her boyfriend’s seat.

Dinner went as they often do with a new guest with whom a family is not familiar. Maggie tried to keep the conversation going by talking about the race and commenting on Schmitty’s riding skills. John asked a few obligatory questions about Kentucky and Schmitty’s schooling to which he explained he was studying engineering at the University of Cincinnati and worked at a newspaper in the summer to help pay for his education. John nodded his approval at Schmitty’s academic undertakings and praised him for his sound work ethic to accomplish them. Maggie’s mother asked a few questions about Schmitty’s family as you would expect a mother to do. Overall, it was pleasant, and after dessert, Schmitty spoke.

“Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Andriacco for a nice meal. The food is good down at the Hoels’ but I enjoyed meeting you and your meal was delicious. It felt like I was home. Maggie, thank you for inviting me,” he said very politely.

“You’re very welcome, Bob,” Mrs. Andriacco responded. “We enjoyed your company too,” as John nodded in agreement. “You’re welcome back any time,” she added. With all of the pleasantries dispensed, Schmitty rose to his feet as did Maggie and he walked into the front room of the house not knowing what to expect from her. He slowly moved to the front door and eventually the porch as she followed behind. He hesitated there and fortunately she spoke.

“Would you like to sit down for a while?” she said as she pointed to a nearby glider.

“Okay,” Schmitty replied, still not knowing what to expect, but grateful they would be cozy. Maggie sat next to him, causing his heart to race. She moved the glider back and forth looking about, but said nothing. Schmitty knew it was most likely a good time for more small talk to break any tension but instead placed his hand on her thigh. She stood immediately and moved to the porch rail staring out toward the street. A few moments later she spoke.

“You didn’t bring your trophy,” she commented. Schmitty ignored her comment in favor of his own question.

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“Maggie, why am I here?” he asked directly.

“Why, I thought it would be nice for you to come to dinner,” she responded with surprise. A moment passed before Schmitty responded.

“Who is Alan?” he asked. Maggie didn’t respond. “Is he your boyfriend?” he pushed. She turned toward him.

“I guess you could say so,” she replied softly. “Our families know each other and we’ve been friends since grade school and it just seemed like we’d always be together.”

“So is Alan in the Army?” Schmitty asked.

“Yes,” she replied. “He’s stationed down at Ft. Riley, in Kansas.”

“Do you have plans to marry?” Schmitty probed deeper.

“It’s personal,” Maggie replied. Schmitty stood and moved to the porch rail by her. He looked directly into her eyes.

“Maggie, it’s pretty personal to me too, that I’m here with you. I know I’m only going to be here in Sturgis for a few more days, but I thought there was some chemistry between us and I chose not to ignore it. Maybe I was overlooking some signs, but our hearts can lead us to some unusual places if we let it. I should probably go. I’m glad we met. I won’t forget you for sure.” He kissed her on the forehead and stepped off the porch toward the Indian. She said nothing. The sun was beginning to set behind the mountain as he started the Indian for the ride back to the Hoels’. He couldn’t see the tears in her eyes as he waved goodbye and rolled down the street.

He rode through town for a while to clear his head. Some of the people there, for the rally, were just beginning to enjoy some of the night life, what little there was of it, but Schmitty decided to circle back to the Hoels’ and enjoy the company of the people there. He parked the Indian under a tree and proceeded to search for a place to sit in the yard which was much more crowded than before. He found a place, after hunting down a cold drink from one of the washtubs strategically placed in the yard.

He sat enjoying the music, but fretted over how things ended with Maggie. He knew it would take some time to get her off his mind and he wished for a good distraction to speed things along so he struck up a conversation with an older Indian man who was seated next to him on a blanket.

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“Hello,” Schmitty began. “My name is Bob. Nice evening isn’t it,” the small talk began.

“Yes, it is. My name is Dakotah,” the Indian replied. “Pleased to meet you, Bob.” “Are you from these parts?” Schmitty inquired.

“Yes. I’m an Elder in the nearby Lakota tribe,” he replied.

“Would you like to share my blanket? The ground can get pretty hard even for your young haunches.”

“Thank you,” Schmitty replied as he moved to the blanket.

“I’ve been watching you for a while,” Dakotah commented.

“You seem to be troubled. Can I help you with anything?” he added. Schmitty became embarrassed by his question but gathered himself enough to respond.

“Well, there’s this girl,” he began.

“Oh, affairs of the heart. May be unsolvable,” Dakota grinned, hoping to break Schmitty’s serious mood. “Please continue,” he urged.

“I met a girl on Sunday when I wandered into her general store after I crashed my motorcycle nearby. She patched me up, but from the moment I saw her I haven’t been able to get her off my mind.

I’ve seen her a few times this week. I even had dinner with her family tonight, after which I learned she has a boyfriend who’s away in the Army. I sort of told her goodbye and now here I am blabbering away to you.”

Dakotah took out a pipe and lit it. He didn’t respond immediately, allowing him to absorb the synopsis Schmitty presented, as the aroma of his pipe permeated the air.

“One thing the white man hasn’t learned, especially young ones, is patience,” Dakotah began. “The relationships between men and women are the same as between man and Mother Earth.

Things are intended to evolve naturally over time. The white man is consumed with conquering. He has no patience to wait for what must be. You say you met this woman on Sunday. Today is Tuesday.

Did you think she would forsake all others to fall into your arms in three days’ time?” he asked.

“Uh, well, it does sound a bit optimistic when you put it that way, doesn’t it?” Schmitty replied.

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“Would you want a woman by your side who is so fickle?”

Dakotah continued.

“Well no, I wouldn’t actually,” Schmitty replied again.

“But you want to know where this woman’s heart is because you will be leaving in a few days. Am I right? Or are you merely wishing to lie down with her and have your pleasure while you are here?” Dakotah spoke candidly.

“Oh, no,” Schmitty replied. “I do have special feelings for her. And I feel I’ve been drawn to her for some reason. But I will be leaving in a few days, and may never see her again,” he said dejectedly.

“You will be leaving to be off conquering things as you feel you must,” Dakotah replied. “Have patience, my Son. The Great Spirit, the Creator, has a plan for everyone, but we don’t always know what it is. Lie on this consecrated blanket and look to the heavens. You must be one with Nature to see, to know. The stars will speak to you through your heart and show you the way, but you must trust and follow the Great Spirit’s wishes. With acceptance comes peace.

Heed my advice,” he ended.

“You sound like a wise man, Dakotah. I appreciate your insight.

In the meantime, I need something strong to kill my pain. I need to find some good Kentucky bourbon. Care to join me?” Schmitty asked.

“No, thank you,” Dakotah replied. “You know what they say about Indians and firewater,” he laughed. “The Lakota tribe has an old saying: Many have fallen with a bottle in their hand.”

Schmitty chose to ignore Dakotah’s comment and went off in the yard looking for the bourbon he craved. He found some but when he returned, Dakotah was gone, though he had left his blanket behind. Schmitty sat alone, sipping his bourbon, listening to the banjo and harmonica players entertain the crowd, while pondering Dakotah’s advice. It made acceptance of his situation bearable, or it was, in his now alcohol fueled brain. After a few more glasses of Kentucky’s finest, the curtain fell on his consciousness as he lay on the consecrated blanket for the night.

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****** The sun was rising the next morning as a cold bucket of water rained down on Schmitty’s head. He bolted from his resting place on the blanket to find a grinning Dakotah shaking his finger at him.

“My God, oh my head,” Schmitty mumbled.

“You look like you’ve been rode hard and put away wet,” laughed Dakotah calling upon an often used horse analogy. “The Indian learned about firewater long ago. The white man’s not so smart,” he teased.

“Ohhhh,” Schmitty continued to moan. “Why are you here so early?” he asked.

“When the sun comes up, the day begins,” Dakotah began.

“Not many good things happen after the sun goes down as we saw with you last night. I came by to check on you…and to collect my sacred blanket. Mother Nature teaches us not to waste what we have, which includes our time. I suggest you make better use of yours today and stop fretting about your dream lady. What is to be, will be. Did you call on the heavens for direction as I suggested?”

“Uh, no not exactly,” Schmitty replied embarrassedly.

“Then you must accept the consequences of your actions,” Dakotah announced as he strode to the front of the house and disappeared from sight. Schmitty approached Max’s cooking area looking for a cup of coffee. Max looked up from his food preparation.

“Jesus, you look like hell,” he proclaimed, much to Schmitty’s chagrin. “You really tied one on last night, didn’t you?”

“I suppose,” Schmitty admitted.

“You can’t let a woman do that to you,” Max laughed.

“How did you know about it?” Schmitty asked.

“It’s a small world, buddy,” Max replied. “Besides it was hard not to hear your bellyaching half the night. The more bourbon you drank, the louder you got. We were all happy when your glass ran dry and you conked out.”

Schmitty, by now embarrassed by his own behavior quietly mouthed, “Sorry.”

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“Don’t worry about it none, kid. Everybody’s been there one time or another. You don’t have a corner on heartbreak,” Max replied philosophically.

“I wouldn’t call it heartbreak,” replied Schmitty.

“Uh-huh, sure,” Max laughed in response. Max handed him a cup of joe which he sipped to help his throbbing cranium.

Schmitty spent the next two days engulfed in the rally. He saw races, he ran into Junior and they spent time at a local watering hole trading motorcycle stories and watching the young ladies who were coming and going. He called home a couple of times, once catching his father who was proud of his winning the vintage bike race and wanted to know more information than Schmitty wanted to incur long-distance charges to tell. He asked his father to let George know if he ran into him. He didn’t see Dakotah again and wondered how he came to be at the Hoels’ that night, since he wasn’t staying there. Two days of not seeing Maggie helped him to accept what was and perhaps what was meant to be.

On Friday night as the rally was drawing to a close, Schmitty once again was sitting on a barstool in a local saloon on Main Street, which resembled something from a Wild West movie. A place where any minute you’d expect to see a cowboy stride up to the bar in chaps and spurs and call for a shot of whiskey. The only thing remotely modern about the joint was a new Wurlitzer jukebox in the corner which was being fed nickels non-stop to play the current popular songs of Roy Acuff and Gene Autry with an occasional Andrews Sisters melody mixed in for the ladies in the crowd. A haze of blue smoke and the smell of stale beer permeated the establishment and his barstool’s cushion was grooved from the thousands of butts which had rested on it during its life. But the place was clean, the beer cold, the company good, and the patrons festive on their final night in Sturgis.

Schmitty was occupying his time flirting with an attractive girl on an adjacent stool. She kept looking over his shoulder though, at someone who was standing nearby who appeared to be waiting to speak to him. She suddenly slid from her stool and made her way to the other end of the bar. Schmitty wondered what he said to make her dart away so quickly but in an instant he was spun around on his stool and was facing Maggie and another woman.

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“Hello, Cowboy. Nice to see you,” Maggie greeted.

“Uh, hello Maggie. How are you?” was the only response he could muster on the spur of the moment.

“This is my friend, Janet,” Maggie said introducing her to Schmitty. Janet was a stunning blonde with blue eyes and an attractive figure that was being admired by nearly every man there.

Schmitty rose from his stool to greet her.

“Nice to meet you, Bobby,” she said extending her hand to him.

“And you too,” Schmitty replied. After his shock at seeing Maggie passed, Schmitty spoke.

“Maggie, I’m surprised to see you here, in a place like this,” he said directly. Janet, anticipating the conversation between Maggie and Schmitty, backed away to give them privacy which wasn’t much in the crowded, noisy bar.

“Well there aren’t many places like this in this small town. Our next choice was the local churches but we doubted we’d find you in one on a Friday night, so we checked the bars first,” Maggie replied tongue-in-cheek.

“So you were looking for me?” Schmitty replied with a bemused look on his face. Maggie placed her hands on his chest pushing him down onto his stool and looked him in the eye.

“Yes, I was,” she replied, matter-of-factly. “I didn’t like how we left things the other night.”

“How so?” he asked.

“You implied I was leading you on,” she said, “what with the Alan thing and all.” The mere mention of Alan’s name caused Schmitty to roll his eyes which prompted Maggie to step closer so he was sure to hear her words. A look of intensity appeared on her face as her blue eyes appeared twice their normal size.

“Things are what they are, you hear? They happen over time and they can change over time, but usually when they change too quickly, they don’t endure because they are just impulsive reactions that feel good in the moment. If you don’t understand that then….” her voice cracked with emotion. Schmitty listened to what she was saying. It sounded similar to Dakotah’s advice, but now he realized it was her dynamic spirited attitude which drew him to her in the first place. He hadn’t seen much of it since she was tending to him 108

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after his accident, but he now thoroughly enjoyed experiencing it again. Was the real Maggie back? he thought. He hoped so.

“So now what?” he replied.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. A moment later she asked, “When are you leaving for home?”

“Tomorrow or Sunday,” he replied. “I got distracted this week and I really came here to see Mt. Rushmore. The motorcycle rally was an added benefit of being here now. I’m going to ride up on the mountain tomorrow to see it and may leave from there for home.

At least it was my plan.”

“You’d be a fool not to take me with you to see the Presidents,” she stated boldly. “I know my way around up there as good as anyone,” she stated confidently as she tossed her hair aside.

“Well, okay,” Schmitty replied meekly. “Do you have a motorcycle to ride?” he asked.

“No. I thought I’d ride on yours, with you,” she replied assuredly.

He swallowed hard upon hearing her answer.

“I don’t have a rear seat, just a luggage rack. It wouldn’t be comfortable or safe for such a long distance,” he said.

“Pappy Hoel is an Indian dealer. I’m sure he has a seat that will work on the back of your bike, so we can ride together,” she said confidently. “Meet me at his shop at eight o’clock tomorrow morning when it opens,” she directed. “I’ll pack us a lunch, and you can provide the transportation.” She smiled in a way which left him speechless. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” she said as she pointed her finger before turning and bolting for the door with Janet following closely behind.

Once outside Janet joked, “I’ve got dibs if you don’t want him,” which elicited a purposeful jab to her side from Maggie.

Meanwhile, Schmitty sat at the bar staring at his bottle wondering what just happened. The bartender approached with a rag to wipe the bar and said, “I didn’t hear everything, but it sounded like you just got your marching orders, with no uncertain terms. She looks like she could be a handful,” he chuckled. He nodded at Schmitty with a have another? look.

“Yeah, I don’t know where this is going but I know where I’d like it to go,” Schmitty replied as he downed the rest of his drink.

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“One more,” he said with a smile as he slid his empty bottle toward the bartender. “One more.” ****** Schmitty finished his drink and marched out of the bar toward the Hoels’. As he strode down Main Street he replayed most of the events of the week in his mind. From the time the Indian crashed through the hedgerow to now, nothing had gone according to the plan which he formed on the long ride from home. He had experienced both highs and lows. He met a girl in the most unlikely way and he won a race on the Indian. No way to have predicted either one. To him the pragmatist, it defied logic and was both unsettling and exciting at the same time. He arrived at the Hoels’ and went inside to find Aunt Pearl and Pappy who were sitting in the parlor with their feet propped up and a glass in hand.

“Hello, Bob. Pull up a chair and join us. What a week. We’re bushed,” Pappy urged.

“Thank you, but I can’t,” Schmitty replied. “I’ll be up early tomorrow so I need to hit the sack now.”

“Are you going home tomorrow?” Aunt Pearl asked.

“No, I don’t think so. I’m riding up to Mt. Rushmore to see the Presidents,” he replied.

“Oh. You’ll enjoy it,” commented Pearl. “We’re so lucky to have something so incredible out here in no-man’s-land in the Black Hills.”

“I agree. I came all the way from Kentucky to see this magnificent engineering feat,” Schmitty replied. “Say, Pappy, would you happen to have a rear seat for my Indian I could borrow tomorrow?

“I’m sure I’ve got one down in the shop that’ll work,” Pappy replied. “Are you taking someone with you up on the mountain?”

“Uh, well, yeah,” Schmitty stammered. Since he was borrowing a seat from Pappy, he felt he owed him an explanation, since he asked. “Maggie Andriacco volunteered to show me around,” Schmitty replied, using her last name so not to sound as personal.

“She said she knows her way around the mountain as good as anyone,” he said matter-of-factly.

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“She does, does she?” Pappy replied, as he and Aunt Pearl winked at each other. “Well, it’s important you get to see everything you’re going up to see, now isn’t it?” Pappy smiled.

“Yes sir, it is,” Schmitty replied meekly, knowing he wasn’t fooling anyone with his explanation.

“Stop in the shop and the boys will fix you up with a seat,” Pappy finished, and Schmitty moved on to one of the other rooms to find a spot to bed down.

In the morning he rose early to get a head start on the day. He wasn’t sure how things with Maggie would go, so he decided to play it by ear and not force things and enjoy how they unfolded. He rolled out on the Indian to Pappy’s shop to inquire about the rear seat and to meet Maggie. As he arrived, he saw movement inside and knocked on the locked front door. A young man, one of the mechanics, opened it and Schmitty spoke to him.

“Hello, I’m Bob Schmitz, I’m staying at Pappy’s place. I need to borrow a rear seat for my Indian for the day. He said you should have one I could use.” The shop hand looked past Schmitty toward the Indian.

“Yeah, we should have something. Come on in,” he replied. He ambled toward the stock room and returned in a few minutes with a seat. “This should work. Pull your bike in through the garage door and we’ll fix you up.” Schmitty did as instructed and in a few minutes was pulling the Indian back outside with a rear seat in place. He waited anxiously for Maggie who would be walking from home to the shop. He thought it a bit odd he wasn’t picking her up at home but given the circumstances of her current relationship with Alan, it may not look proper for her to be riding off on the back of a motorcycle with another man. A few more minutes passed and he wondered if she had changed her mind about coming, at all.

Soon though, his fears were allayed as she came walking down the street toward him with a bag in hand that most likely held their lunch. As she neared he was stunned to see how attractive she was in her riding gear - khaki slacks with a matching riding jacket. Her hair was pulled up under her cap with her goggles resting on top.

A light scarf was knotted around her neck - she looked like every guy’s dream girl.

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“What are you staring at Bobby?” she teased. “I’m only a few minutes late. Every girl gets a grace period, doesn’t she?”

“Uh, oh yeah,” he replied, not wishing to divulge the reason for his stare. “I’ve got us all fixed up here with a seat,” he added quickly to draw attention away from her comment. “Let me get that,” as he reached for the bag she carried. “I’ll put it in one of the saddle bags,” he added. “It looks like we’re ready to go,” as he mounted the bike first and started the Indian. “Hop on, let’s go,” as he motioned with his hand to her who held it to steady herself while mounting the rear seat. She pulled her goggles in place and tapped on his back to signal she was ready. The seat had handles on its front edge that she gripped to steady herself.

“Let’s have fun today,” she shouted over the engine’s lobe.

Schmitty motioned again he was ready to roll and they were off down the street toward the main highway to Mt. Rushmore.

“Turn left at the next street,” Maggie instructed after they had ridden a few blocks. “We should take Boulder Canyon Road toward Deadwood.” Schmitty followed her instructions as they made their way from the valley into the mountains. The Indian was performing exceptionally well even while carrying two passengers as the elevation increased with each passing mile. The scenery was stunning with bare rock walls soaring skyward framed on all sides by the never-ending green forest of the Black Hills. In a half-hour they entered Deadwood, a small town founded in the 1800s during the Gold Rush. There, they turned south on Route 385, as the elevation increased dramatically. Schmitty slowed on the inclines so not to tax his bike any more than necessary but the Indian performed like a champ and navigated the hills with ease.

Soon the elevations were more consistent and the Indian galloped like a prized stallion.

Occasionally Schmitty would glance back at Maggie to see if she was alright and she’d give him the okay sign. As the terrain leveled making it less challenging, Schmitty’s mind began to wander. His original intent for taking this trip was to see Mt. Rushmore, but also to give him time to clear his mind about his future. He never dreamt he’d be riding to see the Presidents after the week he had, with a babe like her on the back of his bike. He 112

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had no idea how things were going to end but he knew it would be an amazing story to relay to George and the guys on Ritte’s Corner.

Soon they approached a very small town called Merritt. Schmitty decided to stop for a break and fill the gas tank so he hand signaled to Maggie his intention to stop. He pulled into a filling station and the attendant popped out of the garage and began filling the tank paying particular attention to Maggie.

“You doing okay?” Schmitty asked her.

“Fine,” she replied. “You really know how to drive this bike. It’s like riding on air. Surprising for an older bike. I thought it would be creaking and struggling on these hills a bit,” she added.

They traveled Route 385 down to Route 16 and roared toward Keystone. Beautiful rock formations protruded through tree lined hills as they followed Iron Mountain Road. Before they arrived, Maggie tugged on Schmitty’s sleeve and pointed past his shoulder to the right. You could see the incredible monuments to the Presidents on the mountainside from a distance. He was excited to be able to witness this outstanding engineering feat in person and he felt certain he may be the first person from Latonia, maybe all of northern Kentucky to see the monument.

They pulled into the park and a ranger gave them instructions on the particulars, but Maggie knew the lay of the land so Schmitty relied on her for directions. The ride to the park was enjoyable but it also felt refreshing to dismount the bike and stretch their legs. It was now mid-morning and the day was still young so they toured the Memorial buildings that told the story of the construction project then proceeded outside to see the monuments to the Presidents itself. Schmitty was totally engrossed in the project, almost in a trance-like state. Maggie nudged him a few times as he stood nearly transfixed, studying the sculpted faces closely after having read about the construction process.

“You engineers are really into how this was built,” Maggie commented. “I can hear those analytical wheels turning up there,” as she gave him a playful knock on the side of his head. “Everything always has to be logical, carefully planned and calculated. Is that how it always works?” she asked. He winced good-naturedly, knowing her intended reference.

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“Well, I guess not always,” he replied with a smile. “Sometimes things just are what they are.”

“Don’t miss the majesty of these mountains, simply because someone carved some faces on them. Without the mountains, there would be no monument,” she added.

After a few hours it was mid-day and Schmitty said, “Maggie, are you ready to move on? I think you’ve got other places here you want me to see.”

“Okay, let’s go,” she said. They hopped on the Indian and she directed him through other areas of the park from where you could view the monument as well as the valleys below. After an hour, Schmitty pulled into an area with picnic tables, without other sight-seers.

“I’m famished. Can we stop here to eat?” he asked.

“Sure, this looks like a good spot,” Maggie replied. He pulled the Indian up near a table and Schmitty got Maggie’s bag out of the saddle bag on the bike. The day was warm, so she took off her jacket, cap and goggles and hung them on the rear seat of the Indian.

“What’ve you got in there?” Schmitty asked.

“Hold your horses,” she replied, as she pulled out a small checkered table cloth and spread it on the table and pulled out two sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, some fruit, two cups and a couple of paper plates. “Do you think you can find us some drinking water?” she asked as she handed him the cups.

“There’s a fountain over there,” he pointed. “I’ll be right back.”

He returned a few minutes later with water and sat across the table opposite her.

“You pack a lot in a small bag,” he commented. “It all looks good.” They sat quietly eating, enjoying a cool breeze which occasionally rolled through the grove. After a while Maggie spoke.

“Tell me Bobby, why did you come all this way from Kentucky?

Was it just to see this monument?

“Well,” he started, “That’s a good question.” He proceeded to relay the story about the Indian and Mr. Donoghue, and his son, Joe, and his thoughts about enlisting in the Navy to become a navigator in its flying division. He opened up to her about his need 114

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to accomplish more in his life than just being an everyday engineer.

He didn’t know quite what it may be but this monument was so inspiring to him he wanted to see it first-hand. So here he was.

“Have you ever flown?” she asked.

“No,” he replied.

“What makes you think you’d want to train to be a navigator in the Navy?” she asked.

“Because I think I’d be good at it,” he replied. “Sometimes that’s all the initiative or reasoning you need.” He stood and walked to her side and sat next to her with his back to the table.

“Turn around,” he urged. “You can see the Presidents through the tops of the trees.” She stood and changed her position as well.

“It is a pretty view,” she agreed. “One for the memory book,” she added quietly. Schmitty hesitated, reached over, pulled the barrette from her hair while leaning in to kiss her.

“Easy Cowboy,” she said, as she gently resisted his advance. “I know our situation is complicated. We’ve known each other for just a week, which is too soon to know our true feelings for each other. I’m here, and you’re going back to Kentucky and then whoknows-where? And I’m involved with someone else. Will our paths ever cross? Will we ever even see each other again? We don’t know.

What is the big plan for us? At the moment, we’re having lunch together in the Black Hills of South Dakota in the shadow of the Presidents,” as she pointed to their image seen through the trees.

“That we know for sure. After that?....,” she ended as she reached for and took his hand into hers. Even though she stopped his advance, Schmitty felt closer and more attracted to her than ever.

He thought about the words of Dakotah, and Maggie in the bar the previous night, and knew to go no further. Somehow he felt their relationship wasn’t ending, and as he gazed into her eyes could tell she knew how he felt, and appreciated his restraint.

“It’s getting late,” he said, glancing at his watch. “We’d better get on the road so we get back at a decent hour.”

“You’re right,” she replied. “Let’s clean up and hit the road.”

Soon they were navigating the winding roads through the park. When they returned to the entrance, Maggie pointed in the direction to turn and Schmitty complied. After they left the park, 115

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Maggie removed her hands from her seat handle, moved forward and wrapped them around Schmitty’s waist. She turned her head to the side, laid it on his back and held onto him for most of the way home. They retraced their route to Keystone and headed north toward Sturgis. On the way they saw bison thundering across amber waving grasslands and bighorn sheep performing improvised ballet moves on the rocky cliffs.

As they rolled into Sturgis in the late afternoon, Schmitty asked Maggie if he could ride her home.

“It’s probably best if I walk back from Pappy’s shop,” she said.

“I understand,” he said. They arrived at the shop and she waited as the shop hand removed the seat. Schmitty knew it was going to be an awkward goodbye moment for them both. He didn’t want it to end with a hug and a handshake so he strode straight up and took her into his arms. This time she didn’t resist. He cradled her head with his hands and gently rested his cheek against hers, feeling a nervous quiver about her. He slowly moved his mouth to hers, hesitating as their lips touched to get a sense for her reaction before continuing his kiss with a passion that came from deep within. He felt a sense of calm come over her as she took a deep breath and returned his kiss with equal intensity. Their eyes met as if searching each other’s soul for the source for their loving actions.

He gently moved toward her ear as if to provide the answer and whispered, “Goodbye, Maggie.”

“Goodbye, Bobby,” she returned as they slowly broke their embrace. She turned away and began to walk briskly down the street as he watched, wondering if he’d ever see her again. She hesitated at the corner, turned, looked back and disappeared. The shop hand witnessed the entire exchange from inside and walked out to Schmitty.

“Lordy, are you going to let her walk away after all that?” he asked directly. “She’s the catch of the whole damn town!”

“She’s not mine,” Schmitty replied, “but she understands me now,” as he jumped on the Indian and sped away in the opposite direction.

He arrived at the Hoels’ in time for the last barbecue of the weekend. Many of the residents of the yard had already left for 116

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home but many of those who lived nearby decided to stay and return home on Sunday. He sauntered in to find Pappy and Aunt Pearl to let them know he appreciated their hospitality for the week.

“You’re very welcome,” Aunt Pearl replied. “You’re a fine gentleman and we’d be happy to have you stay here next year, if you come back.”

“Speaking of coming back, how’d it work out on your trip to Mt. Rushmore today with Maggie?” Pappy inquired. “Did the boys at the shop fix you up with a seat?”

“Yes sir, they did. Thank you. It worked out fine,” Schmitty replied without divulging any details.

“Well that’s good. I’d hate to think of a young fella having to find his way up there and back without a pretty young thing whispering directions in his ear,” Pappy cackled.

“Oh hush, Pappy,” Aunt Pearl scolded. “Leave the poor boy alone. He can do without your teasing.”

“Oh, don’t forget your trophy,” Aunt Pearl added. “We’ve been displaying it here in the dining room on the bureau. You need to show it off back home.”

“Thank you, I will,” Schmitty replied as he left for the dining room to collect it. “I hope I have room on the bike.” He grabbed the trophy and walked to the parlor to find a spot to bed down. In minutes he dozed off and slept soundly for the night.

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10 Schmitty woke at dawn and packed his belongings quickly and quietly. He wanted to get on the road to put as many miles behind him as possible. He packed his belongings on the Indian as efficiently as possible, quietly started it, and coasted down the street without revving the engine. He turned off Main Street onto Junction Avenue and was cruising in the early morning mist when he saw Dakotah, in full Indian garb, step out of the shadows on a nearby street corner. He nodded in Schmitty’s direction and gestured with his hand before resting it on his heart. Schmitty returned a waving salute and continued down the street. As he neared Howard Street he heard church bells ringing for early Sunday Mass. He saw some of the congregation walking toward a church so he turned in its direction. He rolled up to St. Francis of Assisi Church and decided to attend the Mass. He missed Mass the previous Sunday when he was traveling and an extra prayer for a safe trip home wouldn’t hurt anything, he thought. He entered church and sat in the rear in the event he left before Mass concluded. As the worshipers stood during the opening hymn, he panned the small gathering and thought he recognized Maggie’s mother near the front of church.

He decided to try to speak to her after Mass since he left her home somewhat abruptly after dinner on Tuesday night and wanted to properly thank her for her hospitality. He thought it odd she was there alone without her husband or sons, but was grateful Maggie wasn’t with her to further occupy his thoughts for an hour. As the congregation began their final hymn, Schmitty looked for Mrs. Andriacco and spotted her walking toward home, a few blocks away. He caught up and greeted her.

“Hello, Mrs. Andriacco,” he said. She turned, recognized him and spoke.

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“Oh hello, Bob,” she greeted. “I’m surprised to see you here so early.”

“I was passing through town on my way home and heard the church bells and decided to stop,” he replied.

“Maggie normally joins me at this Mass but she was out somewhere all day yesterday and seemed a bit out of sorts last night.

Don’t know what’s bothering her, but I decided to let her sleep in this morning. I’m sure she’ll feel better after a good night’s rest,” she assured. Schmitty didn’t know how to reply to her comment so all he came up with was, “Well, I hope she feels better.”

“Thank you, I’ll tell her I ran into you in church on your way home and you wished her well. Maybe it will cheer her up,” she said with a smile.

“Oh no, ma’am, please don’t. I’m sure she has other things on her mind more important than me,” as he feigned a laugh. “I’ve got to go now. I’ve got a long ride ahead of me and I must be on my way,” as he backed away politely.

“I wish you well, Bob. I hope we meet again someday,” she added with a wave of her hand.

“Nice meeting you too, ma’am,” he turned and moved toward his bike parked at the curb. The whole exchange wasn’t as he expected and he wished he hadn’t looked for her after Mass. He could see though where Maggie inherited her pleasant personality.

Her mother was very charming in her own way. He mounted the Indian and made straight for the open road. He checked his map carefully and determined he would be better retracing his way home than taking any alternate routes, especially out in South Dakota where there were long stretches between towns. He set a goal of making Sioux Falls by nightfall, which would be a hard ride, but would help him focus on his primary goal – getting home.

When he had nearly ninety miles to get to White Lake he decided to try to stop to see Mrs. Roberts, in whose barn he had sought shelter during the storm and whose son Joe’s war medal hung on the frame of the Indian. A couple hours later he rode up the gravel road to her house to see if she was home. He walked on the porch and knocked on the screen door hoping she wasn’t going to greet him with a shotgun like she did the first time they met. She cracked the inside door and peered out.

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“Oh, it’s you, Bob,” she greeted. “Come on in and sit for a spell,” she said and showed him into the parlor.

“I can’t stay long ma’am. I’m on my way home and I want to make Sioux Falls by nightfall. I’ve still got a couple of hours of riding,” he added.

“Oh, so I can’t talk you into staying for dinner? I’ve got a pot roast in the oven, which’ll be mighty tasty,” she tempted.

“I can smell it. I just ate a couple of hours ago and I really want to get back on the road,” he insisted. “Sorry ma’am.”

“Well okay. But tell me about your week. It must have been exciting for you never having been out in these parts,” Mrs. Roberts commented. “How was Mt. Rushmore? I hope to get there someday myself.”

“It was really exciting to see. Quite a spectacle,” he assured her.

“Did you go there by yourself?” she asked.

“Uh, well no. I met a nice girl in Sturgis and she knew the area real well so we went together,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Well, I figured as much. A good looking fella like you wouldn’t have any trouble getting someone to volunteer to show you around,” she teased.

“Now that you mention it, she did volunteer,” he replied, and they both laughed.

“Well, where are my manners? How about a cold drink before you go,” she offered.

“Sounds good ma’am. I do have some dry pipes,” as he accepted her offer. She returned with two glasses of cold lemonade. “Mrs. Roberts, I have your son Joe’s medal here which I feel grateful for you offering, but I feel it belongs with you. It did bring me good luck, though. It hung on the frame of my bike when I won a race in Sturgis.”

“Oh my goodness that’s wonderful!” she exclaimed. “Joe would be so excited for you. That settles it, you must keep it now.”

“Okay ma’am, but know I called upon him and the other Joe who owned the Indian during the race and they came through when the going was tough,” he said.

“Well aren’t you sweet to say so,” she replied as Schmitty stood to leave.

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“I must be going ma’am, I really must. Thank you for the lemonade and I enjoyed our conversation,” he said politely as he made his way to the door. She gave him a hug and he was gone. He gassed up in White Lake and after a couple hours rolled into Sioux Falls near dusk. It had been a long hard day, but he made his goal – Sioux Falls by nightfall!

His next goal was to find a place to spend the night. He spotted a mom and pop motel, the Shadyside Inn. Its neon sign spelled the word “Vacancy,” so Schmitty knew he could get a room. The clerk gave him a key to room number 12 and he pulled the Indian up to the door and unloaded his belongings. Once inside, he laid on the bed to rest and then rose to unpack his belongings when he noticed a piece of paper floated to the floor. He grabbed it to discard it and noticed handwriting on it. He held it up to the light to read. It said, Certain things may catch your eye, but pursue only those which capture your heart – Dakotah.

When did he put the note in his things? he thought. When he saw him near the church? But why? He stretched out on the bed staring at the ceiling. He tried not to think about Maggie, but it was difficult getting her off his mind. What was she doing at that very moment? Thinking of him? Of Alan? Did it matter? They were through, weren’t they? Fall asleep and get up in the morning and hit the road, he told himself. He got his wish.

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11 It was Sunday evening and George was tooling around Latonia on Schmitty’s Harley when he saw Ralph Schmitz sitting on his front porch and stopped to say hello.

“Hello there, Mr. Schmitz. How are you doing?” George inquired.

“Fine, George. Come on up,” he beckoned. George hopped from the bike and strode up on the porch and they shook hands.

“Sit down and take a load off,” Ralph greeted. “What’s new?”

“Not much. How about, you?” George replied.

“Just sitting here wondering how Bob is doing,” he said as Sandy wandered out of the house.

“How you doing girl?” George greeted her with a pat on her head. “You miss your buddy, Schmitty?”

“We all do,” Ralph replied. “It’s odd to see you, rather than Bob, on the Harley, but I’m glad it’s with you and not here tempting his brothers.”

“Have you heard from him lately?” George asked. “I wonder how the Indian is holding up?” he added.

“I think he must have forgotten how to dial a telephone,” Ralph laughed. “We’ve only heard from him a couple of times. The Indian is doing fine. He actually won a race on it out there in Sturgis. He said it was exciting, which I’m sure it was.”

“Wow, he won a race! I’ll be glad to hear all about it when he gets back,” George replied. “When is he due back, later this week, right?”

“Yes, he’s due back to work on Thursday. I suppose he’s on his way home now. He needs to show up for work on time because he needs the money for school for the fall quarter,” Ralph added.

“Oh, so he’s not enlisting in the Navy now?” George questioned.

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“What did you say? Enlist in the Navy? What are you talking about?” a startled Ralph questioned.

“Uh...I guess I wasn’t supposed to say anything,” George replied sheepishly. “I thought you two had talked about it. He told me he wanted to enlist and study to be a navigator in the Navy Air Corps.

Sorry you heard it from me. He’s gonna kill me now,” George added, feeling like a traitor. Ralph sat stunned for a few minutes composing himself.

“Not a word of this to his mother or brothers, you hear me?” said Ralph seriously.

“No sir. Not a word,” replied George. “I must be going, it’s getting late,” as he bounded off of the porch and sped home on the Harley. Ralph sat wondering what all the Navy talk meant. He was surely going to get to the bottom of it when Bob got home.

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12 Schmitty again rose early in the morning to get on the road as quickly as possible. He checked out of the inn not long after dawn and traveled south. He checked his map and set a goal to make Sioux City in two hours. At eighty-one miles he couldn’t afford delays, so he was off and running.

The waving grasslands of South Dakota transitioned to the green farmlands of Iowa, and while the terrain was flat and monotonous, it enabled him to make good time. He zoomed to Sioux City and was pleased when he arrived in less than two hours. His next stop would be Omaha, which he planned to make in another two hours but would be more of a challenge as this leg was a few miles longer.

The scenery and topography mirrored that of the ride down to Sioux City with green fields and flat terrain as the road followed the river. The ride to Omaha triggered his thoughts back to a week prior when he lay in bed in the motel reading the booklet about the Indian culture in the area. What he had read and learned had much more meaning to him after experiencing the plains of South Dakota and its Indian influence. His brief conversations with Dakotah in Sturgis, who with his wise words may have been the first Indian he ever met, deeply influenced his impressions of the Indian culture. He could see where many Indians were deeply in touch with nature and their religious beliefs often focused on a Supreme Being whom they believed is present in every living being.

Their beliefs were simple, not complicated and influenced all of their daily activities. While their customs and beliefs influenced their lives in a very profound way, they were not religious zealots they respected the beliefs of others. Schmitty vowed to study more of the Indian culture after he returned home. After two hours he was on the northern outskirts of Omaha and pleased with his 124

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progress, it was only late morning. Next stop - Kansas City. This leg would be longer at more than 175 miles which would probably take five hours or more with a couple of stops. The terrain and scenery mimicked what he encountered earlier in the day, didn’t allow for much variety but was very efficient speed-wise.

Schmitty’s mind wandered again as he thought about the Navy and the opportunities it would provide. This long trip gave him a sense of independence which he hadn’t experienced before. His interaction with new territories, cultures and lifestyles didn’t satisfy his curiosity but piqued his interest and desire for more. How would his mother and father react to his decision? Would they support it or try to dissuade him? There was after all, a war looming and he was, in fact, their first-born which would naturally evoke their emotions and actions toward protection, he thought. He knew he needed to present compelling reasons so they would understand his sincerity and not just see it as a passing fancy. It was after all, a life-changing decision, so it deserved considerably more thought later.

His thoughts turned to Mr. Donoghue and how pleased he would be to hear Schmitty’s stories about the trip, especially since the Indian beat the other vintage bikes in the Tuesday headline race. He was disappointed he wasn’t able to spend much time in Sioux City. He may have been able to find information on Joe Donoghue’s wife, Emma. He didn’t have enough information to begin a decent search though, he realized. One mile after another passed and after about ninety-five miles he stopped for gas and lunch. When finished, he checked his map as he always did, to get a feel for the road ahead and to plan his next stop. His calculations told him he had seventy-five more miles to Kansas City. He hoped to make it in less than two hours. The August afternoon was hot and was taking its toll on his stamina, but he was bound and determined to put some miles behind him and wasn’t about to let a little heat slow him down. He reached Kansas City near six o’clock and decided to try to make Columbia which is nearly half-way between Kansas City and St. Louis. He did, and shortly before nine rolled into the outskirts of town and spotted another mom and pop motel on the main route. He pulled in, booked a room, and within fifteen minutes lay spread-eagle on his bed, exhausted from 125

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the day’s hard ride but grateful he had ridden as many miles as he had. He laid there for nearly a half-hour before realizing he needed to find a pay phone to call home and check in. He found one in a local bar. He dialed the operator and was connected to home. His father answered.

“Hello,” Schmitty shouted into the phone, as a song began playing on the jukebox nearby.

“Bob, is that you?” his father replied.

“Yeah, Dad. I’m in Columbia, Missouri. I may make it home tomorrow if I have good weather. Everything’s good. Tell Mom I called. I’m sorry it’s so late but I’ve been on the road all day.”

“Okay, Son. Be careful and we’ll be looking for you tomorrow night unless we hear otherwise. Good night,” Ralph replied.

“Okay Dad. I’ll be in touch,” Schmitty ended. He walked over to the bar and ordered a beer. “And a bag of pretzels, too.” He finished his drink and the pretzels and walked back to the motel. As he lay on the bed his thoughts were focused more on home and his plans for the future than they were on Sturgis and Maggie, although thoughts of her crept into his mind as he drifted off to sleep. ****** At dawn, Schmitty woke and began packing his belongings for what he hoped would be his final day on the road. He was anxious to get home to familiar surroundings and on with life - specifically his plans to join the Navy. He turned in his key to the clerk, reviewed his map and proceeded down the highway. He estimated 125 miles to St. Louis which he could travel in less than three hours if he pushed it. The flat terrain of Missouri was accommodating for speed, therefore he rolled into St. Louis at mid-morning. He wished he could have stopped at Miss Molly’s boarding house but there wasn’t time for both a visit and making it home that day, so he opted to get back on the road. He perused his map and since he was making good time, decided to alter his route and bear toward Louisville in a more southeasterly direction, than the northeastern route toward Indianapolis. He estimated the leg at 250 miles, but once there he would be in Kentucky with only 100 miles to home.

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His map told him to travel east on US 50 for a couple hundred miles and then southeast on state Route 56 to Louisville. He crossed the Mississippi River into Illinois and charged off to Indiana in the direction of Louisville.

The terrain of southern Illinois, being in the Mississippi River valley and still predominately farmland, is a more scenic and pleasant ride compared to other areas of the state. After a hundred miles he stopped for gas and to snack on his fruit and he felt the warmth of the day more while standing as he watched the attendant fill his tank. Schmitty paid and was on his way down the highway.

After forty-five minutes he crossed the Wabash River into Indiana at Vincennes and within another hour crossed the East Fork White River at Shoals at the junction of US 50 and state route 56 where he turned and headed on the southeastern route to Louisville. He stopped in French Lick, at the first filling station he passed. He wanted to visit the famed resort there but knew he wasn’t welcome but also didn’t have time to squander hobnobbing with the rich and famous.

It was late afternoon and he had been on the road for eight hours and by his estimation still had fifty miles to Louisville, followed by another hundred to home. If he hurried, he could make it by sunset, so off he charged, calling for speed from the Indian as often as the road would allow. In little more than an hour he crossed the Ohio River and rode into Louisville where he stopped for fuel for perhaps the last time before heading up US 42 which follows the Ohio River most of the way up to northern Kentucky and home.

As he motored north toward home, his mind was organizing his experiences of the past week so he could efficiently relay them to his family and friends. The trip turned out to be much different than he ever imagined it would be. He learned more about Indian culture than he expected, the Badlands area was something he never thought about much in the past, but was spectacular, the small towns he visited along the way were similar but in their own ways different depending upon their locale, and then there was Maggie. He didn’t know what to say to others about her since their interaction was so brief he couldn’t really describe it as a relationship. He definitely would discuss her with George, but likely no one else.

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Near dusk, he rolled into Latonia after riding 475 miles or so that day and was finally home and anxious to get off the bike and walk on solid ground. He pulled into his driveway and Sandy came bounding out of the house to greet him, followed by his father, Ralph. She hesitated when she saw the Indian but as Schmitty climbed off the bike he urged her to come to him, which she did as he rubbed her neck as she licked his face.

“Good seeing you, girl. Did you miss me?” he asked which she answered with a well-timed, enthusiastic bark.

“Great to see you, Son,” Ralph greeted with an equally enthusiastic embrace. Mrs. Schmitz came out into the yard followed by her other two sons both of whom pounded Schmitty with questions in rat-a-tat fashion.

“Let him come in and relax a minute,” Ralph urged them. “He’s been on the road since sunup. He’s got to be beat and we’ve got plenty of time to hear all about his trip.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Schmitty replied, as he rolled the Indian back to the garage followed by Sandy. He parked it in its normal spot and said, “You did yourself proud, girl. I’ll clean you up tomorrow.”

He patted the tank and turned out the light. Sandy assumed her sentry-like spot, front and center of the bike as she normally did.

“I’ll be back later to bring you inside, Sandy,” he said and rubbed her head before walking toward the house. Once inside he strode to his room to unpack and wash up and its familiar smell was comforting. As he unpacked his canvas bags he felt a soft object in the bottom of one. It was Maggie’s scarf which she wore on their trip to Mt. Rushmore. He remembered she had removed it from her neck when they lunched in the grove and it must have gotten shoved to the bottom of the bag when they packed to leave. He sat on the edge of his bed clutching it with his hands, as thoughts of her again raced through his head. Her scent was still present on it so he tossed it aside when he was interrupted by his father’s voice coming from the dining room.

“Mom’s fixing you a sandwich, Son. We know you must be starved,” he said loudly.

“Thanks, Dad,” Schmitty shouted. “I’ll be right out.” He stowed his belongings and prepared for the next phase of his life.

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****** The next morning, Schmitty lay in bed relieved he didn’t have to rise at the crack of dawn to charge down a road either going to or coming from Sturgis. He was up late the previous night sitting with his family relaying the details of his trip, at least what he wanted them to know. Maggie crossed his mind as he lay there. His interest in her and now the time away caused him to wonder about details he hadn’t learned in their short time together. Had she lived in Sturgis her entire life? he wondered. Where did she go to school?

How serious are things with Alan? She did, after all, kiss him, he reasoned. The aroma of bacon and eggs wafted through his room so he knew his mother was cooking breakfast which triggered him to rise and prepare for the day. After he bathed and shaved his four-day growth of beard he sat down to breakfast with her.

“What are your plans for the day?” she asked.

“First, I’m going to clean the road grime off the Indian. Then I may ride over to Mr. Donoghue’s to report on my trip,” he said with a smile. “Most likely George will be coming by with the Harley after work, too.”

“Okay,” she replied. “Sounds like off-day kinds of things.”

“And rest-up kinds of things,” Schmitty added with a smile.

“Back to work tomorrow?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “And Thursdays are always busy with printing special weekend inserts and ads.” After breakfast he walked out to the garage to work on the Indian. He began meticulously cleaning it, changing its oil, checking its tires, as well as performing other miscellaneous maintenance items. When he finished, he rode over to Mr. Donoghue’s to speak with him about his trip. He pulled into his driveway, walked up on the porch and knocked on the door.

Mr. Donoghue appeared and invited him to enter.

“I’m back from my trip, sir. I thought I’d come by and let you know how things went,” Schmitty said intently.

“Well, welcome back,” Mr. Donoghue replied. “Let’s go sit on the porch where there’s a breeze.” They went outside and sat down.

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“Oh, I see you brought her over,” Mr. Donoghue observed. “Let’s go have a look.” They walked from the porch and Mr. Donoghue looked the Indian over very intently. “She looks better than ever,” he observed. “The trip must have agreed with her,” he joked. “What’s this?” he asked, as he fingered Joe Robert’s war medal hanging on the bike’s frame.

“Oh, a woman I met in South Dakota gave it to me. Her son, Joe was killed in the Great War, too. After I told her your story, she wanted me to have it. I thought it would be nice displaying it on the frame,” Schmitty explained.

“I see,” Mr. Donoghue observed. “I have one of Joe’s medals just like this one. I’ll go get it and it can hang next to his. I’ll be right back.” He returned a few moments later with an identical medal and handed it to Schmitty. “Here, hang it next to the other one,” he directed. “A nice tribute to two fallen soldiers.” Schmitty did and they both viewed the medals solemnly. “So tell me about your trip,” Mr. Donoghue broke the silence.

“It was great. I saw things I’d never seen before. The Badlands is incredible. So is Mt. Rushmore, and I won a race on the Indian in Sturgis,” he added proudly.

“No kidding?” Mr. Donoghue replied. “That must have been exciting,” he added. “I’m so happy you have this bike. It deserves the treatment you’re giving it and I know Joe would be happy, as you did what I asked of you – to ride in the wind. I wondered how you were doing while you were gone. In fact, I dreamt the other night you met a girl out there. Silly, huh?” he shrugged. “Well, I’m glad you made it out and back safely and came by to see me. It means a lot to me,” as he shook Schmitty’s hand in earnest.

“You’re welcome, sir. Thank you for the medal. I can’t go wrong with two soldiers looking out for me,” Schmitty replied with a smile. “One other thing,” he added hesitatingly, “I’ve decided to enlist in the Navy. I want to be a navigator in the Air Corps, but I haven’t broken the news to my parents yet.”

“No kidding,” Mr. Donoghue replied. “That must have been a big decision for you given the current political climate with war looming and all.”

“Yes sir, it was. But I think it’s the best thing for me now,” Schmitty replied.

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“I hope it is,” Mr. Donoghue replied. “May the Good Lord watch over you,” he added.

“Thank you, sir. I hope He does too,” Schmitty replied with a reverent nod.

He mounted the Indian, started its engine and rode back toward home. He wanted to catch up with George but knew he wouldn’t be home from work until after four o’clock, so he rode the streets of Latonia, killing time. At half past four he rode over to George’s house to see if he was home from work yet. No one was home so he decided to wait in the side yard where a cool breeze was blowing, and it wasn’t long before he heard his Harley coming down the street with George aboard. As it arrived, Schmitty walked from the yard to greet him.

“Rats! You’re back,” George teased. “Now I have to give up this sweet ride and start riding the streetcar to the mill again!” he laughed. “Good to see you, buddy. How was your trip?” They embraced as they walked on the porch and sat down.

“It was great,” Schmitty replied enthusiastically. “Too bad you couldn’t go,” he added. “Mt. Rushmore was exceptional, everything I thought it would be. The Badlands in South Dakota is incredible.

I had no idea it was so expansive and scenic. The motorcycle rally in Sturgis was really good, too. And the Indian won a race!”

“Oh yeah, I heard,” George replied. “In fact, all of Latonia heard about it from your dad and your brothers. You were the man of the hour and you weren’t even here. Women from all over were flocking in to meet you, the hero,” he joked, which drew a playful jab from Schmitty. “Speaking of women, did you spend time with any while you were away?”

“Well, there was this one, who may have caught my eye,” Schmitty replied meekly.

“May have caught your eye?” George challenged. “You’re not talking to your mother here, Schmitty. Based on how your eyes lit up when you mentioned it, it sounds like there may have been some sparks a flyin’. Let’s have some details, Casanova!”

“Well, I met her after I took a spill on the Indian and she patched me up. I’ve never met anyone like her,” he said assuredly. I had dinner with her family and we went to Mt. Rushmore together.

That’s about it,” Schmitty drolled.

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“That’s about it?” George challenged. “Did you……?”

“No, it wasn’t like that. She has a boyfriend in the Army. I don’t know where things stand with their relationship but it doesn’t matter, now. I’m here, she’s there, and never the twain shall meet, as they say,” Schmitty replied.

“It sounds like she made some impression on you, though,” George noted. “And it’s too far for a follow-up road trip, and she’s not going to just happen by here, so the chapter may close on this lost love, uh, what was her name?”

“Maggie,” Schmitty answered.

“Maggie,” George repeated to complete his statement. “Plenty of fish in the ocean, buddy,” George ended, feigning encouragement for Schmitty’s love life.

A moment later, George spoke in a serious tone. “Schmitty, I stopped by your house the other night when I saw your dad on the porch, and I may have blown it, no, I know I’ve blown it, about your plans to join the Navy. I let it slip because I thought you had told him. Based on his reaction I’m certain you hadn’t. Sorry,” he added with a rueful smile as he placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Are you still considering it?”

“Oh,” Schmitty replied with a bewildered look. “I guess I need to speak with him and my mother. I intended to think it through while I was away. Maybe you did me a favor by breaking the ice to give them time to absorb it,” he said.

“Maybe. But again, I’m sorry I broke your trust, even if it was accidental,” George said apologetically.

“Okay, you’re forgiven,” Schmitty replied, tongue-in-cheek.

“But no jokes about the girl in Sturgis, you hear?”

“No jokes, scout’s honor,” George said and raised his three middle fingers on his right hand.

“You’re not a scout!” Schmitty challenged with a playful push.

“Well, in that case…….,” George replied with a laugh as they both stood and Schmitty mounted the Indian.

“Bring the Harley back tonight so I can ride it to work tomorrow,” Schmitty reminded George. “The Indian’s going into retirement as a weekend bike.”

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“Okay,” George answered over the engine’s lobe. Schmitty waved in acknowledgment and rode off toward home. When he arrived, his father, Ralph was sitting on the front porch as usual.

He waved as Schmitty drove the Indian into the garage and parked and walked onto the porch to greet his father.

“How are you doing, Dad?” “I’m good, Son. Did you get done today what you hoped to before you go back to work tomorrow?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. I cleaned the Indian, rode out to see Mr. Donoghue, rode around town and just came from George’s,” he replied. Ralph said nothing after hearing Schmitty mention he had just left George. A few minutes later, Schmitty broke the ice. “I understand George told you I was thinking about enlisting in the Navy.”

“He did,” Ralph replied.

“Dad, I don’t know how you feel about it but having given it more thought, I think I want to go ahead and do it,” was Schmitty’s best effort to express his intentions.

“You think you want to enlist or you know you want to enlist?”

Ralph challenged. “There’s a big difference.”

“I know I want to enlist,” Schmitty replied. “I want to train to be a navigator in the Navy Air Corps. I can use my engineering skills and I think I’ll do well at it. In the long-run it will be good for me to get out and experience the world. I realize how much there is to discover after having taken this trip.”

“In the short-run though, the winds of war are blowing,” Ralph countered. “It’s a much different decision than in peacetime.”

“You’re right, Dad,” Schmitty agreed. “But if war breaks out and I get drafted into the Army, which I’m sure I would, my options will be limited. If I enlist now, I’ll have more control of my future, don’t you agree?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Ralph grudgingly acknowledged. “But it still doesn’t make the thought of an enemy trying to shoot you out of the sky any easier to accept. When I served in the Army in the Great War, I wasn’t on the front lines. Some of my buddies were though, and didn’t come home. Most likely a navigator is going to be where the action is, even if you’re assigned to a supply plane,” Ralph replied pointedly.

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“Dad, I hope I have your support,” Schmitty replied directly.

“When the going gets tough, I need to know you’re behind me.”

“You know you do, Son. And I know you need to decide your own future. Your mother and I raised you the best we could so you would be able to make these types of decisions for yourself. But we always dreaded the day when this kind of talk would occur.

You’re not inclined to leap on an idea that you haven’t carefully considered, so I know you’re sure about what you want to do, but decisions like this aren’t to be taken lightly.” He reached out and put his arm around his son. “May the Good Lord watch over you and bring you safely back to us,” he said reverently.

“Thank you, Dad. I’ll tell the rest of the family at dinner tonight,” he replied as he rose and went into the house.

During dessert, for which Mrs. Schmitz had prepared Schmitty’s favorite, pineapple upside-down cake, to celebrate his return, he cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention.

“I have an announcement to make,” he said hesitatingly.

“I’ve decided to enlist in the Navy,” he said and looked about for everyone’s reaction. Upon hearing this, a shocked and dazed look crossed Mrs. Schmitz’s face. She looked directly at her husband to assess his reaction, and could tell he knew what was going to be said, so she rose and rushed to the kitchen to be alone with her emotions. Ralph looked at his son and nodded to acknowledge her reaction was a normal one in the circumstances. A few silent moments passed, and Schmitty left the table for the kitchen to console her. They spoke briefly, but by her tears and trembling chin he knew it was not the right time to discuss it and he should wait until the shock of it had passed. He left the kitchen through the side door and decided a walk would do him good. He started down the street toward Ritte’s Corner when George approached on the Harley.

“Park it in the garage,” he motioned with his hand, “And let’s go for a walk,” Schmitty shouted. George parked the bike and caught up with Schmitty who waited for him.

“You look troubled,” George observed. “You must have broken the news, huh?”

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“I did,” Schmitty replied. “I guess it went as I thought it would, but it’s still hard.” They walked into the neighborhood bar at Ritte’s Corner and sat down.

“Hey, I forgot to tell you earlier I got a promotion at the mill.

I’m a new fireman on a locomotive,” George said proudly. “My next goal is to work up to engineer.”

“That’s great,” Schmitty replied. “As much as you love trains, you’ll be a natural at it.” The bartender placed two beers on the bar in front of them. Schmitty raised his bottle and George followed suit.

“Here’s to our future, whatever it may be. May we always look forward and never look back,” Schmitty proposed. Their bottles’ necks clinked to commemorate the toast.

“Bottoms up,” George added as they downed their refreshing beverages and chatted about the Cincinnati Reds’ recent play.

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Part III

13 When Schmitty arrived for work Thursday most of his coworkers insisted on hearing the details of his trip.

“Is this an official interview?” he joked. “Am I speaking on the record?” They were most impressed he made it out and back on an old motorcycle and actually won a race. “The stars must have been aligned,” was his canned response. After his shift he marched straight to the Navy recruiting station in downtown Cincinnati, not far from the Times Star, where he met with a recruiter in sergeant stripes who interviewed him, asking what seemed to be an endless number of questions, followed by paperwork to be completed and returned.

“You’ll have to take a physical and we’ll need about thirty days to process your paperwork. Then you’ll be assigned a date to report. You’re probably looking at some time in October,” the recruiter explained in a very straightforward military-type tone.

“Yes, sir,” Schmitty replied, in an effort to impress the sergeant he understood and respected authority. The recruiter simply smiled and said, “Next.”

That evening, Schmitty sat at the dining room table completing the paperwork as directed. His mother sat next to him reviewing his work.

“You’re not wasting any time are you?” she commented. “My, they want to know everything about you and then some, don’t they?

We may need to get out some old files to answer the questions on when and where you were vaccinated and all. I’ll go get the box with those papers,” she offered.

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“Thanks, Mom.” Schmitty replied. He was happy to see she had accepted his enlistment and wasn’t trying to persuade him otherwise, so he figured she and his father had discussed it at length. He completed the forms and attached all the necessary documentation and hand-delivered them to the recruiter the next day.

“I see you’re very diligent and can follow orders,” the sergeant acknowledged after reviewing the forms. “You should make a good sailor.”

“Thank you, sir,” Schmitty replied.

“If you’re accepted, we’ll be in touch about when you are to report for your physical,” he ended.

“Yes, sir,” Schmitty replied again. He left the recruiting office knowing he needed to get his affairs in order to be able to report when notified.

A month passed and the official notice finally arrived in the mail. Schmitty’s mouth was bone dry as he slowly opened the letter as if it had come from the President himself. He read it slowly so not to misread a word and read it again.

“I’m to report in three weeks!” he shouted to whoever was listening. “I’m to report in three weeks!” he shouted again.

“We heard you, Son,” Ralph replied, a tone of dread in his voice.

“Now we know, Mother.”

“It says I’ll be assigned to the Great Lakes Training Center in Illinois for basic training. Then I’ll be reassigned for further training.” Schmitty added, “I can’t believe I’m going to train to be a navigator and I’ve never flown before. What have I done?” he laughed, as he smacked himself on his forehead. The levity of the moment overtook the seriousness and all laughed with him.

“What’s the racket all about?” asked Jimmy as he walked in the room.

“Bob just got his reporting notice and he’s wondering what he’s gotten himself into,” laughed Ralph. “He’s never flown before and he wants to be a navigator. It’ll be hard for him to read all those fancy instruments when he’s hiding under his seat,” he added, drawing even more laughter. “You’ll do fine, Son. You’ll make us proud,” he ended, putting his arm around Schmitty and drawing him close in a show of affection.

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“Thanks, Dad, I think,” laughed Schmitty, showing his appreciation for the lightheartedness of the moment.

“Can I have your Harley when you’re gone?” Jimmy implored.

“Did you mean, buy my Harley?” Schmitty replied, which got little reaction from Jimmy except a look of dejection. After the excitement of the moment subsided, Schmitty withdrew to his room to contemplate his next steps to get prepared to report. The next few weeks passed quickly as the day drew nearer for him to report for his final physical and leave for basic training. Don’t forget this and don’t forget that were the words his mother constantly repeated which were borne more of her nervousness than need for preparation.

“Mom, I can’t take much more than a toothbrush and a razor.

The Navy provides everything else,” Schmitty would remind her, knowing her anxiety over her eldest son shipping out was the true source of her comments.

Schmitty met with George the evening before reporting and they sat in a neighborhood bar on Ritte’s Corner.

“I can’t believe you’re shipping out,” George said while looking into his drink. “We’ve been together for all these years. I guess we knew a day like this would come, eventually. We just didn’t know which one of us would be first,” he added. “How do you feel about your decision?” he asked.

“I feel good and I feel nervous,” Schmitty replied solemnly. “It was a decision I made on my own, although I can’t put my finger on when and where I decided this is what I want to do.”

“It must have been something you were thinking about for a while, but you seemed to change after you heard Mr. Donoghue’s story,” George observed. “You became like a man on a mission, like you needed to get with things right now. I need to decide what I want to do. I need to take this trip to Mt. Rushmore, right now. I’m all for getting things done, but you started living life like you were double parked.” They both laughed.

“I hear you, George. But my life for the next few years is going to be at the Navy’s pace, not mine,” Schmitty replied.

“That’s for sure,” George added. “And all those pretty blonde locks of yours will be lopped off, and I’ll have a bigger burden here keeping the ladies happy and…”

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“Oh, put a sock in it,” blurted Schmitty as he playfully shoved George nearly knocking him off his stool.

“I’ve got to go. I’ve got to report early tomorrow,” Schmitty declared, as he stood and reached into his pocket for change.

“No, I’ve got these, Buddy,” George insisted. “The least I can do on your last night here. Now don’t forget to write so I know where you are. I need to keep you up-to-date on what’s going on here,” George joked.

Schmitty hesitated, patting George on his back, left the bar, and headed toward home. George remained on his stool, looking forlorn as he dreaded his buddy’s leaving for the Navy.

“It’s not going to be the same around here, not seeing you two together,” the bartender commented. “You’re right. No doubt about it,” George replied, sadly. ****** Schmitty woke the following morning not knowing when he would again spend a night in his bed. He packed the few belongings he needed, looked about one last time for memory’s sake and walked into the dining room. He was surprised to see his entire family gathered there as they had all risen early to see him off.

“What are you all staring at?” he laughed. “You look like you already miss me and I’m still here!” His comment caused his brothers to leave the room for fear they’d expose their softer side, but his mother rushed to him for a hug that seemed to last an eternity.

“Be careful, Bob and come back to me safely,” she whispered in his ear.

“I will, Mom,” he replied softly as she released her embrace.

“We need to get moving so we get you there on time,” Ralph urged nervously although he had allowed ample time for the short trip.

“Okay Dad, let’s go,” Schmitty replied, eager to end the goodbyes and move on to what lay ahead.

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crossed the Ohio River on the Roebling Bridge and entered the downtown area.

“Do you have everything you need?” Ralph asked for lack of anything more substantive to say.

“Got everything I need, Dad,” Schmitty replied as he offered his hand for a shake. Ralph ignored his son’s outstretched hand and pulled him close for a final brief embrace which precipitated Schmitty’s hopping from the car while turning to speak.

“Don’t let the boys mess around with the Indian, okay?” he added.

“Got it,” Ralph replied as Schmitty entered the recruiting station and Ralph pulled away from the curb.

Schmitty completed some paperwork, underwent his final physical and took his seat on the bus for the trip to the Great Lakes Naval Station. Seven hours later he arrived, was sworn in and was now a trainee in the U.S. Navy. ****** The six weeks of training was rigorous but passed quickly and Schmitty returned home on leave. Most of the autumn leaves had already fallen as it was the fourth week of November with Thanksgiving near. His mother greeted him at the front door and threw her arms around his neck.

“Look at you, all handsome in your uniform. And it looks like you’ve gained some weight! Feel those muscles!” as she hugged him and grabbed his biceps. “And all those pretty blonde locks are all gone,” she feigned disappointment.

“Aw Mom, quit making a fuss. I’m only home for a week so I can’t spend all my time with you gushing over me.”

“Fair enough,” she replied. “Your brothers will be glad to see you when they get home from school and I know your father will want to hear all the details too when he gets home from work.”

Schmitty went into his old bedroom and noticed his things were no longer where he left them and he could tell his brother, Jimmy had moved into his room. He merely shrugged and proceeded to the garage to check on the Indian. As he entered he saw Sandy in 140

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her normal sentry spot who leapt toward him and greeted him by licking his face.

“How you doing, girl? You watching over my bike for me?” he asked which solicited an assuring bark. “Everything looks good here. I’ll have to take her for a ride later to see how she’s running,” he ended as he patted Sandy on her head and returned to the house.

“You’ll have to use one of the bedrooms upstairs since Jimmy commandeered your old one down here,” his mother greeted him as he entered the kitchen.

“That’s okay,” he replied. “Anything’s better than those bunks I’ve been sleeping on for the past six weeks,” he laughed.

After dinner, at which he endured endless questions from everyone about his basic training experience and his future assignment, he rose from the table and spoke.

“I’m going to take a spin on the Indian and go over to George’s to visit. I’ll be back later,” he announced.

“Okay, but be careful. You might be out of practice,” Ralph laughed.

“Will do,” Schmitty replied with his customary roll of his eyes.

He pulled up at George’s and knocked on the door. George answered.

“Holy smoke, Schmitty, you’re home! Good to see you,” he exclaimed with an embrace. “Feels like you’re in shape,” he acknowledged. “How long are you here for?”

“Just a week,” Schmitty replied. “Then I’m off to navigator training in Kansas City.”

“Well, let’s go celebrate,” George directed. “Off to the Corner!” he declared, as Schmitty headed out the door toward the Indian and George out to retrieve Schmitty’s Harley which he was keeping while he was away. They met up at the corner saloon, their normal haunt, and were greeted by the bartender.

“Your first one’s on the house, Schmitty. We know how to take care of our servicemen,” he announced as he saluted.

“See, you’ve already made celebrity status and you haven’t even flown your first mission yet,” George teased.

“Cheers,” Schmitty directed as he and George both took a healthy gulp. “Anything new around here since I’ve been gone?”

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“Not really,” George replied. “Been kind of quiet actually.

Everyone is just going about their business watching what’s going on in Europe. Worrying we’ll be drawn into war.”

“Let’s hope not, but it does seem inevitable since Great Britain is struggling so, trying to keep the Germans at bay,” Schmitty added.

George acknowledged with a nod of his head. They continued their conversation to get caught up on the past six weeks. Later they parted ways agreeing to spend as much time together during the week as possible. As Schmitty returned home, the rest of the family was preparing to turn in for the night.

“That sounds good,” Schmitty agreed. “I was up early today. I’m bushed,” and made his way up the stairs to his new abode for the week. He lay in bed enjoying its comfort compared to the lumpy bunks he slept on at boot camp. His fatigue took over and he was soon asleep.

The next morning, he rose early and ate breakfast with his father who was preparing to leave for work.

“What have you got planned for today, Son, your first full day home?” he asked.

“I think I’ll ride over to look in on Mr. Donoghue,” Schmitty replied.

“Good idea,” Ralph acknowledged. “I’m sure he’ll enjoy your company. I need to get going so I’m not late for work,” he added as he gulped down his last swig of coffee and dashed out the door.

Schmitty finished breakfast, spoke with his mother and rode off on the Indian to Mr. Donoghue’s. When he arrived, he knocked on his door and Mr. Donoghue welcomed him in.

“It’s nice to see you, Bob,” he greeted. “How was boot camp?

You seem to have filled out a bit. How long is your leave?”

“I’m here for a week,” Schmitty replied. “Then I’m off to navigator school in Kansas City. I don’t know after that.”

“And I see the Indian is still running,” he observed as he moved the drapes aside on the living room window.

“It is. But it rests in the garage when I’m gone. My brothers know it’s off limits,” he laughed. “Are you doing okay, Mr. Donoghue?”

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have too many pretty girls doting on us, now can we?” he added with a wink.

“I’m glad you’re doing well, sir,” Schmitty replied.

“Sounds like the Navy agrees with you, too,” Mr. Donoghue replied as he rose and saluted. “Now don’t spend your time here yammering with me. You’ve got better things to do and not much time to do it,” he chided good-naturedly.

“Yes, sir,” Schmitty replied as he returned the salute and rode off on the Indian with a wave to Mr. Donoghue who watched from his porch.

The remainder of the week passed quickly with Schmitty spending time with his family as well as with George. It was an especially joyful Thanksgiving. His grandparents from both sides of his family joined his family for dinner, which he knew was for his benefit. They all made a special effort to wish him well and let him know they would be praying for his safe return. During the week he also stopped by at the Times Star to see his friends. They were happy to see him and wished him well in his new job in the Navy. The day finally arrived and it was time to depart, not knowing when he may return again. It was met with the customary tears and embraces but felt much different as he knew he was embarking on his dream – to be a navigator in the Navy Air Corps!

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14 Schmitty stared through the window of the bus carrying him back to the Great Lakes Training Center near Chicago for his final week of training. As the bus rambled north through Indiana, his mind drifted back to his trip months earlier on the Indian. Sweet thoughts of Maggie filled his mind, too, as well as the dread that circumstances and timing, not to mention geography, kept them from pursuing a relationship. He remembered the Indian Dakotah’s advice about patience and following the will of the Great Spirit, but felt that patience and hope can lead to despair from holding on too long to something which cannot and will not be. The monotony of the ride caused him to doze on and off until a bump to his shoulder finally woke him.

“Wake up, sailor!” an authoritative voice boomed. “On your feet! You’re back and you’re mine!” his drill instructor barked.

“Aye aye, sir,” Schmitty replied as he jumped up from his seat, grabbed his gear and exited the bus.

Schmitty spent the following week in classroom training learning the high points of air navigation before being assigned to Kansas City’s Fairfax Field, known as a Navy Elimination Air Base for screening aviation candidates. Knowing he was at a disadvantage never having flown in a plane, much less navigated one, didn’t discourage him, but rather fueled his competitive spirit as he was determined not to wash out and have his dream unravel.

The day of departure for Fairfax Field arrived and Schmitty was prepared for what would be a twelve-hour bus ride through the Midwest to Kansas City. He was surprised to learn they would instead be flying in a makeshift military troop transport plane.

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it that day. The plane rattled and rumbled down the runway and his heart was in his throat. It lifted off and as he stared wide-eyed through one of the few available windows, he encountered new unexpected sensations, with the propellers screaming to gain speed and altitude as the ground faded away. He was indeed flying! The plane eventually leveled off when it reached its intended altitude and the roar of the propellers changed to a monotonous hum.

Schmitty looked about the cabin and noticed many of the others staring at him with broad smiles on their faces.

“First time, huh?” one of the accompanying officers commented.

“Wait till you’re flying upside down someday,” he laughed, as did some others as Schmitty looked away in embarrassment.

The plane rattled on for a few more hours with the drone of the propellers making staying awake a challenge. Schmitty thought his young life was coming to an end a few times when the plane encountered turbulence and bounced around as if on a trampoline.

What was I thinking when I made this choice? he thought to himself.

And no one tried to stop me! Eventually they landed at Fairfax Field and he welcomed solid ground under his feet, but flying for a few hours was definitely a preferred mode of transportation over riding for the majority of a day on a rickety bus. In retrospect, maybe he did know what he was doing when he made this choice, he laughed to himself.

The new training was rigorous with long hours in the classroom and study at night that occupied most of his waking hours. He felt he was using every morsel of his engineering knowledge to maintain his passing grades, but when grades were occasionally posted he realized he was near the top of his class, which eased his fears of failing. Being a navigator was very technical as one had to become an expert not only with the instruments but also had to make detailed calculations on the fly even calculating positions based on the locations of the stars. Navigators also had to become experts on calculating speed and fuel consumption to know arrival times at intended targets and what distances they could fly on a given supply of fuel. It was challenging to make reliable estimates with so many variables, given all that hung in the balance.

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would miss being with his family and George for Christmas for the first time in his life. He had written a few times when he had the chance and they kept in touch and updated him on things at home as best they could. He sat at his bunk in the barracks during some downtime one weekend sorting through his personal items and realized somehow, Maggie’s scarf made the trip in his belongings when he left home in November to return to Chicago. He didn’t remember packing it but most likely his mother pushed it in his things just as she insisted he take a scarf when he traveled to Sturgis in the dead of summer. He held it in his hands remembering Maggie had worn it on the last day they were together. He lifted it to his face and her scent was still as strong as it was in August. It conjured up memories and in his touch of homesickness he decided to write her but struggled with what to say. Finally, he wrote: Dear Maggie, I hope things are well with you. I enjoyed our time together and appreciated your hospitality and wanted to drop you this short note to tell you I did enlist in the Navy as we discussed, and am in Navigation School in Kansas City. The training is very rigorous but I am enjoying it and doing very well, at least at this early stage. Soon we will be training in the air which should be interesting as well as challenging.

I hope you have a Merry Christmas with your friends and family.

Your friend, Bob Schmitz He stared at the letter, looked at the scarf and thought better of sending it. Was writing it just a reaction to his being away from home? he thought. Why should he send it? he tried to think. Why not? he thought. What could it hurt? It’s a nice Christmas greeting, he decided. For whatever his reasons, he stuck on a stamp and walked the letter to the base post office and tossed it in the mailbox.

A week later a return letter arrived from Maggie. He held it in his hands pondering whether to open it. Why wouldn’t I open it? he thought. She’s just replying to my letter.

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Dear Bobby, So nice to hear from you. I wondered what you had decided about your future when you returned home, but didn’t know how to contact you since I didn’t have your phone number or address and I wasn’t sure you really wanted to hear from me. I’m happy you are following your dream of being a navigator in the Navy Air Corps. Your skills seem well suited for the challenges ahead.

This Christmas season has been bustling at our store and I’ve been very busy here. My brothers decided we needed an abundance of good cheer this season and have been busy decorating the store. They even have a wreath hanging in the garage. Funny to see that amongst their tools and parts and some of the jalopies they work on. I think they are trying to cheer me up.

Schmitty nearly dropped the letter on the floor when he read the next sentence.

Alan was home for Thanksgiving and dropped a bomb on me, so to speak. He said he had met someone else and we were through. I don’t want to sound melodramatic, but obviously I didn’t see it coming and was stunned when he broke the news. Both of our families were also shocked. I thought I was dreaming, but when he walked away, I knew it was true. In a way, your note has cheered me up. May you have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, too.

Your friend, Maggie Schmitty read the letter word for word, over and over. He thought there may have even been a hint of perfume on it. Was it from her hand or did she place a drop on the page? What should he do? He sat on the edge of his bunk alternating between staring at the letter, the floor and Maggie’s scarf. Should he write back? he thought. What would he say? he wondered. Should he call her? Why 147

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not? he reasoned. She said his letter cheered her up. What could a phone call hurt?

He marched directly to the pay phone on the base canteen with a pocket full of change and dialed the operator.

“This is the operator, how can I help you?” a sweet voice inquired.

“I’d like to be connected to the Andriacco General Store in Sturgis, please,” Schmitty replied.

“One moment, please,” the operator replied. A few seconds passed before Schmitty heard the phone ringing. It rang five times before anyone answered. It seemed like an eternity.

“Hello?” a male voice spoke.

“Is Maggie Andriacco there?” Schmitty replied.

“Yes, she is. May I ask who’s calling?”

“This is Bob Schmitz,” he replied. There was a moment of hesitation, then a response.

“Oh, hi Bob. This is Lenny. I’ll get her right away.”

“Thank you,” Schmitty replied, his mouth now as dry as a desert.

His mind went blank on what he was going to say. He wondered if he had made a mistake calling. Too late.

“Hello Bobby, is that you, Cowboy?” Maggie greeted.

“Uh, hello, Maggie. It is,” Schmitty replied meekly.

“So nice of you to call,” she replied. “You must have gotten my letter,” she added.

“I did,” he replied. “I hope things are well with you,” he said, aggravated with himself for such a weak response. He collected himself and continued. “Maggie, I’d really like to see you.” At first she was silent and he feared he may have been too forward. Then she spoke.

“I’d like to see you too, Bobby. Maybe we can meet up sometime.”

“I’m talking about soon,” he interjected, now concerned he had really gotten too forward.

The operator broke in on the line in her normal intonation, “Please deposit more funds for additional time,” she instructed.

Schmitty deposited more change. The delay gave Maggie time to consider Schmitty’s suggestion.

“I’m needed here at the store before Christmas,” she replied.

“Perhaps after New Year’s?”

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Schmitty thought for a second and spoke. “I don’t have any leave coming soon to come up your way. Could you take a train down here to Kansas City?” he asked.

“Well, I suppose I could,” she replied. Schmitty felt a surge and swung for the proverbial fences.

“Could you come down for New Year’s Eve? We’re having a dance on base and we could have a great time,” he added enthusiastically.

Maggie paused before responding.

“That does sound like fun,” she replied eagerly. “I could arrive on the 31st and leave on January 2nd.”

“Uh, yeah,” Schmitty agreed. “I think I could get a couple days pass over New Year’s. This is great. I can’t wait!” he added.

“I’ve got to go Bobby. I’ve got customers, here.”

“Oh. Okay,” Schmitty replied, his head swirling with excitement.

“Have a Merry Christmas, Maggie, and let me know when you’re arriving and I’ll pick you up at the station.”

“You have a Merry Christmas too, Bobby. I’ll let you know my schedule, and Bobby, thank you for calling,” her voice cracking with emotion. “Good-bye,” she said as she hung up.

Schmitty stood like a statue with the phone in his hand until he heard a beeping sound and hung up. He knew his life was about to change. ****** The next two weeks of training passed quickly as the Christmas holidays approached. Much of it was done in the air to take advantage of flying in the cooler air of winter which affects the performance of aircraft. Overall, training lightened up near Christmas as many of the teaching officers involved left for home. For those who remained behind, they spent Christmas Day together cooking dishes they preferred over their normal cuisine, and telling stories of their favorite Christmases back home. Someone came up with a bottle of old scotch which most enjoyed but didn’t inquire of its origin.

“Schmitz,” one of the others spoke, “Are you coming to the New Year’s Eve dance?”

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“I am,” Schmitty replied.

“Well you better get your money in before it’s sold out,” he ordered.

“Okay, here’s for two,” Schmitty replied as he handed him five dollars.

“Two?” the man looked up wide-eyed. “You got a date? You’ve only been here a few weeks and you’ve already got a date? I can’t wait to see this beauty,” he laughed. “I’ll bet she’s a real looker,” he barked sarcastically as they all laughed heartily, fueled by the camaraderie of the Christmas celebration as well as the scotch.

New Year’s Eve drew near and Schmitty was excited about his plans to be with Maggie for New Year’s Eve and Day. She had contacted him with her train itinerary and he was to meet her at Union Station at 3:00 p.m. On the afternoon of New Year’s Eve he caught a taxi near the base and headed downtown to the station.

It was a particularly windy day and he bounced from one foot to the other to stay warm as he waited for her train on the platform outside, rather than in the warmth of the station. He wanted to see her as soon as possible and didn’t care if he looked too eager.

Finally, he heard the train’s whistle as it pulled into the station. He didn’t see her at first, there were many holiday travelers, but finally spotted her a few cars away and hustled down the platform. He stood there beaming as she approached with a suitcase.

“Well hello there, Cowboy,” she greeted. “My, don’t you look handsome in your uniform. What’s that around your neck, a scarf?

I’m sure that’s not Navy issue,” she laughed.

“No, it’s yours,” Schmitty replied innocently, “from Mt. Rushmore.” A serious look swept across her face as she moved closer to inspect.

“It is,” she whispered as she grabbed hold of it with both hands, pulled him close and kissed him. “Just picking up where we left off,” she added as she held her face to his before breaking their embrace and reaching down for her suitcase.

“Let me get that,” Schmitty intervened and picked it up as she took his arm and they walked down the platform and into the station. “I’ll get us a cab. Which hotel are you staying in?” he asked.

“Well, because of New Year’s the hotels were all booked up, so I’m staying at the YWCA,” she replied.

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“Oh,” Schmitty said, disappointedly.

“And the guys aren’t allowed past the front lobby, or so I’m told,” she laughed. “Quit looking like your dog just died, Bobby.”

They laughed, hopped in a cab and were off to the local YWCA. When they arrived, Maggie checked in at the front desk staffed by a woman who looked like a drill sergeant who stared at Schmitty like he was a bank robber.

“I’ll pick you up at 8:00, Maggie. Okay?” They embraced and he left the lobby to the cab that had waited to take him to the base.

After a mile or so the cabbie spoke.

“Is she your date tonight?” he inquired.

“Yes, she is,” Schmitty replied proudly.

“I’d say you’re going to enjoy this New Year’s, mister,” as they arrived at the base and he tipped his cap to acknowledge his rider’s good fortune.

At 8:00 Schmitty returned by taxi to the YWCA to pick Maggie up for the dance.

“Wait here,” Schmitty instructed the driver, hoping he didn’t have to wait long for her. To his surprise, she was waiting for him in the lobby.

“Back to the base,” he directed the driver taking her hand in his as they rode. After the short ride Schmitty paid the cabbie and helped Maggie out to the curb.

“Have a nice evening,” the cabbie encouraged as they exited.

“We will, thank you,” Schmitty replied as he and Maggie headed to the front door of the hall, hand in hand. Once inside, Schmitty assisted her with removal of her hat and coat and was mesmerized by her stunning appearance. She wore a red form-fitting dress with two rhinestone broach-type embellishments on either side near her shoulders where her short sleeves met the body of her gown. It was simple, yet elegant - a very feminine look that belied her athletic build. The color of her dress was in sharp contrast to, and accentuated by, her fair complexion. Her long lovely neck was encircled by a dazzling pendant-style necklace with matching earrings. Red elbow-length gloves slid up her arms and with her beautifully coifed auburn hair she appeared to have leapt from the cover of Glamour Magazine, not from a general store in Sturgis.

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She was radiant. Heads turned as the couple made their way to their table as the band played the popular big-band songs of the day. Wolf-whistles echoed in their direction from many of the men in the crowd without dates, much to the chagrin of the other ladies in attendance, but that didn’t bother Schmitty - he was proud of her appearance, and proud to be with her! As they sat, she blushed from the attention directed her way. She was without doubt, the belle of the ball.

“Pay them no mind,” Schmitty commented. “It’s a base full of guys who dream about girls like you,” he added as he placed his arm around her shoulder as if to protect her. “I’ll get us some drinks,” he added and stood to move toward the bar. By the time he returned, a group of sailors had congregated at their table and were attempting to engage her in meaningful, if not misguided conversation.

“All right, guys. Beat it,” Schmitty ordered with a wave of his hand and placed the drinks on the table, knowing they were just having fun.

The New Year’s crowd was as enthusiastic and animated as that of any dance Schmitty had ever attended. The boys on base were really blowing off steam especially with the women there. It was an all-around fun evening with great music, dancing, drinks and conversation. At midnight as the clock struck to introduce 1941 there was the usual shouting, horn blowing and embracing that accompanies all New Year’s celebrations. Schmitty held Maggie in his arms on the dance floor, savoring each touch of their lips as they swayed to Auld Lang Syne. As they held each other tightly and gazed into each other’s eyes, Schmitty was struck by the uncertainty of his future – with the Navy, with war looming, and with her, the girl of his dreams. But he also knew it was most of those uncertainties which had actually brought them together, and he never could have imagined this unfolding of events with her, there and then.

As the hoopla died down, Schmitty suggested he and Maggie leave since she had traveled much of the day and had to be tired.

They caught a cab back to the YWCA and held each other on the sidewalk neither saying much , both wanting to continue the evening together but couldn’t.

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“Maggie, I can’t put into words how much it means to me that you came here to be with me tonight,” Schmitty said to break the ice. “But I have no idea how things are going to play out from here.

When our training is over none of us know where we’ll be stationed, we’re all worried about the war in Europe, and the Japanese are running crazy in the Pacific. It’s all like a twisting knot, ready to break at any moment.”

“Don’t overthink it, Cowboy,” she murmured. “Worry about tomorrow, tomorrow. We’ll get through it together. Kiss me, you fool!” she urged as she pulled him near. “I didn’t travel all this way to stand here in the cold worrying about something I can’t control,” she teased. They finally broke their embrace but not before the matronly lady tapped on the window motioning that she was getting ready to close up for the night.

“So we’ve got another day together before your train leaves Thursday,” Schmitty commented. “I’ll pick you up at 9:00 tomorrow morning for breakfast?” he asked. “I’m sure we can find someplace open, even though it’s a holiday,” he added.

“Nine o’clock it is,” Maggie acknowledged as she pulled him closer for a final goodnight kiss. They held each other close until the lady tapped on the window again. Maggie took her cue, darted up the steps, stopped at the door, looked back and smiled, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight.

Schmitty hailed a cab and headed back to the base. On the way he replayed the events of the evening in his mind. Jeez, how beautiful she was. He knew he was falling for her. Then he smiled as he thought about the ribbing he was going to receive from his buddies on base. You’ve been holding out on us, they’d bark. He also thought about the words of the Indian, Dakotah, about patience.

He was all in if it meant he’d be with her. The taxi arrived at the base but Schmitty didn’t move, lost in his thoughts. The cabbie looked back toward him.

“Are you getting out or are you enjoying my company so much you want to stay a while longer?” he laughed. Schmitty smiled, paid the driver and exited the cab. As he lay in his bunk, he smiled.

Things were definitely turning in his favor!

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****** The next morning, he picked Maggie up at 9:00 sharp at the YWCA and just as the evening before, she was waiting for him in the lobby.

“Did you sleep well?” he greeted.

“Well enough, I suppose,” she replied as they embraced with a hug under the watchful eye of the desk clerk.

“There’s a diner down the street. Let’s see what’s on the menu for breakfast,” Schmitty suggested. They moved down the street toward the diner, arm in arm. As they waited for their breakfast Schmitty began with small talk.

“So, how was your Christmas?” he began.

“Okay, I suppose. It was different not being with Alan and all, but I’ll get over it,” she deadpanned. She laughed when she saw Schmitty’s reaction to her mention of Alan. “I’m just teasing,” she laughed again. “You take things so seriously.” Their breakfast arrived so Schmitty was pleased he could avoid responding to her comment. They finished and decided to take in as many sights of Kansas City as possible. They visited the recently opened Kansas City Museum at Corinthian Hall then moved on to the Liberty Memorial Museum with its 217 foot tower dedicated to those who sacrificed their lives in the Great War. There, Schmitty gazed at the many plaques and memorials to those honored.

“Hello, there,” Maggie broke his concentration. “Are you engulfed in the engineering like you normally are?

“No, not so much,” he replied. “I was thinking of Joe Donoghue and Joe Roberts who were both killed in the War. I wish I had their medals here with me, today. Once I know how long I’ll be stationed here, I may have the Indian shipped out. I’m sure Mr. Donoghue and Mrs. Roberts would be pleased to know it and their sons’ medals made it to this memorial.” Maggie rubbed her hand through his hair.

“You’re such a kind and caring man,” she whispered. “Always with a plan in mind for helping others,” she added.

“Just like you,” he laughed as they traversed the remainder of the museum hand in hand.

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To Schmitty, the day was reminiscent of their day together at Mt. Rushmore. However, these circumstances were much different.

On the trip to see the presidents, he yearned for her affection, wondering of her interest in him. Now he felt confident in her intentions, but wondered where their paths would lead with his enlistment and tour of duty in the Navy. If and when war broke out, all plans would go out the window. One’s duty to defend his country must come first.

As late afternoon neared they decided to head back downtown for dinner. They found a small quaint restaurant in walking distance of the YWCA and were able to secure a booth in a quiet corner. They settled in and after they ordered, Schmitty spoke.

“Maggie, my pass ends tonight and I won’t be able to see you off tomorrow,” he began. “I hope you understand.”

“Of course, I do,” she said as she laid her hand on his. “I’m so happy you invited me to come down for New Year’s Eve. It was the best time I’ve ever had, especially being with you,” she ended on a serious note.

“Me too,” he replied.

“So how long do you think you’ll be stationed here?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “Everything revolves around a potential war. Things are so secretive and changing all the time, it’s hard to know.”

“Well, maybe next time you get a pass you’ll to be able to take the train up to Sturgis to see me,” she spoke quietly looking for his reaction to her invitation. Before he responded, she quickly added, “Or I could come back down here to see you if necessary,” to which he replied, “Just don’t stay at the YWCA!” and they both laughed at his interjection.

After dinner they walked back to the Y and stood in front saying their goodbyes. They kissed, not knowing when their next embrace may be, but knowing it would not be their last. She walked up the steps to the door and turned to watch him as he hailed a cab to return to the base. He turned to wave goodbye as he got into the taxi and the sight of her, emblazoned by his feelings, made an indelible impression in his mind that he would carry with him for the rest of his days. He was confident 1941 was going to be a very good year!

155

15 Schmitty was back in training the following day, regretting he wasn’t able to see Maggie off at the train station, but conscious of his duty to the Navy. As he anticipated, he did receive an inordinate amount of needling from his mates about her.

“How’s a hillbilly from Kentucky end up with a dame like that,” he heard more than a few times. He enjoyed the ribbing though, because he knew the others wished they were in his place. He decided to write to George to update him on his good fortune.

Dear George, I hope you had a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year’s celebration. I missed celebrating with you but you’ll never believe who I spent New Year’s with….Maggie!

I had gotten up enough gumption to write her and lo and behold she wrote back and said her boyfriend broke up with her. I thought I was dreaming. What a knucklehead he must be. I made way for the telephone at double speed and asked her to take a train down here for New Year’s and she came. Can you believe it? No way I’m going to blow this, I hope.

Anyway, I don’t know how long I’ll be stationed here and I’m going to write home and ask them to ship the Indian out. Lots of good places to ride out here. Maybe you can help Dad crate it up. Got to go now.

Your buddy, Bob Navigator training intensified as it entered its third month as the Navy continued beefing up its operations with the threat of war 156

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looming. Schmitty found time to write Maggie at least every week.

She always responded immediately, and he became more captivated with her with each letter. He relished their next rendezvous.

The winter in Kansas was not unusually cold or stormy as it can be on the plains and there was an abundance of in-air training for which Schmitty was especially grateful since he had not logged as many hours in the air as most of the other candidates. The milder winter also allowed the recruits to get outside on weekends and they found a way to occupy much of their time….motorcycle racing! A shipment of army issued Harley-Davidson motorcycles had been delivered to the post in error and the purchasing clerk was able to disguise the paperwork long enough for the sailors to take advantage of the Army’s misfortune. The error resulted in weekend races with much wagering as well as base bragging rights at stake. Schmitty became the proverbial man to beat on base and his races drew unusually high numbers of spectators.

The men used the far end of a runway for the track and lined it with straw bales to define the boundaries and keep them from being injured should they crash. One race drew the attention of a captain who observed from a distance. Schmitty easily handled his opponents and was in the process of collecting his winnings when the officer approached. One of the men saw him and barked, “Atten-hut!” which caused all of the men to stop and stand at attention.

“At ease, men,” he replied. “Schmitz, may I have a word with you?” he said, as he turned away from the others to initiate a private conversation. Schmitty figured he was in trouble for racing and gambling but was willing to accept whatever punishment the captain doled out.

“Yes sir,” Schmitty spoke politely.

“Schmitz, I’ve heard about you and have been watching you and your progress here on base” he began.

“Yes sir,” Schmitty repeated.

“I’m sure you would have made a fine navigator for the Navy….”

Schmitty’s heart dropped when he heard the words, would have made, thinking he was being washed out, “But you need to train to become a pilot,” he finished.

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“Beg your pardon, sir,” Schmitty replied.

“You heard me,” the captain barked. “I saw how you prepared your bike for this race. You’re very particular and pay attention to details. No cutting corners. You’re also very calculating and make your moves in a race when you can gain an edge over your opponent. And lastly, you seem to have the right leadership skills to have your hands on the controls in a tight spot and have your men follow you. Your navigator training won’t hurt you either, as a pilot. The Navy needs more good pilots. Think about it and let me know,” he said matter-of-factly and turned and walked away.

Schmitty stood trying to absorb the officer’s comments. The other men approached.

“What did he say?” they asked, fearing his response. “Are you going to the brig?”

“No. He wants me to be a pilot,” Schmitty replied, still flabbergasted, even after hearing himself say it.

“No kidding,” one responded. “Go for it, man. You can do it.

Girls go for the pilots,” as he laughed and the others joined in.

“Okay, okay. Calm down,” Schmitty shouted above the uproar.

“It’s a big decision. I need to think about it.”

“You’re done thinking about it. We decided!” the others shouted their encouragement. “Second Lieutenant Schmitz has a good ring to it.”

“Okay, okay. Knock it off,” Schmitty ordered.

“Yes sir,” the others saluted. “Yes sir.”

Schmitty lay in his bunk that night tossing and turning thinking about the recommendation the captain had made to train to be a pilot rather than a navigator. The next morning he decided to go for the pilot training. He called Maggie to give her the news.

“Hello, Maggie,” he spoke after the operator connected them.

“This must be important news for you to call me,” she said in a concerned tone. “You’re not shipping out, are you?” she asked.

“No, actually I’m going to be here longer than I originally thought. I’m going to train to be a pilot,” he said proudly.

“A pilot?” she said surprised. “How did this come about?”

“Well, it’s a long story, but the good news is I’ll be here for the training. Probably six months or so, I don’t know, maybe longer,” he ended.

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“Well, I’m happy for you if that’s what you want,” she replied.

“Thanks for calling me to give me the news. It’s much better than getting a letter.”

“I’ll talk to you later,” he said. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Bobby. Be safe,” she said as she hung up. Schmitty followed the call with one to his family to give them the news.

He also reminded his father to ship the Indian to the base and he agreed to send it soon.

Schmitty lay on his bunk rethinking his plans for his future.

There was no way when he enlisted, that within a few short months, he could have predicted he would be with Maggie and be training to be a pilot. Rather than over-analyzing the situation and circumstances, which was his nature, he decided to take Dakotah’s advice and accept what was and find peace in it. He knew he needed to focus on his new challenges to succeed. This was of the upmost importance to him now. Pilot training would begin in a few days so he knew he would really have to be at his best to survive with the others who enlisted to become pilots. It was time to focus.

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16 George finished reading his recent letter from Schmitty and looked up to see his sister, Clare coming into the room.

“You’re not going to believe this, Clare, but Schmitty and the girl he met in Sturgis are back together. She came down to K.C. to visit with him at New Year’s. Sounds like he’s on cloud nine and he wants me to help ship the Indian out there. Sounds like things are really going his way,” he said emphatically.

“That’s nice. I’m glad he’s doing well,” Clare replied.

“Me too,” George agreed. “I need to head over to see Mr. Schmitz about crating up the Indian for shipment. He can probably use a hand.”

George rode the Harley over to the Schmitz’s house even though it was a bit too cold for a comfortable motorcycle ride. When he arrived he knocked at the door and Ralph answered.

“Nice to see you George,” he greeted. “Come on in and get out of the cold.”

“Thank you, sir,” he replied as he stepped into the living room.

“I got a letter from Bob. He said he wanted you to ship the Indian out to him. He asked me to lend you a hand so I thought I’d stop by now to see how I could help.”

“Well, thank you, George. That’s nice of you. Let’s head on out to the garage. I know he’s anxious to have it shipped. He even brought it up when he called the other night to tell us he was switching over to train to be a pilot.”

“What?” George blurted. “A pilot? How did that come about?

Bob’s not the type to jump feet first into something like that.”

“I didn’t realize you didn’t know.” Mr. Schmitz replied. “I guess it came up after he wrote you.”

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“I wonder if Maggie had anything to do with it?” George mused.

“Who’s Maggie?” Ralph countered.

“I thought you knew about the girl he met in Sturgis on his trip,” George replied. “She came down to Kansas City to see him for New Year’s.”

“Well, I’ll be. I guess he’s got more secrets than either of us know about,” Ralph laughed.

“Apparently,” George agreed, as they walked out to the garage to size up the crating project.

They entered the garage and Ralph turned on the light. There sat Sandy in her normal sentry-like position in front of the Indian.

“She spends more time out here than she does in the house, even when it’s cold like this. Crazy dog,” Ralph commented.

“She’s not going to be too happy when we ship it out to Bob,” George snickered. “We may have to crate her up with it,” he laughed.

“May have to,” Ralph agreed. “It looks like we’ve got enough materials here to build a decent crate. Let’s see what we can get done tonight, okay?”

“Sure thing,” George agreed and they set about building a crate for the bike.

“We need to make sure it’s sturdy enough for the job. If something bad happened to it, no telling what Bob may do,” Ralph noted.

“I think it could survive any natural disaster except maybe a fire,” George noted sarcastically.

“You’re probably right,” Ralph agreed. “I guess we did our job.

I’ll take care of getting it shipped. It’s probably going to cost Bob a month’s pay, but if that’s what he wants….” he shrugged. George and Ralph finished up, swept the garage, and got ready to leave.

“Thanks for coming by to help, George. You’re a good friend. I hope things are okay for you at the mill.”

“They are, sir. I enjoy working on the trains, even though there are times I wish I was inside out of the cold. I won’t be saying that next summer, I know,” George laughed. Ralph reached to turn out the light.

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“Come on Sandy, let’s go in the house.” She seemed confused with the Indian being crated, so she followed Ralph out of the garage toward the house.

“See you later, George. Thanks again for helping,” Ralph saluted as George rode off toward home.

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17 Schmitty’s pilot training began in earnest and the thrill of being chosen was gone as quickly as it had arrived. Long hours were spent in the classroom as well as in the cockpit with teachers who were all experienced flyers. Not many had combat experience though, which was a bit of a concern for the trainees. The U.S. had never been in a large scale air confrontation and most of the pilots with combat experience were already aiding the Allies in Europe. This further fueled the group’s determination to become skilled fliers themselves. While the group did have some washouts, it remained largely intact and had risen to a level of notable esteem within the Navy.

“Men, you have an opportunity to become the fair-haired boys of the Navy. Your jobs will be to protect men, ships and equipment.

Do it well, and you will be heroes. Do it poorly, and you’ll be honored with Taps and a twenty-one gun salute. Your choice!” one of the instructors barked matter-of-factly at the end of a day’s training. The words were on point, if not sobering.

Schmitty was happy when the Indian had arrived from home months earlier. He enjoyed riding it through the Kansas flatlands when he had free time and kept it tuned and polished and in pristine condition for a vintage bike. He wrote Maggie multiple times per week and called occasionally and their letters and conversations grew more intimate as time passed. Once he wrote: My Dear Maggie, It was twenty months ago that I met you darling, and I remember that day so well because I had never met anyone like you and I was smitten, to say the least. I didn’t know if I would ever see you again, and here I am writing you every 163

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chance I get. I thought you were amazing then, but each day that passes makes me want you more. I can’t stand not being with you, and I know you feel the same way. I can’t wait until I get some furlough so we can spend some time together. Thinking of you.

Love, Bob They both yearned to be together and never ended a letter or conversation without expressing their feelings for each other. Their opportunity to be together came in mid-June of 1941 as Schmitty’s training was coming to a close.

“Men, soon you will all be assigned to different bases,” the base commander addressed them briefly at a commencement assembly.

“You will be promoted to second lieutenant and expected to carry that rank with honor and dignity. You must remain loyal to the Navy and your country above all other things, while in service.

Given the current political climate, most of you will likely see combat duty either in Europe or the South Pacific. You’ve been chosen, you’ve been trained and now you must serve. May the Good Lord watch over you and keep you safe.”

As the commander left the podium, the men were handed their orders. Some ripped open their envelopes to see their assignments, while Schmitty, on the other hand, carried his to his barracks to open in private. As he walked he thought about where he came from and what and where his next stop may be. He knew he would most likely be farther from Maggie with his new assignment but had no control over the location so he hoped it would be state-side at least initially, which would increase his chances of being with her and his family and George, when he’d be granted furlough. He stared at the envelope knowing he needed to open it, both excited that the Navy had enough confidence in him to assign him to duty, but wondering where it may be. Eventually, he took out his pocketknife and sliced it open.

He was being assigned to Hickam Field at Pearl Harbor in the Hawaiian Islands. There he would be assigned to a B-17 squadron in the Navy Air Corps. He was being granted furlough and was to 164

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report back to base in two weeks. His initial reaction was to head to Sturgis to spend the time with Maggie before shipping out, but realized he should head in the opposite direction to go home to visit with his family and George whom he hadn’t seen since the previous fall. He decided to take a train home, spend time there before returning and heading up to Sturgis to see Maggie. It was an ambitious plan but he decided to take it on. He called her with his plans.

“Hello Maggie,” he began after being connected by the operator.

“I’ve been promoted to Second Lieutenant, I’ve been assigned to Hawaii after a two-week furlough and I’m headed home and then to see you before I ship out,” he blurted in staccato fashion.

“Hold on Cowboy. Slow down,” she beckoned. “Let’s go through it a bit slower so I understand,” she urged.

“I got promoted to Second Lieutenant, as we thought I would be,” he said more slowly.

“Congratulations! You deserve it. You’ve worked hard and should be proud of yourself. I’m so proud of you,” she added with affection.

“I’ve been assigned to a B-17 squadron at Pearl Harbor in the Hawaiian Islands,” he continued, anxious to hear her reaction to his non-stateside assignment.

“Well, that certainly is a long distance away. I suppose we’ll have to work around that,” she replied less enthusiastically than to the news of his promotion.

“But I start a two-week furlough now. I need to go home to see my family and then come to you before I ship out. I don’t know what else to do,” he said with exasperation showing in his voice.

“I understand,” Maggie replied. “You need to be a good son and go see your family. We’ll make up for lost time when you get here,” she giggled.

“Honey, you’re the best. I knew you’d understand. I’ll be back here in KC in eight or nine days and then visit with you for a few days before shipping out. I can’t wait to see you,” he ended excitedly.

“Me too,” Maggie responded. “Hurry back,” she said as she hung up.

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Schmitty packed and headed to Union Station to catch the first train to Cincinnati. A day later, when he arrived at Union Terminal in the west end of Cincinnati, he realized he had forgotten to call home to let them know he was on his way. He caught a cab and as it drove down Western Avenue and passed Crosley Field he saw that the Reds were playing and was reminded how much he missed being home. The cab arrived at the Schmitz home in Latonia and Schmitty stood on the curb staring at the house that he hadn’t seen for nearly seven months. The screen door on the front porch flew open and Sandy bounded out followed closely by Ralph and Mrs. Schmitz.

“Oh my God,” Mrs. Schmitz shrieked. “You’re home! We didn’t know you were coming!” She leaped and hugged Schmitty around the neck as if she was never going to let go. “Look at you. All sharp in your uniform. You look like you’ve gained weight,” she added.

“All muscle, Mom. The Navy’s cooking isn’t like yours but there is plenty to eat. They work us hard and feed us well,” he replied.

Ralph stood back waiting his turn to greet his son in a more manly fashion. He stood at attention and saluted his eldest son, which garnered a return salute from Schmitty and a blushing face.

“I’m proud of you, Son,” as he then reached forward and bearhugged him so tightly Schmitty thought his ribs were going to break. “I couldn’t have had a better Father’s Day present.” Schmitty immediately realized that Father’s Day was the next day.

“Happy to be here for you, Dad,” Schmitty replied as he was escorted into the house by his proud parents.

“Oh, by the way,” Ralph interjected, “Who’s this little chickadee you’ve got eyes for? According to George you two seem to be an item. You didn’t waste any time did you?” he winked.

“Later, Dad, later,” Schmitty commented as he slouched on the sofa and absorbed the sights, sounds and smells of his home which he missed more than he realized. Home, sweet home, he thought to himself as he savored the moment.

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****** The next morning, Sunday and Father’s Day, Schmitty attended Mass with his family at Holy Cross Church. He hoped he would run into George and did.

“Holy Cow, when did you get home?” George blurted as he saw Schmitty in front of church.

“Yesterday,” Schmitty replied. “I was going to call you to go out and have a drink but I got tied up,” as he nodded in the direction of his family who were walking into the church.

“I understand,” George acknowledged. “Let’s get together today if we can.”

“I’ll try, but it’s Father’s Day and I know there will be some family activities arranged,” Schmitty pointed out.

“Oh yeah, I forgot,” George replied. “See what you can do.”

“I will,” Schmitty replied as they both entered church and blessed themselves with the holy water at the entrance to the nave.

Schmitty drew some admiring looks from the ladies and their daughters as he was wearing his dress uniform that morning. I better get out of here fast after Mass or I’ll be getting fixed up with every single girl in Latonia if I’m not careful, he thought.

Mass seemed to drag on as it normally did, especially on the hot summer days and Schmitty was grateful when it concluded.

He made his way to the street with his family but didn’t want to hang around and chit-chat with the others. As they walked toward home, Schmitty spoke to George.

“I’ll meet up with you sometime today, for sure. Okay?”

“Sure enough,” George replied. “I’ll be at home,” he nodded.

Schmitty spent the day with his father and his two grandfathers as they all seemed to make their way to the Schmitz house after they learned he was home on leave. Most of their time was spent on the front porch listening to the Reds on the radio split a double header with the New York Giants.

“Your leave seems a bit short to me,” his grandfather commented between innings. “Only home for a few days?”

“Well, it’s actually two weeks but with the train travel and all I need to allow for enough time and I need to get back early for some other business,” Schmitty replied in a serious tone.

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“You mean monkey business?” his grandfather teased. “Your mother told me you had someone of interest out there in the Midwest,” he continued. “Go sow your oats boy, ‘cause if war breaks out, life is gonna get real serious, real fast and there may not be any time for hanky-panky,” as he slapped Schmitty on his back to show his approval.

“Aye aye, sir,” Schmitty saluted and they both enjoyed a good laugh. After the family dinner concluded, Schmitty whispered to his dad. “I need to go see George.”

“Absolutely,” he replied. “Take the car, we won’t need it tonight.

Have some fun, and be careful,” he urged. Schmitty drove over to George’s house and knocked. George answered.

“Let’s get out of here, Schmitty,” he urged. “I’ve got a power thirst building up,” he laughed. They both headed out the front door and George commented. “Wow, you’ve got the car. You’re the big man in town, now. You think you can navigate something on the ground and not in the air, anymore?” he laughed.

“I’ll do my best,” Schmitty replied as he jabbed George in the side as payback for the wisecrack. They drove the short distance to Ritte’s Corner and Schmitty commented. “Let’s go in here for a drink,” he said, pointing to the local saloon. “It’s Sunday night and Father’s Day. There’s not going to be anything exciting going on tonight.”

“You’re right about that. But we’ve got some catching up to do, anyway,” George replied. They went into the bar and sat on their usual stools.

“Well I’ll be. Look who’s here. The admiral and his attendant,” the bartender joked. “The first drink is on the house for servicemen.

What’s your pleasure, sir?”

“I’ll have a Budweiser, and my attaché here would like a Coke,” he laughed as George returned his own jab into Schmitty’s side.

“I’ll have a Budweiser, too. And make mine the coldest one you’ve got,” George blurted.

“Good to see you two together again. Business has been way off since you shipped out, Schmitty,” he laughed as he sat two beers down on the bar. Schmitty raised his bottle and he and George clinked the necks together as was their custom.

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“Okay, Schmitty, let’s hear it all,” George began immediately.

“I appreciate your letters but what’s up with you and Miss Sturgis?

I thought that was going nowhere and now you’re back in the saddle. You must have thought you died and went to heaven, based on how you were pining over her before.”

“You just have to have patience,” Schmitty replied.

“And then I find out from your dad that you’re going to be a pilot. Pretty big turn of events, don’t you think?” George pushed.

“Sometimes things just change. We have to learn to accept them,” Schmitty replied philosophically.

“Bartender, set us up again, and if you don’t mind would you look out back for Schmitty? I don’t know who the heck this guy is sitting on the stool next to me,” George rolled his eyes. The bartender gathered the two empties and replaced them with fresh ones. Schmitty and George sat there for hours and talked through all the details of him and Maggie and his becoming a pilot and being commissioned to a B-17 squadron in Hawaii.

“I can’t believe all this has happened in such a short time,” George observed. “And to think we’re on the brink of war and things will surely change again.”

“No doubt, they will,” Schmitty agreed.

“Last call,” the bartender shouted. “We’re closing in fifteen minutes.”

“Schmitty,” George spoke. “If war breaks out, I’m going to enlist in the Navy too.”

“Really?” Schmitty was surprised. “What made you come to that decision?”

“I think I’d like to sail the oceans and see the world,” George laughed.

“Okay, but let’s hope there is no war, and you don’t get to sail the oceans and you’ll have to learn about the world at the library,” Schmitty replied.

“Fair enough,” George replied as they stood and headed toward home.

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18 “My friends, how desperately do we need to be loved and to love.”

—Chief Dan George George headed home and found his mother, Julia, nodding off in a rocking chair with a record continuing to spin on the Victrola even though the song had most likely finished minutes ago. He placed the arm back in its cradle, turned off the machine and closed the lid. His mother stirred and woke. “I must have dozed off,” she giggled groggily. “Too much roast beef and mashed potatoes, I suppose,” she giggled again.

“You did put out some spread Mother,” George agreed. “I was with Schmitty tonight. He’s home on leave, you know.”

“Oh, yes. How’s he doing? I’ll bet the Schmitzes were delighted to have him home.”

“He’s fine,” George replied. “He’s going to be a pilot rather than a navigator. He’s a smart cookie and will probably do just fine. This build-up for war though has a lot of people on pins and needles. It would probably be better if it just got started and everyone could focus on winning it.”

“Oh, don’t say any such thing,” Julia gasped. “I remember the Great War all too well. I was nineteen years old when we got into that one. Two of my brothers served and I prayed every night that they would come home and not die in some trench over there. I don’t want to have to go through that again. I couldn’t bear it.”

“Mother, we need to talk,” George started. “If war breaks out, all of us young able-bodied men will be drafted into the Army. No telling where we’ll be fighting.”

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“Don’t talk that way,” Julia sobbed, holding her hands over her eyes to hide her tears.

“But it’s the reality of the situation,” George tried to explain.

“They’ll need men to serve. Maybe millions from what I’ve heard - hundreds of thousands for sure. Everybody at the mill’s been talking about it.”

“So what are you saying?” Julia inquired.

“If war breaks out, I want to enlist in the Navy,” George spoke slowly and seriously so she would not misunderstand what he said.

“And leave me and Clare and little Connie here to fend for ourselves?” she said sadly.

“It’s not like that, Mother. I want to enlist so I have some control over what I’m doing. I don’t want to be drafted. I want to choose.

Schmitty likes the Navy and I think I will too,” George finished, not knowing if he had convinced her or not.

“Do what you must,” she replied. “I’m going to bed,” she said and rose and walked toward her bedroom. George slumped on the sofa. It wasn’t the response he hoped for but he had broken the ice and he knew she would come around sooner or later.

The following Sunday, George ran into Sister Adelaide after Mass and she was pleased to see him. She had taken a special interest in him since she taught him in the sixth grade and he became an altar boy when she was the Sacristan at church. She also helped him cope with the strain of his father leaving when he was only eleven years old. And she saw that he stayed on the straight and narrow after he returned from his ten-day jaunt to New Orleans in 1932. They had a long and interesting history together. “Good morning, Sister. Nice to see you,” he greeted.

“Nice to see you too, George,” she replied. “I hope things are well with you. I hear you’re running the trains in the yard at Andrews Steel. That sounds like a good job for you given your experience with trains,” she laughed as did he. “Say, how is Bob Schmitz doing? I haven’t seen him around lately.”

“He enlisted in the Navy, Sister. He’s going to be a pilot,” George replied.

“Oh, really. I’ll have to remember him in my prayers,” she said.

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“If war breaks out, you’ll have a prayer list as long as your arm for all of us who will be serving.” George replied, extending his own arm for emphasis.

“Well if it does, I’ll put your name at the top of the list,” she replied.

“You mean I’m that special?” George joked.

“No, it means you’ll probably need more prayers than the others,” she laughed as she headed toward the nun’s house before George could reply.

“So long, Sister,” George laughed, turned and headed home. ****** Schmitty spent time the next few days visiting friends and relatives and those he hadn’t seen for some time. Most were impressed he had become a pilot and not a navigator. One stop was the Times Star where he showed up in uniform.

“Stop the presses!” his old supervisor yelled in jest when Schmitty walked into the press room. “We’ve got a big story here to tell about one of our own.” He put his arm around Schmitty and welcomed him back.

He and George took in a Reds game on Wednesday night. The Crosley Field stands were packed with fans anticipating a repeat of the prior year when the Reds won the World Series. Unfortunately, they lost 4-2 to the Boston Braves.

His visit the next day with Mr. Donoghue was especially enjoyable when he reported that he had the Indian shipped to Kansas City to ride while on base and he rode it to the War memorial there with Joe’s medal hanging on the bike’s frame. Tears welled in Mr. Donoghue’s eyes as he told him in detail about the memorial and its tribute to those who perished in the Great War. “Your stories stir up a lot of memories for me about Joe and I have more good memories that overshadow the painful ones, but I cherish them all. Thank you for spending time with me. I look forward to our visits,” as Mr. Donoghue bade him farewell.

“You’re welcome, sir. I enjoy them too,” said Schmitty as he headed to his next stop. As the end of the week drew near, Schmitty 172

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knew it was time to return to Kansas City to catch the train to Sturgis to spend a few days with Maggie before shipping out to Pearl Harbor and he relished the short time they would spend together. Since he didn’t know when he would see her again after this upcoming visit, he was hoping to cement their relationship and felt their spending time together in her familiar surroundings where they had spent time together before, would go a long way to that end.

On his final night at home he and George were planted on their familiar bar stools in the local saloon and George spoke.

“Well partner, here’s to when we meet again,” as he raised his bottle for their familiar clink to their friendship. “I can’t believe your sorry butt will be laying on a beach in a tropical paradise while mine is sweating away in a steel mill in poor ol’ Latonia Kentucky,” he laughed.

“Well, somebody has to do it,” Schmitty shot back. “I feel very qualified to meet the challenge,” he retorted, trying to keep a straight face.

“Any idea how long you’ll be stationed in Hawaii?” George inquired.

“No. I doubt if even the Navy does,” Schmitty confided. “They’ve been so busy trying to build up for war that may or may not happen that there hasn’t been much long-term planning as far as I can tell, but it’s not like they consult with me,” he ended with a laugh. “It’s been nice spending time with you these past few days, buddy,” Schmitty commented seriously. “I’ve missed our time together but responsibilities take us in different directions, you know.”

“They do,” George replied. “But we always know were home is.”

“That we do,” Schmitty replied as they toasted each other for the final time until the next time they would be together.

“I’ve got to go,” Schmitty declared as he rose from his stool. “I leave in the morning.”

“So long, be safe,” the bartender waved as they headed out to the street.

“So long buddy. Until we meet again,” George saluted as he and Schmitty embraced before turning in opposite directions and both heading home.

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The next morning on Saturday, Schmitty rose and packed before heading to the kitchen for breakfast.

“What time does your train leave?” Ralph inquired.

“At 1100 hours,” Schmitty replied in military time.

“Okay, we should leave soon so we don’t get tied up in the Reds game traffic. We don’t want to have you miss your train to go visit your honey,” he laughed. Schmitty just smiled at the ribbing but he definitely didn’t want to miss his train either. He said his good-byes to his mother and brothers and he and Ralph were off, bound for Union Terminal in Cincinnati. Ralph dropped him in front of the station and bade him farewell. “Be safe, and don’t forget to write,” he urged. Schmitty leaned back in the car through the passenger side window and they shook hands once more before he turned and went into the station.

Union Terminal was an outstanding building as were most of the train stations built during the Great Depression. It opened in 1933 and was described by the local press as a “temple to transportation,” it was one of the most beautiful train stations ever built. A local chapter of the USO had just opened a lounge for traveling troops and Schmitty waited there until it was time to move to the platform to catch his train. As his train pulled out of the station and headed toward St. Louis his thoughts turned to Maggie and their planned rendezvous in Sturgis. He was going to enjoy being back, since he had many pleasant memories from his earlier trip the prior summer for the motorcycle rally. How his life had changed since then.

As the train chugged through the Indiana countryside he thought more about his trip to South Dakota the previous summer.

He wondered about Mrs. Roberts and how she was getting along. It seemed her family unraveled in the aftermath of her son Joe’s death in the Great War. What a tragedy those deaths are, he thought. You lose a son and then your whole family goes its separate ways. He hoped something like that would never happen to his family. He also thought about the night he spent in her barn and the timber wolf that paid him a visit but was more interested in the Indian than in him. What a scare that was! He decided to write her a note and composed a nice little letter to mail when he got back to base.

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The train rolled on to St. Louis where it laid over for an hour before moving on. It finally arrived in Kansas City in the middle of the night on Sunday and Schmitty caught a cab from Union Station to the base. He found his way to his barracks and laid down to catch a few hours of sleep before making his way back to the train station to travel to see Maggie. He woke about eight o’clock and went to the mess hall for breakfast. When he returned he began packing a bag for his trip. As he walked out into the bright sunlight he ran into another officer who was one of his instructors.

Schmitty paused and saluted and the officer acknowledged in the same manner. “Where you headed, sailor, with a bag?” he inquired.

“I’m going to Sturgis for a few days, sir,” Schmitty replied.

“And how do you expect to do that when you ship out tomorrow?” he asked directly.

“No sir. My orders say I ship out on the 28th. Tomorrow’s the rd 23 , sir,” as he handed his orders to the officer for inspection.

“That’s not an eight, Son. That’s a three on a typewriter with a sticky key. You’re shipping out at 0600 tomorrow. I suggest you forget your jaunt to Sturgis unless you want to be classified AWOL,” he said as he strode away. Schmitty studied his orders carefully and in the bright daylight it was apparent he was leaving on the 23rd, not the 28th. The trip to Sturgis was off. He was devastated. How would he explain this to Maggie? he thought.

He returned to his barracks and flopped down on his bunk, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. After a while he worked up enough courage to make the call. He walked down to the canteen to use the pay phone and dialed the number. Maggie answered.

“Hey honey, it’s me Bob,” realizing he had never called her honey but she appeared to enjoy it.

“How are you, sweetie?” she replied. “When do you get in? I’ll pick you up at the station.” Schmitty hesitated.

“Well that’s just it. I won’t be coming. We ship out tomorrow,” he said solemnly. More silence. Finally, she spoke.

“Are you breaking up with me?” she asked seriously.

“Oh God, no. I love, I mean absolutely not. I misread my orders and we’re shipping out on the 23rd, not the 28th. I’m so sorry. I don’t know how I’ll make it up to you.” He sounded exasperated.

More silence.

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“Roses might help,” she replied succinctly.

“Then roses it is. I’ll send a truckload,” Schmitty laughed knowing how silly that sounded but it did break the tension.

“Cowboy, you’ve really done it this time. I ran into Alan the other day.” More silence. “Just teasing. You’re my guy,” she added with sincerity. “I guess I’ll just have to find my way out there to Hawaii,” she joked.

“I’m so sorry,” Schmitty repeated again. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“Good-bye darling,” Maggie cooed. “Be safe.” ****** Schmitty hustled about to prepare to ship out the following morning. In his haste to go home and to plan to see Maggie, he had forgotten about the Indian. He needed to have it shipped back home, but he didn’t have time to crate it up himself. He paid a visit to a friend in the supply depot. “Billy”, he began. “I need a favor.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m shipping out in the morning and I need the Indian shipped back home. Can you make it happen for me?” Billy acted as if he didn’t hear the request so he could hear Schmitty plead, but answered anyway before Schmitty got the chance.

“Sure, but you owe me one,” knowing Schmitty would most likely never be back to that base for him to collect.

“You know it!” Schmitty acknowledged who was pleased to not have to worry about the Indian since Billy was as reliable as they come.

Morning broke and the group of young aviators left the base on a transport plane for San Diego. Once there, they boarded the aircraft carrier, USS Saratoga which was transporting planes to Hawaii. Schmitty had never been on the open seas or any sea and his mates took particular pleasure in his sea-sickness which kept him below decks hovering over a bucket for most of the fourday trip. He was never so happy to be on solid ground as when he set foot on Oahu. When the group reached the barracks at Hickam Field and reported for duty, Schmitty felt a new sense of 176

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responsibility. He was assigned to a B-17 reconnaissance squadron where the planes were outfitted with the most modern equipment available, more sophisticated than what he had trained on.

After a few weeks of training, Schmitty was assigned copilot and was excited to be at the controls and learning from an experienced pilot. One day on a recon mission the plane’s captain spoke to him.

“The way you’re learning and handling yourself, it won’t be long before you’ve got your own bird,” he assured him.

“I’d be content to continue to fly with you, sir,” Schmitty replied.

“You’ve got the reputation for being the best, sir.”

“With a war coming, the Navy is pushing things hard,” the Captain replied. “You’ll be in the first seat before you know it. They need good pilots and I think you’ll be one. I’m glad you trained under me,” he added.

“Thank you, sir,” Schmitty replied, embarrassed at the veteran pilot’s acknowledgement.

Throughout his time in Hawaii, Schmitty wrote Maggie at least twice a week and sometimes more often. Their letters continued to grow more intimate and it was obvious they were falling in love even though they were separated by thousands of miles. One of his letters included: Dearest Maggie, A day doesn’t go by when I don’t think of you and wish you were here with me in this garden paradise. I dream of you with a plumeria blossom adorning those lovely auburn locks of yours falling down on your soft shoulders and accentuating your beautiful blue eyes. My thoughts are filled with being with you...soon I may get leave and perhaps we could meet in San Diego.

Love, Your Cowboy, Bob By fall, Schmitty did indeed have his own plane. He had shown himself to be a very capable pilot. His crew members were respectful 177

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and followed his orders. He was as proud of his plane as he was the Indian. It was popular to have an emblem painted on both sides of a plane near the cockpit. Some had animals showing bared teeth, others had pin-up girls or other pictures that had significance to the crews. Schmitty was able to convince his crew that a picture of the chief ’s head from the Indian motorcycle emblem would be appropriate as it signified strength and courage. They were able to find a sailor on base with artistic skills and the emblem was painted on each side right below the pilot’s and co-pilot’s cockpit windows.

The crew christened the plane The Chief. Schmitty was so proud of it and the emblem that he had a picture of it and himself taken and included in his next letters home and to Maggie.

The Chief flew on several reconnaissance missions in the South Pacific during the fall photographing the islands and noting the movements of the Japanese navy as it increased its territories held in the South Pacific.

“Do you ever think they’ll come after us?” Schmitty mused to his co-pilot, Andy, during one flight after observing the Japanese forces seemed to be growing with time.

“Naw, I can’t believe they’d pick a fight with Uncle Sam, but then they do seem to have their own agenda, now don’t they sir, imperialists that they are,” he replied.

“Yes, they do,” Schmitty replied. “Let’s get our data back to headquarters,” he said and banked The Chief and headed back to Hickam Field. The Japanese forces continued to increase with time as was documented from the flights, but little concern was shown by the US military as much more attention was being directed toward Europe and Germany’s invasion forces.

In late October, Schmitty learned he was being granted leave in early November. He so much wanted Maggie to join him in Hawaii to experience the island paradise but knew it would not be practical for her to meet him there. He decided the best thing would be for her to meet him in San Diego. She could catch a train there and he may be able to hitch a ride on a ship headed from Hawaii to the naval base in San Diego, as normally occurred. Schmitty began to craft a letter asking her to meet him in San Diego.

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Dearest Maggie, I have great news!! I’m being granted leave in November beginning Monday the 10th. I’m not able to get to you but was hoping you could meet me in San Diego for some time together. You should be able to take the train down from Sturgis.

He had to steady his hand as he wrote the next sentence.

I will book us into the Hotel del Coronado in San Diego, the famous resort. We will have a grand time there.

I can get there by mid-week. I miss you so much and want to make it up to you for the mix-up from last time. Let me know if you can join me.

Love, Your Cowboy, Bob. He dashed off to the base post office to get it in the mail as soon as possible so she would have time to respond. After a week he became anxious hoping to hear from her when a telegram arrived just in time for him to make arrangements to get to the mainland.

His hands shook as he tore it open. It read: TO 2ND LIEUTENANT ROBERT SCHMITZ, US NAVY HICKAM FIELD HAWAII GOT YOUR LETTER WILL BE IN SAN DIEGO ON THE 14TH AT 3:00 PM CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU NO MIXUP THIS TIME STOP LOVE MAGGIE Schmitty’s heart soared when he read the brief note over and over. The girl of his dreams was meeting him at the Hotel del Coronado, he thought. How did he ever get so lucky? Whatever it cost for this encounter was a small price to pay.

Schmitty’s anticipation of his and Maggie’s rendezvous grew over the next week. His mind sometimes wandered as his plane flew over miles of ocean on its recon flights until he was interrupted by a transmission on the plane’s interphone system or a comment 179

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from his co-pilot, Andy. The 10th arrived and Schmitty hitched a ride on the aircraft carrier USS Saratoga which was headed to San Diego. It arrived there on the morning of the 14th and Schmitty headed to the hotel to book a room for him and Maggie. He stared at the grand majestic lobby as he shifted nervously as the desk clerk attended to another guest. He had never booked a room at a hotel for himself and a guest much less at such a luxurious resort.

“How may I help you, sir?” the desk clerk politely addressed Schmitty.

“I’d like a room, please,” he replied.

“With a view?” the clerk inquired.

“Yes, that would be nice,” Schmitty replied.

“Single or double occupancy,” the clerk asked.

“Uh, double occupancy,” Schmitty replied nervously feeling like it was his mother asking the question.

“How many nights?”

“Four,” Schmitty replied trying to look as sophisticated as he could under the circumstances. The desk clerk shuffled through file cards in a box and pulled one out.

“We have a nice room with a view for $25.00 per night. Is that okay?” the clerk asked. Schmitty nearly choked when he heard the price. He was only earning $25.00 a week as a new pilot. As important as this trip was to him, a week’s pay per night was not in his budget. He mustered up enough courage to speak.

“Do you have something a bit more economical?” he asked.

The desk clerk looked him over paying particular attention to his uniform.

“Are you meeting someone special here?” he inquired.

“Why yes, I’m meeting my girlfriend. I’m here on leave,” Schmitty replied curiously.

“Well, I’m a sucker for service men. How about if we let you have this room for $10.00 per night. Will that work?” the clerk inquired with a smile.

“Yes, thank you. I appreciate it.”

“We have a nice room with a view,” as he handed him a key.

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that she should be staying here with me, he thought to himself. He glanced at his watch and noticed it was near 3:00. He grabbed a cab without checking into the room and headed to Union Station, more commonly known as the Santa Fe depot. He checked the schedule and saw the train from Sturgis was running on time, so he took a seat on a bench and waited, deep in thought, knowing what this rendezvous meant to him. A woman approached from his side and sat on the bench next to him. Lost in his thoughts he paid no attention to her. The woman spoke.

“Should I be disappointed that you didn’t notice me or flattered that you don’t have eyes for anyone but me?” the woman teased.

Schmitty jumped up when he saw it was Maggie, pulled her to him and nearly squeezed the breath from her before kissing her affectionately.

“Easy Cowboy, don’t break my ribs,” she whispered as she returned his kiss with equal fervor.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he mumbled nervously.

“No way I wouldn’t be,” she replied tenderly as she held onto his uniform’s lapels.

“Let’s go,” he directed as he picked up their luggage and they headed through the station to catch a cab to the hotel.

“The del Coronado,” he directed the cabbie. The cabbie nodded his approval as he loaded their luggage into the trunk. When they arrived, Schmitty once again was nervous at his assumption that she would stay with him in his room. As they entered the hotel lobby, Maggie spoke.

“Have you checked in yet?” she asked. “I want to pay for my own room,” she said in a serious tone. Schmitty nearly stumbled and dropped their luggage. “Just kidding,” she teased.

“Don’t do that to me,” Schmitty laughed, now wondering if what she meant was that it was okay for him to pay for her room.

They proceeded to the room on an upper floor.

“Wow, 834. Just like at home,” Maggie commented. “How sweet,” she added, to Schmitty’s surprise. They entered the room which was more like a suite, and Schmitty was taken aback by the spectacular view of the bay as well as the ocean. “Oh my, how beautiful,” Maggie gushed as she studied the view. Schmitty 181

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spotted a dozen yellow roses and an iced bottle of champagne on a nearby table and worried they had somehow entered the wrong room. Maggie noticed them at nearly the same time, and blushed in embarrassment. “You’re so thoughtful. Yellow roses are my favorite. How did you, know?” Before he could answer she moved closer to him and gazed at him lovingly with her deep blue eyes. She wrapped her arms around him as they fell onto the bed. They made love with an intensity and passion that forged their souls together a love that transcended their physical attraction. Schmitty realized from that point forward his life would never be the same.

The next morning the young couple left their room to enjoy breakfast in the hotel’s lavishly decorated main dining room.

Schmitty excused himself as they waited for their server and headed to the main desk in the lobby. He approached the same clerk who checked him in the previous day.

“Excuse me sir,” Schmitty began. “There was a bottle of champagne and a dozen roses in my room when I got there. I didn’t order either one. Were they for someone else in another room?”

“No sir,” the clerk replied. “They were for your room. When you left in a hurry after you checked in, a man approached our concierge and ordered the champagne and flowers for your room.”

“Is he a guest at the hotel?” Schmitty queried.

“No sir,” the clerk replied.

“Do you know him, did he give his name? What did he look like?” Schmitty pushed.

“I don’t know him, he didn’t give his name and he paid with cash. He was medium height with black hair and brown eyes. He had a ruddy complexion, you know, maybe like an Indian. I didn’t get a real good look at him from a distance, though. He seemed friendly like he knew you. Is everything okay, sir?” the clerk asked in a concerned voice.

“Oh yeah, everything’s fine. I just wanted to thank him for the gift,” Schmitty replied as he wondered who the generous benefactor was. He returned to their table and Maggie spoke.

“Is everything okay? You seem perplexed about something.”

“Everything’s great!” Schmitty replied enthusiastically. “Let’s order! I’m famished!”

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They finished breakfast and did some sightseeing in the area as neither one of them had ever spent much time there. Over the next three days much of their time was spent in their room together as a loving couple would. On their last evening together they decided to dine in the main ballroom where a big band would be entertaining afterwards.

“I drug this fancy dress all the way here for you,” Maggie feigned being upset, “you better let me show it off!”

“Okay,” Schmitty concurred. “Let’s make our last night here a memorable one!”

They dressed, she in a fancy taffeta dress and he in his uniform.

It didn’t take long for the heads in the ballroom to turn in Maggie’s direction as she once again graced the room with her presence.

The dignified patrons of the del Coronado weren’t the same as the crowd at the New Year’s Eve dance but Schmitty knew the polite nods from the other male patrons weren’t directed at him. They dined, drank and danced until they had their fill before retiring to their room for the evening. As they lay together Schmitty spoke seriously as he held her in his arms.

“Maggie,” he began. “I know ours was a chance meeting and all with me crashing the Indian, dragging myself into your store and you patching me up. But I feel it somehow is our destiny to be together. I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else,” as he pulled her close and pressed his cheek to hers. Maggie, now overcome with emotion by his uncharacteristic expression of feelings, gathered herself to speak as tears flowed down her fair-skinned cheeks as he stroked her hair to console her.

“I know,” she murmured through her sobs. “We are meant for each other. I love you,” as she kissed him passionately and they shared their intimacy once more.

The next morning Schmitty jumped from bed as the sun came up as he was now on Navy time and was to ship out that morning.

“Come on sleepyhead! Get a move on. You’ve got a train and me a boat to catch. Time’s a wasting!”

“Look at you, mister vim and vigor,” Maggie mumbled as she attempted to rub the sleep from her eyes.

“You make me feel that way, girl,” he laughed. “Up and at ’em.

Let’s go! Double-time!”

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“Aye aye, sir,” Maggie saluted as she jumped from bed and headed to the bathroom to get ready to leave. They packed, checked out and headed to the Santa Fe depot for Maggie to catch her train back to Sturgis. They sat on a bench in the waiting area holding hands.

“I don’t know when I’ll get another leave,” Schmitty broke the silence. “It seems like war is inevitable but we’ve been saying that for years. The Japanese keep building up their forces so something’s got to give - we just don’t know when,” he said. Maggie nodded in agreement. Boarding for her train was announced and they stood to move to the platform and once there they stopped and turned toward each other.

“Good-bye my love,” Maggie whispered as their lips touched with a kiss meant to last until the next time. “I’ll be waiting for your letters.” She turned and walked to board the train before Schmitty had a chance to reply. She had arrived on his terms but left on hers.

The conductor yelled, “All aboard!” and as the train left the station, she waved from her window and blew him a kiss. He wished he was on the train with her, but duty called. He made his way to the base to hitch a ride on a destroyer bound for Pearl Harbor. Four days later he arrived and reported for duty at Hickam Field. It was Thanksgiving week and Schmitty knew he needed to write home to his family and George since he didn’t make it home while on leave. Did he ever feel more thankful?!

“This is the happy season of the year—having plenty of provisions...Everyone makes his feast as he thinks best, to please the Great Spirit, who has the care of all things being created”.

—Black Hawk Sauk

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19 “Will we let ourselves be destroyed in our turn without a struggle, give up our homes, our country bequeathed to us by the Great Spirit, the graves of our dead and everything that is dear and sacred to us? I know you cry with me, “Never! Never!”

—Tecumseh Shawnee Thanksgiving Day arrived and Schmitty, after duties, had dinner in the mess hall with his crew and while they all missed being home with their families, they all knew their family members would probably have preferred being there with them in Hawaii.

Military service does have its benefits, at times. The following day their reconnaissance flights picked up and there was a lot of chatter on base about the continued build-up of Japanese forces. The U.S. had moved much of its naval operations from San Diego to Pearl Harbor with the express purpose of influencing a slow-down in the Japanese build up in the South Pacific, but it didn’t appear to have had the desired result. The Navy had over one hundred ships stationed in the Hawaiian Islands at the time with a full complement of all types of planes at Hickam Field. The Navy appeared ready for action, if necessary.

A few weeks passed and on Sunday, December 7th Schmitty sat in church during the 7:30 a.m. Mass. As the priest was ending his sermon, sirens began to wail in the distance. What an odd time for a drill, Schmitty thought. Just then, he heard the roar of airplane engines, the priest paused, and Schmitty and the other military personnel in attendance ran outside to see what was going on. He looked to the sky and saw a Japanese Zero fly overhead with a full

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complement of bombs attached to its wings. He and the others ran to their vehicles and rushed to various points of duty on the island.

Schmitty could see from a distance that Pearl Harbor was under vicious attack. The number of Japanese planes buzzing overhead was like a swarm of locusts descending on a farm field.

When Schmitty arrived at Hickam Field it also was under attack. Many planes were burning on the ground where they sat in rows. The fighter pilots had attempted to get their planes in the air and while some made it, many were shot or bombed on the runways which impeded others from taking off. Schmitty ran from his car toward his B-17, The Chief, and from a distance it did not appear to have been hit. As he ran through a hangar, dodging bullets which were raining through its roof, he bumped into a mechanic’s mate whom he knew. “Sir, get your goddam plane in the air and get it out of here, now!” he shouted.

“Where’s my crew?” Schmitty shouted back.

“Hell if I know,” the mechanic shouted. “There’s your tailgunner,” he yelled, pointing to a man running in their direction.

“You two are the crew. Now get that bird out of here now, before it’s blown to pieces!” he screamed, as he ran to another pilot to repeat the instructions. Schmitty and the tailgunner both ran to the Chief with bullets flying and bombs exploding all over the field and runways. No training could have prepared them for this scene of total chaos and destruction.

A B-17 normally has a crew of ten but the two of them would have to manage if they were to get their plane air-borne and out of harm’s way. Schmitty jumped aboard and started the engines. The plane had been recently serviced and fortunately was fully fueled.

The tailgunner, named Pete, pulled the chocks from the wheels and jumped aboard.

“What do you want me to do, Captain?” he shouted.

“Man your gun. We can’t engage a Zero in a dogfight. We need to get this bird out of here to safety but we need some defense to have a fighting chance,” he shouted over the roar of the engines.

Pete headed for his position in the rear of the plane and both he and Schmitty put on their headphones. “Here we go, hang on,” Schmitty yelled out over the plane’s interphone system as he pulled 186

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onto the runway and turned to take off. The runway was littered with scores of burning planes and debris with no clear visible path. Bullets and bombs continued to rain down so he needed to maneuver around and through the carnage in order to take off.

Once he was clear, he realized there may not be enough runway for him to get the plane airborne. He stared down it, quickly assessing his options. An excited voice shouted through his headset.

“Captain, I don’t think we’ve got enough runway to get this baby in the air!” Pete yelled. “We’ll hit the coconut trees before we get enough air under our wings!”

“Shut up and hang on! If we die, I’ll be going first!” Schmitty shouted, knowing his sharp response wouldn’t allay Pete’s fears.

Schmitty pushed the throttle forward to engage maximum power and they were off and running down the runway.

“Oh Jesus, save us!” Pete whispered as he blessed himself with a Sign of the Cross.

The Chief roared down the runway at times bouncing off the debris that littered its path, Schmitty hoped to avoid blowing a tire which would lead to an almost certain crash. As they gained speed, the runway before them got shorter and shorter. Takeoff was still in question but he was committed and was past the point of being able to throttle back to avoid crashing into the trees. He pulled back as hard as he could on the steering control yoke to raise the plane’s nose, his face a mask of fear and intensity. He glanced at the medals of the Joes he had hanging on a switch on the instrument panel and shouted, “Come on Joes, get me air under these wings!”

The plane strained but its nose eased up as it rose into the sky, but not before its tires brushed the tops of the trees, knocking coconuts to the ground.

“Yahoo!” Pete screamed through the interphone system. “I knew you could do it!”

“Uh-huh,” Schmitty replied. “We had help. Now where are we going with this baby and where are we going to put it down?”

“We’re going wherever them damn Japs ain’t,” Pete replied.

Schmitty took a deep breath and exhaled to clear his mind in order to focus on the task at hand. His adrenaline had eased from the strain of the takeoff and, searching for some levity to relieve 187

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more of the tension in the situation facing them, replied calmly to Pete on the intercom, “I can tell from your response there’s a reason you’re not a navigator!”

“Yes sir,” Pete replied. “I suppose I’m better at shootin’ than I am at navigatin’.”

“We can only hope!” Schmitty acknowledged. “Keep your eyes open, Pete. We must look like a small city flying around up here to those Zeros,” Schmitty instructed.

“Aye aye, sir. All clear,” Pete replied. Schmitty decided to fly as far from the action as he could, hoping he would eventually get instructions from Navy command on a safe place to land.

Communications were garbled at best and somehow he would have to get through to let them know he was airborne. Without a full flight crew he was flying mostly on eyesight.

A few moments later, Pete shouted over the intercom, “Zero at nine o’clock, closing fast.”

“Get him Pete,” Schmitty shouted as he banked the plane hard to the right to give Pete an angle to get off a few defensive shots since they had no waist gunners on the sides, nor other upper or lower ball turret gunners on board. The Zero closed in and got off a few shots before passing overhead. Schmitty and Pete both saw bombs hanging from its wings as it flew by and knew its pilot was more interested in unloading his payload on the ships in Pearl Harbor than in engaging them. Had he known they were so defenseless he may have thought otherwise and turned back to easily shoot them down. The shots he did get off at The Chief didn’t appear to do any damage, though.

Relieved, Schmitty spoke through the interphone. “Pete, I’m taking your advice and heading to wherever those damn Japs ain’t.”

“Spare no fuel, sir. Let’s get out of here!” Pete replied as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

Schmitty circled a safe distance from Hickam for hours until it appeared the assault was over and the enemy had retreated. He could see the smoke and flames from the attack in the distance and wished he could have done more, but his primary responsibility was to get his plane out of harm’s way and he wasn’t equipped to engage the enemy, anyway. He finally established communication 188

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with Navy command who instructed him to return to Hickam Field.

“Pete, we have instructions to return home,” Schmitty spoke.

“Are you kidding me, sir? How are we supposed to land in that mess?” Pete spoke candidly.

“They said they’ve brought in bulldozers to clear a path,” Schmitty replied.

“Oh,” Pete replied. “You don’t mind if we do a fly-over first to see for ourselves, do you, sir?”

“Good thinking,” Schmitty replied. “I think I can arrange that.”

“I’d recommend asking for forgiveness, rather than permission, sir.”

“As you say, Pete. As you say,” Schmitty replied respectfully to his mate for whom he gained much respect from the events of the day. They were able to land safely and after parking The Chief and shutting down the systems, Schmitty and Pete met outside. Pete saluted and Schmitty acknowledged.

“Some nice flying there, sir, if I say so myself,” Pete complimented. “You have good instincts. You’re a natural.”

“Thank you, but I think we had somebody looking out for us, don’t you?” Schmitty replied. “And if we had the weight of a full crew aboard we for sure would have plowed into the coconut trees.”

“Maybe, sir. But I’m counting my blessings either way, though,” Pete replied as they headed for the hangar to further assess the damage the attack had done to their fleet of planes and the airfield.

After hours of assisting others in putting out fires and aiding the injured and dying, Schmitty finally returned to his quarters dirty, exhausted, dismayed, and fell into his bunk. It was eerily quiet as they struggled to comprehend the day’s events. Tears formed in his eyes as he recounted the horrors he had witnessed himself. He had never seen anyone die, much less witness the horrible scene of his comrades, all fathers, sons, and brothers being cut down mercilessly by enemy gunfire. He struggled to clear his mind of the experiences of the day. He was struck with the harsh reality the U.S. was now at war with Japan as they would be with the other Axis powers. Maybe it was inevitable, but he never expected it to begin this way with him sitting in church on a Sunday morning with 189

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bombs and bullets flying, but this war didn’t open with marching bands and flags flying like in an old romance novel. It began with a sneak attack with thousands of American lives lost. How could his life have changed so quickly in a week’s time? he thought.

From spending four days with the most exciting woman he’d ever met, perhaps the love of his life, to being in the middle of what may become the greatest war in the history of mankind. Overcome with anger and emotion, he jumped up and punched the wall.

“Damn this war!” he shouted. “What have I gotten myself into?” No longer being able to focus, he passed out wondering what tomorrow would bring.

The next morning when Schmitty reported for duty, the mechanic’s mate whom Schmitty knew spotted him and motioned to him.

“Lieutenant, could I see you for a minute?” he shouted over the roar of the equipment that continued to clean up the field from the prior day’s attack. Schmitty approached with an inquisitive look.

“Sir, we went over your plane and you were struck by a couple of 50 caliber slugs,” he reported in a southern Alabama twang.

“Must have been from the Zero we encountered,” Schmitty replied.

“Could have been,” the mechanic agreed. “But let me show them to you,” as he led him to where The Chief was parked. “Look at this, both slugs stuck in the side of the plane right in this Indian head emblem you had painted on the side. What did you use, magic paint? There’s no way the skin on this bird can stop a 50 caliber slug, much less two of ’em. They could have gone straight through and possibly out the other side. And if they had, based on where this emblem is, they would have cut you in half. And I’m not exaggerating,” he added. “You are one lucky son-of-a-gun, I’ve got to tell you. If you don’t mind my saying so, sir, you and Pete ought to be knockin’ on the pearly gates right now! I’ve never seen anything like it in all my life,” he ended, staring at Schmitty for his reaction. Schmitty assessed the information stoically before speaking.

“I told Pete I felt we had someone looking out for us yesterday.

I guess I was right,” he replied matter-of-factly. “Can you leave the slugs in there?” he asked.

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“Why?” the mechanic asked.

“For good luck,” Schmitty smiled.

“Oh, I gotcha,” he replied. “No, regulations say we must remove all ordnance but I can let you have them once I remove them. And I may be able to leave the dents if they don’t compromise the safety of the plane.”

“Okay. Thanks,” Schmitty replied as the mechanic saluted and they parted company. Since his plane was temporarily out of service, Schmitty returned to his quarters and decided to write home and to Maggie to let them know he was okay. He knew if he had been killed or seriously injured in the attack his parents would have received a telegram from the War Department and since they hadn’t, they’d know he was at least alive. It was impossible to get a telegram out so he decided to write Maggie and hope she’d get the letter in a reasonable amount of time.

Dearest Maggie, I went from the best of times with you to the worst of times when we were attacked by the Japs. A sneak attack of all things and I thought they were steeped in honorable traditions. Well, I survived the attack, but had to get The Chief up in the air and to safety with just me and a tail gunner. Definitely not the way I thought the war would begin. I’m sure we’re in for a hell of a fight, but this isn’t a Boy Scout troop and we’re up to the challenge. I just wanted to get word to you that I’m okay and I’ll try to write you as much as I can, but I’m sure we’ll be in the air quite a bit.

Love, Bob Schmitty also wrote home to allay their fears and asked them to let George know he was okay. The Chief was returned to service complete with the dents in its Indian head emblem that had stopped the two bullets. The crew was especially proud of the plane and now that war had broken out paid even more attention to her since their lives depended on her performance. No more training runs. Life was now as serious as it could be!

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20 “Great Spirit – I want no blood upon my land to stain the grass. I want it all clear and pure, and I wish it so, that all who go through among my people may find it peaceful when they come, and leave peacefully when they go.”

—Ten Bears, Yamparika Comanche George burst through the front door of his home. “Mother, Clare, have you heard? The Japanese have bombed Pearl Harbor!

That’s where Schmitty is. Oh my God, I hope he’s okay! The President is expected to declare war tomorrow! It’s happening!” he shouted. “We’re at war!” His mother came running with Clare and her young daughter, Connie close behind.

“Turn on the radio. I can’t believe it,” Clare shouted.

“Trust me, it’s true!” George replied as his mother and Clare sat down and waited for the radio to get tuned in to hear the news. They listened intently to every detail reported. Much was conjecture as Hawaii was five hours behind in time and nearly 2,500 miles from the west coast and the communication from the islands was sketchy at best. No one knew the extent of the damage, nor lives lost, but it was obvious it was a serious blow. All anyone knew for sure was the Empire of Japan had attacked the United States of America and the U.S. would now be formally in the war it had anticipated for years.

The swell of patriotic support was obvious from the comments made in the radio interviews with public officials.

“Mother,” George began.

“I know what you’re going to say,” she replied. “You want to enlist in the Navy,” she spoke, bowing her head in submission.

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“I’m going to go to the recruiting office in Cincinnati tomorrow,” George announced. “I’ve got to do it. It’s my duty. God, I hope Schmitty’s okay,” he ended dejectedly. They listened intently to the radio broadcasts for hours until late in the evening. Occasionally reporters would break in with updates, but after a while they were just repeating the old news with emphasis on different facts.

One sobering fact being reported was that President Roosevelt had declared a meeting of the joint Houses of Congress, which everyone suspected would end in a declaration of war.

George woke the next morning and headed to his job at the steel mill to report his intention to enlist in the Navy. Many of the other workers there were doing likewise, as the mill was staffed with many young, able-bodied men. After completing some obligatory paperwork, he headed to Government Square in Cincinnati to the Navy recruiting office. Upon arriving, he was shocked to see the line to get in was two blocks long, four men wide. He knew it was going to be a long day, but seeing the mass of humanity there, all for the same reason, further reinforced that his enlisting to serve was the right thing to do. The men stood in line as the President addressed the nation about the events of the previous day, informed them of what was to come, and rallied their support. George completed some paperwork and after a quick physical exam was ordered to report back on December 26th for induction. That gave him a little more than two weeks to get his affairs in order before reporting.

When he arrived at home he was greeted by Clare alone, his mother was at work. Her forlorn look spoke volumes.

“So, you really did it, huh,” she said with tears flowing down her cheeks.

“I had to, Clare,” George replied wrapping his arms around her for consolation. “Besides, I would have been drafted into the Army and ended up who knows where? At least by enlisting, I feel like I made a choice. Only time will tell if I made the right one,” George replied.

“I know you did the right thing,” she replied. “But, it’s still hard knowing you’ll be in harm’s way.”

“Thanks, Sis, but I’ll be okay,” George smiled, gave her one more hug and went to his room where he lay on his bed and 193

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contemplated how his life changed in one day’s time and would change in an even bigger way on December 26th.

The next day, George reported for work at the steel mill and informed them of his reporting date. They had assigned a new worker to George’s job, an older man with a family who would most likely not be drafted into the military and George was to train him on running the train engine on the mill site until his last day of work on Christmas Eve. After his shift, he stopped by the Schmitz’s home to see what news they had about Schmitty. Ralph greeted him at the door when he knocked.

“Why George, good to see you,” Ralph greeted. “Some turn of events these last few days, huh?”

“Yes, sir,” George replied. “Have you heard anything from Bob?” “No, but no news is good news. Most likely we would have been notified by now if there was bad news so we’re holding out hope until we hear otherwise,” he replied solemnly.

“Well, I suppose that’s good news,” George agreed. “By the way, I’ve enlisted in the Navy myself, and am to report after Christmas.

I’ll be in boot camp at the Great Lakes Training Center like Bob was. If you hear from him, let him know I’m on my way,” George laughed which eased the seriousness of their conversation.

“I will,” Ralph replied with a smile. “He’ll be glad to hear it and I know he’ll be proud of you. Who knows, you two may meet up in some faraway place. Wouldn’t that be something for you two bumpkins from Latonia, Kentucky,” he laughed.

“Well, that would be fun, but probably not likely his being in the air corps and me, a seaman,” George replied.

“Life has a strange way of making things come to pass that you would never dream of,” Ralph commented. “Never say, never.”

“You’re right, sir. I got to get home or my supper will be cold.

I’ll stop by before I leave to report,” George said and they shook hands.

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21 “No person among us desires any other reward for performing a brave and worthy action, but the consciousness of having served his nation.”

—Thayendanegea , Mohawk The Navy raised and repaired as many ships in Pearl Harbor as it could, as quickly as humanly possible. The USS Arizona however, remained on the harbor floor with all of its lost souls still on board.

The military was on full alert for a possible second attack by the Japanese who many feared would return to inflict further damage on the already crippled American fleet. The Chief and its crew logged many reconnaissance missions over the next month as the need for information on the Japanese fleet and troop movements became a high priority.

“Why don’t we just move into this bird,” one of the crew members joked over the plane’s interphone system one day as they taxied for takeoff. “We seem to spend more time in the air than on the ground,” he joked.

“Because you smell like a wet dog,” another shot back which drew a chuckle from most of the other crew members.

“Settle down, men. We’ve got a job to do. Enough time for cuttin’ up when we get back,” Schmitty directed.

“Aye aye, sir,” the men replied, acknowledging their captain’s order.

A few hours later they were back on the ground having completed their mission of tracking the movement of a number of Japanese aircraft carriers. Fortunately, they were able to complete their mission without them or their fighter escorts being intercepted

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by enemy planes. Schmitty returned to his quarters to find he had received some mail. It was a letter from George. ...Schmitty, I mean Lt. Schmitz, ha-ha, I am nearing completion of my basic training at the Great Lakes Training Center. From the scuttlebutt we’re hearing, many of my group will most likely be headed to serve on ships in the South Pacific rather than the North Atlantic, so I may be headed your way. Who knows, we may be able to get together, somewhere. Your dad thinks we’re destined to meet up. Who’s to argue? I hope things are well with you, I know you have your hands full with the Japs. Someone must have fallen asleep out there to let them do what they did, but all we can do now is pick up the pieces and go after them.

Your friend, George Schmitty was happy to hear from George and that he may be serving in the South Pacific too. He knew though not to count on anything for certain in the Navy, especially given that the U.S. had just recently entered the war on a full-scale basis with many positions to fill in a short timeframe. Schmitty was glad he had enlisted early and was able to avoid some of the recent chaos. His crew was now considered a veteran one even though they had only been flying together for months. War has a way of changing perception in a hurry.

Schmitty and Maggie continued their dialogue through letters.

They yearned to be together but Schmitty had no idea when he would get another furlough given the recent declaration of war.

He wished he was at least able to hear her voice but the radiotelephone service on the island was controlled by the military and not available for personal use given that martial law was declared for the territory.

About a month after George’s first letter had arrived, another one was delivered. In addition to containing the normal kibitzing between buddies, it included some information about George’s duty assignment. It included: 196

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...I have been assigned to the DD411 Anderson. It’s a Sims Class destroyer. I am a torpedoman’s mate. By the time you get this letter I may already be at Pearl Harbor having boarded in San Diego. Keep an eye out for me.

Your friend, George Schmitty was excited he and George may be able to meet up if both were at Pearl Harbor but was also disappointed George had been assigned to a destroyer, not a battleship, cruiser or an aircraft carrier which were much larger, more heavily reinforced and carried larger armaments. The primary responsibilities of destroyers were to escort the bigger ships, to provide antisubmarine screens and to draw enemy shore fire during beach landings as they were smaller and lighter in weight which allowed for greater speed and maneuverability. Their crews referred to them as tin cans, for good reason. They played a meaningful role in naval warfare but it was without doubt a very hazardous one so Schmitty prayed each night for his and George’s safety. He knew it was going to be a long war if the Allies were to prevail and would come with a heavy loss of life.

He didn’t want either him or George to be amongst the casualties.

One evening Schmitty was headed to the Officer’s Club. He passed a number of enlisted men who were walking in the opposite direction who saluted, as was proper. As he strolled in the cool night’s air, he noticed a distant silhouette of a sailor that seemed familiar. It was George! As they neared they recognized each other and both wanted to run to greet the other, but the Navy’s protocol wouldn’t allow it; there were strict rules forbidding fraternizing between officers and enlisted men. The logic was that officers needed to be impartial when leading men into battle which didn’t need to be compromised by friendships. When they met, George saluted Schmitty who returned it. George spoke with his hands at his side so not to draw attention.

“By God, Schmitty it’s you! I don’t believe it. Your dad was right. He said it was destiny that we’d meet - called us a couple of bumpkins from Latonia. What a hoot!” Since they weren’t able to 197

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be together at either the Officer’s or Enlisted Men’s Clubs, George mentioned a hole-in-the-wall bar nearby where they could get a drink together without being noticed. “No M.P.s there,” he added.

“George, you’ve only been on the island for a couple of weeks and you already know where the joints are. I should have known,” Schmitty commented discretely.

“Hey, they taught us to always have a backup plan, didn’t they?”

George replied.

“Okay, I suppose,” Schmitty agreed. “Where is this bar? I’ll have to circle back and meet you there.”

“Two blocks down, one over to the right. We can sit in the back in the shadows,” George replied.

“Okay. I’ll see you there at 2030,” Schmitty replied. When he arrived a half hour later, he ordered a drink and sat on a stool at the bar until he felt comfortable there were no military police about who would discover he and George having a drink together.

He eventually made his way to a back table in the shadows where George sat, awaiting his arrival.

“Hello there, buddy,” George greeted as he stuck out his hand to shake. “Good to see you.”

“You too, George. Looks like the Navy agrees with you.

Everything okay?”

“Okay so far. We ship out in a couple of days for parts unknown. Lots of space out here in the Pacific. Things good with you, Schmitty?”

“I suppose. Had the bajeebers scared out of me when the Japs attacked and a tailgunner and I had to get The Chief off the ground to a safe place. Other than that, it’s been routine reconnaissance flights, although you can hardly call anything routine anymore.”

“You mean your plane is called The Chief?” George laughed.

“You’ve definitely got Indian on the brain,” he laughed.

“Oh yeah. We’ve got a big Indian head logo painted on each side. The crew likes it,” Schmitty replied proudly. “And believe it or not, it stopped two 50 caliber slugs when we got shot at in the December 7th attack. Some think it was a miracle. Who knows?” he laughed.

“No kidding?” George mused. “Are you still in touch with Maggie?” George posed wondering whether they were still an item.

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“Oh yeah,” Schmitty beamed. “I got some leave and hitched a ride to San Diego and she came down and met me there.”

“Holy Smokes!! You’re swinging for the fences now, brother. I need details,” George cajoled.

“Oh, nothing much to tell. She’s just the girl of my dreams, that’s all,” Schmitty deadpanned before breaking into wide grin.

“Bartender,” George waved. “Two more. One for me and one for my goo-goo eyed friend here.”

“Don’t be drawing any attention to us, George. We’re supposed to be incognito,” Schmitty urged.

“Nothing incognito about you sitting there with that big toothy grin,” George laughed. “You’ve got it really bad. We’re supposed to be out here playing the field and you’re all tied up like she’s got a ring on her finger. Schmitty, you’re a flyboy. You’d have a shot with most of the girls on the island. Instead you’re pining away for someone who’s thousands of miles from here. Ay yi yi! You’re hopeless,” George laughed.

“It’s just destiny, as my Dad would say,” laughed Schmitty as George rolled his eyes. The bartender arrived at their table.

“You two seem to be enjoying yourselves,” he commented.

“That’ll be two bits.” George flipped him a quarter and a nickel for a tip.

“Here’s to us,” George raised his can and Schmitty did likewise.

“To us,” Schmitty repeated as they clicked their cans together.

They spent the next hour catching up and discussing how they suspected the war in the South Pacific to play out. When they eventually stood to leave, Schmitty said, “We can’t walk out together. I’ll leave and give me five minutes before you do.”

“Okay, Lieutenant,” George saluted, much to Schmitty’s chagrin.

Both were very happy to have run into each other not knowing when or where they would meet again. Months earlier they were just two bumpkins from Latonia, Kentucky. Now they were two men venturing with hundreds of thousands of others just like them, headlong into a new and different world where many would die fighting for their country made up of thousands of towns like their own.

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****** The fortifications at Pearl Harbor and Hickam Field increased considerably in the winter months of 1942. The U.S. military forces were gaining in strength and size to exact revenge on the Japanese.

As they entered springtime, everyone’s spirits were buoyed when they learned of Doolittle’s raid in which sixteen B-25B bombers were launched from the Navy’s aircraft carrier USS Hornet to bomb military targets in Japan. It was a morale booster for the entire nation as it served as retaliation for the attack on Pearl Harbor but also lowered Japanese morale by casting doubt as to whether their military leaders could defend their homeland.

The fighting in the South Pacific increased. The U.S. launched assaults to retake strategic locations which the Japanese had seized simultaneously with their raid on Pearl Harbor. The Anderson, on which George was serving as a torpedoman’s mate, was involved in the Battle of the Coral Sea in May and the Battle of Midway in June. Later George wrote Schmitty at Pearl Harbor: Dear Bob, As the saying goes, war is hell. The fighting out here is serious. I can’t believe we’ve been fired on and shot at so many times and are still afloat. I feel fortunate that I’m not one of those poor Marines who storm the beachheads like they do. Brave men. The action we saw in the Coral Sea was constant as we were screening the Lexington and the Yorktown which were under constant fire from the Japs.

Those big carriers are the main attraction and the Lexington went down. We were able to pick up survivors. At Midway, the fighting was furious and we lost the Yorktown. The old girl put up a hell of a fight and we did all we could for her but she gave up the ghost and went down. One of my duties is the burial at sea detail. I’ll never get used to it. I can’t stop thinking about the families who will never be able to visit their loved one’s graves or even know the details of their deaths.

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Speaking of more positive things, how have you been? I hope you’ve been able to stay in contact with those at home, and of course, your Maggie. I’ve got to run. Duty calls.

P.S. I’m back at Pearl. Should be here for two to three weeks for maintenance.

Your friend, George Schmitty wrote back.

Dear George, Good to hear from you. Our recon missions have taken us to most of the islands we occupy. As the war is escalating we’ve been on the go. I’m glad I became a pilot, but the responsibility can sometimes be overwhelming. I’m glad I’m in reconnaissance though and not a bomber pilot. I think it suits me better. Thanks for asking about Maggie.

She’s still in Sturgis, running the store. I miss her dearly and the only way we can communicate is by letter. I write her almost every day I’m able.

The Chief is flying like a new plane. I think she gets special treatment by the mechanics and our crew but I’m sure I’m biased.

If you’re still in Pearl on the Fourth of July, meet me at 2000 at “you-know-where” if you can get shore leave.

Looking forward to seeing you there.

Your friend, Bob On the Fourth, Schmitty headed to their favorite hide-away and waited to see if George would show up. As he waited, he thought about his and George’s Independence Days together in the past. It was only two years prior, on the Fourth, when he was considering enlisting in the Navy and confided in George on their trip on the Harley and the Indian to Cynthiana. With all that had happened since then, it seemed like an eternity had passed. Shortly after eight o’clock George strode in and Schmitty greeted him as two old friends would.

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“How you doing, buddy?” Schmitty greeted. “How’s the Navy been treating you?” He added.

“Well, as I tell others, it’s about fifty percent fear and fifty percent boredom,” he replied. “When we’re out to sea we may go for days without seeing another ship or plane. Then the next thing you know we’re forming up with other destroyers to screen the big ships and then not long after that we may be running toward shore to draw enemy gunfire so the big boys can see where the shore guns are. So you go from staring at and bobbing on open seas for days on end to feeling like you’re in a shooting gallery at a county fair. And you also never know when a Jap sub is going to show up or a squadron of Jap planes is going to drop in out of the sky. Other than that, life is great. How about you?” he asked.

“Okay, I suppose,” Schmitty replied. “The recon missions can get boring and repetitious. But they’re pretty technical which I like and we get a fighter escort to cover us on our routes, but we don’t see much action there,” he replied.

“Our lives are different,” George nodded. “As you would expect between a fly-boy and a deck swab,” he laughed good-naturedly.

“Any word from Miss Sturgis?” he needled.

“She’s doing fine,” Schmitty replied. “We write each other all the time,” he added. “I’m going to marry that girl,” he blurted before he even thought about what he was saying. George nearly choked on his drink.

“Well then,” George rolled his eyes. “You’re really getting down to business.”

“Yep. I guess I am,” Schmitty replied seriously. “Never in my wildest dreams could I have ever imagined meeting someone like her much less marrying her. We’re destined to be together. I know it. I don’t know what else to say,” he ended.

“I guess that about says it all,” George nodded in agreement.

“You’ve always known what you wanted and have gone after it.

Women were not usually what you were chasing though, buddy.

But the war has changed all of us and we now know how fickle life is. If she’s your soul mate, go for it. You have my blessing,” he laughed knowing he sounded like a father granting his daughter’s hand to a suitor.

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“It means a lot to me knowing you’re behind me,” Schmitty acknowledged. “You’re my other soul-mate,” he laughed, as George smiled and nodded embarrassedly.

“So how long are you going to be in Pearl?” Schmitty quickly changed the subject.

“Don’t know,” George replied. “But after what we went through at the Coral Sea and Midway, I’d be happy to be staring at open sea for a while. Action seems to find us though,” he added.

“So it seems,” Schmitty agreed. “Be safe. I need you to be best man at my wedding.”

“Okay,” George replied. “I’ll try to stay out of Davy Jones’ locker,” he laughed, “at least until after your wedding!” After some reminiscing of their Fourth of Julys together through the years, they both stood to leave.

“Good seeing you, sir,” George snapped to attention and saluted humorously.

“Move along, sailor,” Schmitty played along. “And be quick about it.”

“Aye aye, sir,” George saluted again and headed for the door.

After waiting a few minutes, Schmitty left the bar and walked in the opposite direction. The moon shone brightly in the sky, he enjoyed the warm tropical breeze on his face as he headed back to his quarters. He was happy to have been with George on this traditional holiday for them, but now he missed Maggie even more. He decided to write her when he arrived back at his quarters.

Once there though, he lay down on his bed and the effects of the evening’s socializing caught up with him and he dozed off. His love-letter writing would have to wait until tomorrow.

“Friendship is held to be the severest test of character. It is easy, we think, to be loyal to family and clan, whose blood is in our veins.

Love between a man and woman is founded on the mating instinct and is not free from desire and self-seeking. But to have a friend, and to be true under any and all trials, is the mark of a man!”

—Ohiyesa, Santee Sioux

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22 “Oh, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person, having neither to weigh thought nor measure words, but poring them all right out, just as they are, chaff and grain together, certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and with a breath of kindness, blow the rest away”.

—Anonymous, Shoshone The summer of 1942 turned to autumn as the fighting in the South Pacific intensified. The U.S. military forces battled to gain back territories lost to the Japanese forces still reeling in the aftermath of the attack on Pearl Harbor. Schmitty was elated to learn he was being granted leave again and wrote to Maggie to entice her to meet him in San Diego again as she had the previous year. The Del Coronado wouldn’t be available for a rendezvous as it was open now for the Navy to use for personnel moving to or through its San Diego base. Schmitty knew it wouldn’t be reasonable to expect to book a room for a romantic interlude and besides, he preferred more privacy than he would get in a resort full of sailors. He also knew it wasn’t a certainty he could get passage on a warship traveling from Pearl Harbor to the mainland even though there seemed to be a steady stream of ships sailing the route. Nevertheless, he wrote Maggie to test the waters, so to speak.

Dearest Maggie, A day doesn’t go by that I don’t wish you were here with me, but I want you to know I will be granted a furlough soon and want to know if you could arrange to meet me in San Diego, around the middle of October again, like you 204

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did last year. It’s not possible for me to get to the mainland and then to Sturgis and back in the allotted time. I hope you understand. Hoping to hear from you soon.

Love, Bob He heard back from her about ten days later.

Dear Bob, my Cowboy, I’ll be marking the days until I meet you in San Diego. I miss you so much that sometimes in my dreams I stowaway on a warship to get to Hawaii to be with you. I wish this darn war would end but we all know there is a lot more fighting ahead before that happens. Counting the days!

Love, Maggie The drop of perfume she’d placed in her letter produced a definite bounce in Schmitty’s step.

A few weeks passed and Schmitty tightened up his plans for his trip to San Diego. He wrote Maggie that he’d be in San Diego on October 15th as he had arranged passage on a small destroyer headed to San Diego to pick up Marines to be transported back to Pearl Harbor. He relayed he would meet her at the Santa Fe Station like the year before. Things were falling into place wonderfully and he was eager for his leave to begin. His day of departure arrived and he was at the dock bright and early to board. As he arrived, an ensign inspecting paperwork saluted.

“Nice day to be sailing sir, don’t you agree?”

“It is, but the sooner I get to San Diego to see my girl, the happier I’ll be,” Schmitty replied with a broad smile.

“San Diego, sir?” the ensign replied. “We’re not headed to San Diego, we’re headed to San Francisco.”

“What do you mean?” Schmitty jerked his head as if to awaken from a dream. “I was told this ship was headed to San Diego.”

“It was sir, but our plans changed a few days ago. It’s the Navy, you know,” the ensign shrugged. “Do you still wish to board?”

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“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Schmitty shouted as he turned to run to get word to Maggie. “Don’t cast off without me,” he barked back to the ensign.

“Oh sure,” the ensign laughed. “As if I’m in charge here. I’ll get word to the captain to wait for you,” he added sarcastically as he went back to his paperwork.

Schmitty raced to the harbormaster’s office and banged on the door. “What’s all the racket about?” he heard a voice shout from inside just as they unlocked the door and he bolted in nearly knocking them over. “Mind your manners, sir,” a middle-aged woman shook her finger at Schmitty as she scolded him.

“I’m sorry ma’am,” Schmitty spoke nearly breathless from his run. “Can I get a telegram sent to the mainland? It’s sort of an emergency.”

“Sort of an emergency?” she gave a puzzled look. Schmitty didn’t respond because he knew if he gave any details, she may have booted him out the door. “Come on in,” she motioned. “I’m sure we can help you out.”

Schmitty stood anxiously waiting for her to transcribe his message. “This goes to Miss Maggie Andriacco in Sturgis, South Dakota,” he began.

“Hold on there, sonny. Let me get a pencil first. Okay. Got it.

Now what’s this emergency message of such high importance? Is Mt. Rushmore getting bombed?” she asked sarcastically. Schmitty began: MAGGIE, PLANS HAVE CHANGED. NOT GOING TO SAN DIEGO. MEET ME IN SAN FRANCISCO AT THE, “Oh God, I don’t where I should tell her to meet me,” he gasped. Without looking up the woman said, “Have her meet you at the Harbor Court Hotel on the Embarcadero, lover boy,” as she rolled her eyes and winked. He continued dictating as she instructed. HARBOR COURT HOTEL ON THE EMBARCADERO ON THE 15TH. LOVE BOB. STOP. “I sure hope she gets this in time,” he whispered out loud.

“If she doesn’t, you better get your rear end down to San Diego in a hurry or your name will be mud and she’ll be on the arm of another sailor,” the woman teased.

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“That was not what I need to hear,” Schmitty laughed. Just then the ship’s horn sounded signaling it was about to leave port.

“That’s your ship, lover boy. You better get a move on before we sound our horn that it’s free to depart,” she urged. Schmitty took off on a dead run toward the ship with his gear bouncing about as he ran at full speed. As he neared the ship he could see the boarding plank had been raised but that the ensign stood on deck watching for him. As he neared, a Jacob’s ladder flew over the side and Schmitty climbed on board, bent over gasping for breath from the run while staring at the ensign’s shoes.

“I hope she’s worth it sir,” said the ensign, as Schmitty watched the shoes turn and walk away.

“Oh, she’s worth it,” he replied as he stood up. “She’s worth it,” just as the harbormaster’s horn sounded approving their departure.

Over the next three days Schmitty caught up on his sleep and except for the occasional bout of seasickness, his trip was uneventful. He inquired of the other officer’s on board to see if they knew anything of the Harbor Court Hotel. “Who are you meeting there, Betty Grable?” one laughed. Schmitty didn’t care about the cost, given the circumstances. He was more concerned about whether Maggie got his telegram and would meet him in San Francisco and not travel to San Diego.

When he disembarked the ship, he headed straight to the hotel which was nearby. As he entered the hotel lobby, he was flabbergasted to see Maggie sitting in an arm chair reading a magazine looking resplendent as other sailors passing through took particular note of her. “Maggie!!” Schmitty nearly choked as he dropped his bags as she leapt into his arms, their lips finding the other’s as they locked in a loving embrace a year in the making, which neither wished to break. “I can’t believe you made it. I’m so happy my telegram got to you in time. I was worried you’d already be gone,” he whispered in her ear.

“What telegram?” she replied jerking her head back. “A nice lady in the harbormaster’s office called me and told me what happened.

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pull out there to get someone to get a call through to the mainland about your change in plans.”

“Really? You got called? Huh. I’ll have to thank her when I get back. I need to get us a room.”

“I’ve already taken care of it,” Maggie replied proudly. “It’s not as fancy as the Del Coronado, but it will do us just fine,” she assured him.

“I bet it will,” Schmitty replied with a smile as he picked up his sea bag, threw it over his shoulder and they walked hand-in-hand to their room.

The following morning Schmitty woke and Maggie was already awake and sitting up in bed.

“I’ve been watching you sleep,” she said, almost as if she was embarrassed to admit it. “When did you know you loved me?” she asked. Schmitty sat up in bed rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Good morning to you, too!” he laughed.

“Well?” she pressed.

“I’m thinking,” he laughed again. “Probably at Mt. Rushmore,” he finally replied, “although it may have gotten started with the Mercurochrome,” he laughed, embarrassed by his own admission.

“How about you?” he asked.

“A girl has her secrets, although your good-bye kiss at the cycle shop was pretty compelling,” she laughed as she whacked him with a pillow and they celebrated their love for each other once more. ****** Schmitty’s and Maggie’s time together passed quickly as expected for two lovers who hadn’t seen each other for nearly a year, and after four days he was on a light cruiser headed back to Pearl Harbor and she a train to Sturgis. It was difficult having so much time pass between visits but they made the most of it when they were together. It was wartime and being apart for long stretches paled in comparison to the sacrifices others were making with their lives. Their time together reinforced their love which eased their yearning for the other when they were apart. On the return trip to Pearl, Schmitty decided to write George.

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Dear George, I hope this letter finds you safe and sound. You boys on those tin cans go above and beyond the call of duty. You inspire the rest of us. What a leave I just had. I hitched a ride to San Francisco and Maggie met me there. What a wonderful four days we had together. San Francisco and the Embarcadero are really nice. I hope I get back there someday. I’ve decided the next time she and I are together I’m going to ask her to marry me. You heard me right.

I couldn’t imagine living out my life without her. I wish you and Mom and Dad could meet her. I know you’d all approve. Hope to see you at Pearl soon.

Bob In a few days when the ship docked and Schmitty disembarked, he went directly to the harbormaster’s office to thank the woman for calling Maggie rather than sending a telegram. A sailor was seated behind a desk and rose to salute. “How may I help you, sir?” he inquired.

“I’m here to see a lady who did me a big favor last week on a telegram I needed sent stateside. She called the party instead, which worked out wonderfully for me. I didn’t catch her name. I just want to thank her.”

“Last week, sir?” replied the sailor as he scanned the duty roster.

“I don’t see any women listed here for last week.”

“What women do you show who serve here? Maybe she wasn’t on duty when we spoke,” replied Schmitty as he moved around the desk to scan the list himself.

“Sir, to be honest with you, I’ve never seen any women on duty in here since the war began. I believe all of the women Navy personnel on base are nurses. Unfortunately, none of them come in here to the office, sir,” the sailor smiled a wry grin.

“I see,” replied Schmitty. “Thanks for your help.”

“Yes, sir,” the sailor replied as he saluted once more. Schmitty shook his head in wonderment. The war brings about odd circumstances. This may be just another one, he thought.

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The Thanksgiving holiday arrived and while the prior year’s feast was memorable, this year was not quite as festive as everyone was thinking about the December 7th attack’s anniversary, only ten days away. Schmitty spent the day writing Maggie, his family back home, and George who was out to sea. While The Chief ’s crew celebrated the holiday together, one always misses family at the holidays. Such are the sacrifices of war.

On December 7th there were official tributes at the Harbor and in the area churches to the men who were lost in the attack of the previous year. It was hard to forget that terrible day and the USS Arizona that lay on the harbor floor with all of its lost souls still entombed there. The Christmas holiday was a bit more festive as many anticipated the New Year with high hopes that the war would near its end, knowing all the while it would most likely continue on much longer. Military minds are always anticipating the beneficial effect a few successive crucial victories in key battles can have on a campaign. After Christmas, Schmitty wrote Maggie.

Maggie, I will never forget our first New Year’s together when I was stationed in Kansas City in training. I was so thrilled that you traveled there to see me. We had a wonderful time together, which could have been even better had you not stayed at the YWCA, ha-ha. I’ll never forget the red dress you wore which had everyone in the dance hall gawking at you. Memories like that help me get through these holidays without you. I love you and can’t wait to be with you again.

Love, Bob He sealed and mailed it off. He thought about their lives when the war was over and they would be together. Yearning didn’t help the time pass any faster so he dropped the letter in the mailbox and got on with his duties. A week later Schmitty received a letter from George.

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Dear Lt. Schmitz, Dear Schmitty, I’m still having trouble calling you Lieutenant. I hope you’ll forgive me. Anyway, I hope you had a good time over the holidays. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to be there at Pearl for all the festivities which must have been considerable.

There had to be a lot of guys blowin’ off some steam. We’ve spent our time near Guadalcanal doing what we do best, screening other ships and providing call fire during the landings. We’ve been operating out of Espiritu Santo in the Solomon Islands on antisubmarine patrols and training. It seems like we’re still in the 50% fear, 50% boredom mode.

I’m hoping we’ll be back to Pearl soon so we can enjoy some time together. Stay safe.

Your friend, George In late March, George finally returned to Pearl Harbor and called Schmitty at his quarters. He had made up some official business to speak with him about should another officer answer the phone, but Schmitty picked up when it rang.

“Lt. Schmitz here,” he answered.

“Schmitty, it’s me, George. I’m back in Pearl. Got in last night and I’m on liberty. Can you meet me you know where?”

“Yeah, we’re not flying tomorrow, so I can be there in an hour,” Schmitty replied.

“Okay. Sounds great. I’ll see you there,” George replied enthusiastically. An hour later Schmitty entered the bar, sat for a minute on a stool and then made his way to the dark corner, their normal rendezvous spot. George had already arrived and was waiting for him. “Good to see you, buddy,” George spoke while extending his hand. “How have you been?”

“Good,” Schmitty replied. “How about you? It seems you’ve seen a lot of action. How are you guys holding up?”

“Okay, I guess. We’re still floatin’ and breathin’ so I suppose we can’t complain,” he laughed. “I’m guessing your recon missions have taken you all over the South Pacific,” he added.

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“They have,” Schmitty replied. “Been to places I never knew existed. It’s been some experience.”

“Here’s to us,” George said as he raised his bottle to clink its neck with Schmitty’s.

“To us,” Schmitty replied. “May we get through this insanity called war and back home in one piece.”

“Amen,” George added and raised his bottle to memorialize the toast. “You always were the practical one.” They enjoyed a few more drinks together and it was finally time to break up for the evening.

“Time to head back to the ship,” George commented after glancing at his watch.

“You’re right, it’s getting late,” Schmitty agreed. George stood and spoke. “I don’t know how long we’ll be in Pearl - pretty much maintenance to do. There’s a lot of action out there and we’re liable to head back where we came from before too long. No way for me to know.”

“Call me next week if you’re still in port and can get to a phone,” Schmitty directed. “Maybe we can do something besides sit in the corner of this dark old dive. A motorcycle ride around the island would be great.”

“I’d like that,” George agreed. “See you later,” as he saluted and walked into the street. Schmitty waited a few minutes as usual and left as well. Once back at his quarters he wrote Maggie telling her about his and George’s meeting up and how he wished she and George were able to meet, since he was sure they’d hit it off. “I’m sure you’ll meet in the future at the right moment. I’ll just have to be patient,” he wrote.

A couple of weeks later Schmitty got a call from George.

“Schmitty, we’re heading out to San Francisco for repairs. We may be there a couple of months.”

“Wow. You said your boat was pretty beat up. Have a nice time there. I hope you get time to take in the sights,” Schmitty replied.

“I’ll check out the Embarcadero you talked about,” George replied. “And one of our guys, Harry is from the Bay area, so he’ll know the good spots. Seems like a good break to me.”

“Okay, I’ll hold up the war effort while you’re out gallivanting around,” Schmitty laughed.

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“You do that, and it’s okay if it’s over by the time I get back,” laughed George. “I won’t miss it.”

“Okay. I’ll see you when you get back,” Schmitty replied. “Over and out.” ****** The summer passed as the fighting increased in the South Pacific. Schmitty and Maggie continued their letter writing. George and the Anderson returned to Pearl Harbor in June on an escort run, and then immediately returned to San Francisco to complete repairs. He and Schmitty met up briefly one day before heading back to San Francisco but didn’t have time for the motorcycle ride they hoped for.

“So how was San Francisco?” Schmitty inquired.

“I really liked it,” George replied. “That Embarcadero you talked about is really nice. They treat sailors like kings, as long as we behave ourselves,” he laughed.

“Catch up with me when you return,” Schmitty commented.

“Hopefully I’ll be here. We’ve been chasing all over on recon. Lots of activity out there. Makes you wonder if this war will ever end.

I hope our boys in Europe are holding their own. We have to win this war on both fronts,” he added.

“Okay. See you later,” said George as they broke up.

George returned to San Francisco and Schmitty continued his reconnaissance missions on The Chief, which along with its crew, was getting a reputation for efficiency as well as results. If there’s something out there, that crew will find it more than one Navy official was heard to say. Their reputation spurred the crew to always perform at its highest level and The Chief never failed them to that end.

A couple of weeks after George returned to San Francisco he wrote Schmitty. “Have to put the motorcycle ride around the island on hold for a while. Heading to Alaska. Don’t know when we’ll be back,” he wrote. Schmitty always worried about George with his duty on a destroyer which was hazardous at best. He was amazed however at the places they’d seen during their Navy duties. Places 213

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they could have only dreamed of before. If only this war would end and they’d be back in the states, safe and sound, he thought.

One day, out of the blue, a letter arrived from Maggie. She wrote: Dear Bob, (my Cowboy) We read all the time and see the newsreels about the fighting. I hope it’s not as bad as they say, but I fear it may even be worse. I thank God every day that you’re not a fighter pilot, but I realize no one is safe in a war zone.

Things are pretty good here. All the rationing makes it hard to keep the store stocked and my dad has to spend more time in the garage with Lenny since Tony got drafted into the Army and all they want to do is complain about how hard it is to get car parts for the shop. There’s a war on for crying out loud. Anyway, when are you going to get some leave? It’s coming up on a year now since we’ve been together. It’s getting harder to be apart as each day passes.

What’s a poor lonely girl in South Dakota to do? I need my fly-boy!!

Love you forever, Maggie The aroma of the drop of perfume on the paper lured him like a pied piper and he charged down to the command headquarters to speak to the portly middle-aged officer in charge of scheduling.

The man leaned back in his chair as it creaked from the strain imposed upon it.

“How can I help you, Lieutenant?” he asked, looking up from his paperwork through a pair of horn-rimmed, coke bottle-thick glasses.

“Sir, when might my next leave be scheduled for, if I may ask?”

Schmitty inquired hesitatingly.

“You know I can’t answer that. We’re in a war. Things can change on a moment’s notice. You know that,” the officer replied, “And then you’d be back here griping to kingdom come. When was your last leave?” he asked.

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“Nearly a year ago, sir,” Schmitty replied directly.

“Have you got some urgent business to tend to? Is your mother sick or has some other calamity come up that requires you to be on leave?” the officer asked looking over his glasses.

“Not exactly sir,” Schmitty replied meekly.

“Son, I’ve been in this man’s Navy for twenty-five years. I’d be sitting on a front porch right about now if this damn war hadn’t broken out, but I know lovesick eyes when I see them. Ain’t no foolin’ this old coot,” he said with the smile of a Cheshire cat.

“Don’t know if I can do anything for ya’ at this point, things being the way they are. You may be stuck on this island till the Japs start waving a white flag.”

Schmitty stood thinking for a moment, his calculating mind digesting the situation and his options. The officer returned to his paperwork but Schmitty was determined not to walk away without some sort of a commitment. As he considered his options, he noticed the aroma of cigar smoke and saw a butt in an ashtray on the officer’s desk. The officer looked up and spoke. “Is there something else, Lieutenant?”

“Would a box of fine cigars make a difference, sir?”

“A difference in what?” the officer barked as he jumped up from his chair and looked Schmitty directly in the eye.

“In your day, sir,” Schmitty replied calmly seemingly defusing the officer’s angry demeanor.

“Why yes, it just might,” the officer replied politely, sitting down and leaning back in his chair.

“Thank you, sir,” Schmitty replied as he turned and left the office.

He returned an hour later with a box of Cuban cigars that had cost him a few weeks’ pay. “Sir, I thought you might enjoy these,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Mmmm,” the officer replied as he slid one under his nose enjoying the aroma of fine tobacco. “Thank you Lieutenant. That was right nice of you,” he said stoically. “While you were gone I was looking at my files a little closer. Sorry to say, I can’t get you off the island for months.” Schmitty stood with a blank look on his face.

“But…if you had a reason for someone to visit you out here, I may have a way to get them out here if they can get to San Diego.”

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“How would that be, sir?” Schmitty asked.

“On one of our hospital ships,” The officer replied. “I know some people and have accumulated some favors over the years, if you know what I mean.”

“I do, sir. I do,” Schmitty replied nervously.

“Check back with me tomorrow and I’ll see what I can do,” the officer replied as he lit up a cigar and leaned back in his chair to savor the aroma.

The following day Schmitty checked in with the officer about the possible passage of Maggie to the island. He didn’t want to appear too anxious for fear he would have to further incentivize the officer, but in reality he would do whatever it took to see her again.

“Well, I see you’re back,” the officer spoke. “Here’s the skinny.

There’s a hospital ship scheduled to leave San Diego for here in ten days. She could hitch a ride on it. She may have to act like a war correspondent or something but the ride out is easy. The ride back with all of the wounded is the not-so-fun leg of the trip. She may need to give the nurses a hand if they need it. Will that work?”

“Yes sir. That will be great. Thank you very much,” Schmitty replied eagerly.

“And you won’t have to burn up a leave, Lieutenant. A few days liberty is all you’ll need,” the officer noted with a nod of his head.

“Here’s the information she’ll need,” the officer replied handing Schmitty a piece of paper.

“Thank you again, sir,” Schmitty replied as they both saluted and he turned and left the office. Schmitty went directly to the command center office to send a telegram to Maggie with the particulars, and the clerk there was accommodating in getting the message out. Schmitty asked Maggie to acknowledge she could get to San Diego to board the hospital ship bound to Pearl. A few days later he received a return telegram from her.

BOB, CAN MAKE IT TO SAN DIEGO. LOOK FORWARD TO RENDEZVOUS WITH YOU. MAGGIE. STOP.

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The day came for Maggie to arrive and Schmitty waited anxiously at the harbor for her ship to dock. She waited on deck and once she saw him she waved and rushed down the gangplank into his arms. They kissed and held each other tightly then made their way down the dock with her luggage to a chorus of wolfwhistles from the sailors on the surrounding ships in port.

“These boys must all miss their girls,” Maggie giggled.

“No more than me,” replied Schmitty as he stopped and gave Maggie a kiss to quiet the audience of gawking sailors. They finally arrived at the end of the dock where they were able to hail a taxi cab for a ride to the hotel. Once there, they checked in and began their romantic rendezvous with enthusiasm.

Later that evening, they sat in a cozy restaurant on the water.

As the sun set, the view begged to be captured on an artist’s canvas.

“How was your trip out?” Schmitty said, breaking the silence.

“It was nice,” Maggie replied. “The staff and the crew were really friendly. I’m sure they’ll be busy on the return leg with all the sick and wounded they’ll be taking back. I didn’t know what to expect when I got here,” she added. “I know it’s a tropical paradise, but with the war and all…,” she paused while gazing at the view, “but it really fulfills its billing. It’s incredible.” She turned and looked at Schmitty who looked as nervous as he would be in an incoming bombing raid. On the table sat a small ring box. Maggie stared at it wide-eyed with a mixed look of both shock and happiness.

“It’s not much, I bought it here near the base,” Schmitty stammered nervously as she waited for him to pop the question.

He eventually opened the box and proposed, “Maggie, will you marry me?” he said solemnly.

“Yes, yes,” she blurted and jumped from her seat into his lap, to the surprise and entertainment of the others in the restaurant who applauded the newly engaged couple. He placed the ring on her finger and she admired it as much as if it had come from Tiffany’s. She stayed in his lap while the waiter approached with a bottle of champagne and cleared his throat to get their attention.

He popped the cork and poured each a glass. They toasted and the other patrons again applauded politely. When the waiter returned, Schmitty asked him about the champagne.

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“Oh, the dark-haired man at the bar in the corner ordered it.

I thought you knew him,” as he turned to point him out. “Oh, he must have slipped out. It seems he’s gone,” the waiter acknowledged.

“May I take your order?” he continued without hesitation. “Give us a minute,” Schmitty replied since Maggie still sat in his lap admiring the new ring on her finger.

“I wish George was here on base,” Schmitty commented “I told him the next time I had leave I was going to pop the question. I even asked him to be my best man.”

“So you assumed I’d say yes, did you?” she teased.

“Uh well, yes,” Schmitty replied sheepishly. “I guess I did,” he laughed. “I’d like to get married the next time I’m on furlough and can return to the states.” Maggie hesitated to respond.

Noting her hesitation Schmitty replied, “What?”

“I don’t want to wait!” she blurted. “Let’s get married now!”

“Now? You mean, right now?” Schmitty asked quizzically, wondering if he understood.

“Yes! Who knows when you’ll get another leave?” she reasoned.

“Don’t you want to make an honest woman of me?” she cooed, as she laid her head against his chest.

“What about our families?” he countered. “They’ll be upset that we eloped.”

“They’ll understand,” Maggie replied convincingly. Schmitty thought for a moment.

“Okay, let’s do it,” he exclaimed enthusiastically. “We can get a marriage license tomorrow and I can get the chaplain to perform the ceremony. I don’t believe it!” Schmitty let loose with upraised arms. “I’m getting married! I’m really getting married!” as the restaurant patrons chuckled at his announcement and again applauded politely as Maggie panned the patrons, smiling while holding up her hand to display her ring, to their delight.

The next morning the two proceeded to the magistrate’s office to get a marriage license. “There’s a three day waiting period,” the magistrate mentioned. Schmitty looked forlornly. “But there are exceptions that can be made under extreme circumstances,” he continued. Schmitty brightened. “And I suppose this may be one of them,” he ended as he fed a marriage license into his typewriter and 218

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began punching the keys. They then proceeded to the chaplain’s office and made arrangements to be married the following day.

“I need to see if George is back on base,” Schmitty said as he and Maggie walked back into the sunshine. “He’s to be my best man.”

He called command central and sure enough, the Anderson had arrived in port two days earlier. “What a coincidence,” Schmitty exclaimed. “You get to meet George on our wedding day.”

“How wonderful,” Maggie replied. “Oh, I need to get a dress!” she exclaimed. Schmitty drove her downtown to a dress shop and waited in the car while she picked out a gown. She received all of the clerks in the shop’s full attention when she told them of her urgent need and they fussed over her until everything was to her satisfaction. A few hours later she emerged from the shop with a dress box and jumped in the car where Schmitty was dozing.

A big smile spread across her face. “You can’t see my dress until tomorrow,” she giggled. “So we can’t stay together tonight,” she added. “It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”

“Okay,” Schmitty agreed begrudgingly as they headed back to the hotel. Schmitty then made contact with George to inform him of the wedding the next day.

“Holy smoke!” George howled. “It takes you forever to make up your mind on which pair of socks you’re going to wear and now you’re telling me you’re getting married tomorrow? Well, I’ll be,” he ended.

The following day, Saturday, the sun was brilliant in the sky and a perfect backdrop for an island wedding. Schmitty and George arrived at St. Joseph’s Chapel in Navy building 852 and Schmitty paced nervously in the sacristy area as Father Gorski, the chaplain, prepared for the Mass and ceremony.

“Schmitty You look as nervous as….”George began.

“Don’t start,” Schmitty cut him off. “It’s a big day for me. I can’t believe this has all happened the way it has. I’m glad you’re here with me for this though, George.”

“Me too, Schmitty. Luck would have it that the Anderson got back here when it did,” George replied.

The small chapel began to fill with the crew members of The Chief and their dates as well as others from Navy Command whom 219

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Schmitty reported to. Maggie was driven to the chapel by a nurse she had met on the hospital ship and who was serving as her Maid of Honor. The organist played a few hymns as the guests arrived and within a few minutes, Father Gorski motioned to George and Schmitty that it was time to begin. Both were donned in their white uniforms and waited at the foot of the main aisle as Maggie appeared at the back of the chapel. Schmitty looked over at George with a here we go look, who returned an approving smile.

As Maggie took a few steps down the aisle, Schmitty was once more overwhelmed with her beauty. She wore a full length white satin gown with a small veil adorned with native island flowers, and carried a matching bouquet. Her beauty transcended the modest surroundings – a fair complexioned Polynesian princess amongst her devoted. He had never seen, nor could imagine, a more beautiful bride and knowing she was making her way up the aisle to be his wife nearly choked him up as he reached for his handkerchief. George sensed Schmitty’s emotions and placed his hand on his shoulder to help calm him in preparation for this lifechanging moment. Maggie arrived at the foot of the aisle, smiled and took Schmitty’s hand as all nervousness drained from his body. He and the girl of his dreams were about to be wed. Father Gorski proceeded with the Mass and nuptials. All in attendance applauded the newly married couple as they were announced, Lieutenant and Mrs. Schmitz.

The wedding party and friends moved to the adjacent mess hall for a short reception after which many returned to their duty stations. Maggie and Schmitty returned to their hotel room where they celebrated their marriage privately. The next morning they lay quietly in bed together, replaying the events of the previous day in their minds while contemplating their future together.

“What is it you love about me?” Maggie asked directly. Schmitty looked over and smiled.

“One thing?” he asked.

“The most,” she replied anxiously.

“Your spirit,” he replied succinctly. “And you?”

“Your strength,” she replied. “You know what you want and you persist until you get it.”

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“Well, I may have gotten to the finish line, but I’m not quite sure how!” he laughed, and she with him as they snuggled before rising to begin their day.

Two days later it was time for Maggie to return to San Diego.

“I don’t want to leave,” she cried into Schmitty’s ear as they held each other closely on the dock. The ship sounded its final boarding alarm and they exchanged one last long kiss, again to a chorus of wolf-whistles and cheers from the other sailors observing their good-byes, before Maggie dashed up the gang plank and waved to him from the ship’s deck. “Good-bye. I love you,” she shouted over the din of revving engines, bells and whistles. She disappeared on deck as the ship slowly nudged from its moorings and navigated through the harbor on its return trip to San Diego filled with its cargo of sick and wounded sailors and soldiers. Schmitty waved goodbye to his new wife, yearning for their next time together.

He returned to his barracks to write home and tell them the good news.

“Father, I love your daughter, will you give her to me, that the small roots of her heart may entangle with mine, so that the strongest wind that blows shall never separate them. It is true that I love him only, whose heart is like the sweet juice that runs from the sugartree and is brother to the aspen leaf that always lives and shivers.

—Anonymous, Canadian

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23 “Even the lightning did us no harm, for whenever it came too close, mothers and grandmothers in every tipi put cedar leaves on the coals and their magic kept danger away. Bright days and dark days were both expressions of the Great Mystery, and the Indian reveled in being close to the Great Holiness.”

—Chief Luther Standing Bear, Teton Sioux Schmitty and George caught up later that day for a drink at their favorite bar.

“How’s it going, George? I didn’t have a chance to ask you about your time in the Aleutians near Alaska. See much action up there?”

“More than I thought we would,” replied George. “Those Japs are everywhere. Spent a lot of time on bombardments. We’ll be moving out again in a couple of days from what I hear. How are your recon missions been going?” he asked.

“Pretty much the same. Been to places in the South Pacific I didn’t know existed and couldn’t even find on a map until I had to fly there. I never thought reconnaissance would be so busy,” Schmitty replied.

“Still flying The Chief?” George asked.

“Yes, and it out performs all of the other planes in our fleet,” Schmitty replied. “Flies the fastest, and needs less maintenance than the others. It’s pretty amazing. Almost flies itself.”

“Sounds just like your Indian motorcycle,” George noted. “It’s like they’re on a higher order than everything else,” he noted as he signaled the bartender for two more.

“Both are remarkable,” Schmitty agreed. They spent another hour kibitzing about goings-on in the Navy and the war. Afterward, they departed and agreed to meet again as soon as their schedules 222

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allowed. “Keep on writing,” Schmitty urged. “I need to know what you’re up to.”

“Okay,” George replied as he headed out the door to be followed

by Schmitty a few minutes later.

Schmitty resumed his reconnaissance flights which had increased in number and duration as the war escalated with the Allied Forces gaining a foothold by reclaiming territories previously lost. Nowhere were the skies safe over the South Pacific.

In late November, George wrote Schmitty: Dear 2nd Lieutenant Schmitz, (there, I said it) Been down in Wellington, New Zealand, a very lovely place. The people were nice and treated us like royalty since we were off an American destroyer. We set a speed record to get here. Crossed the Equator, so I had to endure the summonsing to King Neptune’s Court for the appropriate hazing ceremonies everyone must endure the first time they cross. What really hurt was the sentence of the Royal Judge of King Neptune’s Court. They whacked off my crowning glory with a pair of tin snips and then gave me a shampoo with gray paint! I survived, but it took me days to get most of the paint out. Some will have to grow out. Have you been down here on recon?

Participated in the Battle of Tarawa. We hammered away at the Jap installations for 4 hours. Once our can got in so close the enemy machine gun fire was hitting all around us. Our job was to knock out 2 eight-inch guns and demolish the director control tower and then move in close to draw the fire of any other big guns which our Navy Intelligence might not have known about. We did the job good – maybe too good! We were just a few hundred yards off from the island in very shallow water when the Japs fired point blank at us with a big gun we didn’t know anything about. I can still hear that shot whizzing over us.

They must have been in a hurry in getting our range- cause that’s the only thing that saved us. It just took no time for our dive bombers to spot it and knock it out. Our Marines 223

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got the hell beat out of them but pushed on. I heard not one Marine from the first landing touched foot on the beach and only a few from the second landing made it. I’ll always remember the sound of the Marine machine gun fire and how the tracer bullets glanced off the Jap concrete pill boxes. The Marines didn’t last the night out. At day-break the war ships and dive bombers hit the island again. Every square foot of the place was shelled and bombed again. It seemed no living person could still be on the island. But they were! It took three days to finally take it. By the end of the three days the sea was dotted with the bodies of the Marines who never got as far as the beach.

They say the fighting on Tarawa was the fiercest the United States Marines have ever done. That’s why I tell you of the battle from the angle at which I saw it. I knew history was being made. What brave souls those Marines are. It’s hard to believe that two years ago I was driving trains at the steel mill. Most everyone out here has those stories though.

Doesn’t look like I’ll be back to Pearl for Thanksgiving.

Have to run. General quarters is sounding.

Your friend, George Schmitty and Maggie continued their near daily correspondence as well, but Schmitty would re-read the most recent letter on the days he didn’t receive a new one. Maggie told him she did likewise.

Not knowing when his next leave would be granted was difficult, but he knew war is war and plans can change on a moment’s notice.

He didn’t discount the possibility though, of showing up at the office of the officer in charge of furloughs with a box of fine cigars to help him enjoy his day.

He also wrote home occasionally to keep up on family matters.

His mother always wrote back with the latest news which mostly included the goings-on of his father and two brothers. Once she reported that the Indian, his prize motorcycle was once again resting comfortably in the garage, albeit in a crate, and was being guarded diligently by Sandy the family collie, as it always was.

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In early December the Anderson, with George on board, arrived at Pearl Harbor from its duties in New Zealand and Tarawa.

George and Schmitty met at their usual spot.

“So how was your Thanksgiving, George?” Schmitty greeted when they met. “Were you in New Zealand or Tarawa?”

“We were at Tarawa, either shooting, or getting shot at - doing our job,” George replied matter-of-factly.

“Here’s to us,” he toasted. “May we live to see the end of this miserable war, and get back to our normal boring lives in Latonia, Kentucky!!” he laughed again.

“Are you suffering from shellshock?” Schmitty joked.

“You mean you’re not returning home after the war?” George asked boldly.

“I hadn’t really thought about where I’ll be heading,” Schmitty replied. “I’m just focused on getting out of this war alive. Anyway, we’re here now to enjoy each other’s company, so here’s to us,” as he raised his bottle for yet another toast. They continued their conversation for another hour and after the dialogue waned, George spoke up.

“I don’t think I’ll be here for Christmas, buddy,” he commented.

“I hear we may be headed to San Diego. If we’re there at Christmas and I get some liberty, I may visit some family friends in the area. “ “Enjoy it stateside,” Schmitty encouraged. “Lord knows you deserve it for what you’ve been through.”

“Thanks, and Merry Christmas to you if I don’t see you then,” George replied.

“You too, George. Stay safe,” Schmitty said, as they broke up with each heading in the opposite direction.

At Christmas, a gift box arrived for Schmitty from Maggie. It included fruit, candy and assorted goods which were available in her general store in Sturgis, but in short supply on Oahu. It also included a letter which was the first item to get his attention when he opened the box.

Dearest Bob, It’s difficult to sit here in South Dakota writing this letter knowing you’re so far away in Hawaii and not with 225

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me here at Christmas. I pray next year we’ll be together but I know once we are, you’ll have to leave me and go back to the war. So I pray each night the war will end soon.

Momma is excited that we got married. She really liked you when you were here. Dad doesn’t say much about it but that may be because he only has one daughter and didn’t want to give her up so easily without someone asking for her hand.

Please be safe when you’re out flying over the ocean. I want you to come back to me.

Love, Maggie P.S. We hung a stocking for you on the mantle. It’s filled with my love.

The aroma of a drop of her perfume on the letter filled the box and he closed his eyes and remembered her last trip there when they got married. He knew he was entering a new phase in his life when he enlisted in the Navy but never dreamt it would include getting married, especially to a woman like her. ****** The Christmas and New Year’s holidays passed and life returned to normal on the base. In early February, The Chief flew out of Hickam on a routine surveillance flight accompanied by two F4F Wildcat fighters and the flight was longer than normal at nearly 800 miles round trip. As The Chief flew over miles of ocean, it suddenly came upon a Japanese flotilla heading west with an aircraft carrier and a number of escort ships.

“We need to boogie out of here!” Schmitty barked to Andy, his co-pilot, as he banked hard right as did the escort fighters. Below, they could see two Japanese Zeros had taken off from the carrier and were headed in their direction.

“Radio our position to high command, Ensign, and tell them what we’ve spotted,” Schmitty ordered Andy.

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“Aye, aye, sir,” he replied. A few minutes later the two Zeros were closing and flew in a manner that showed they intended to engage.

“Zeros at three o’clock!” Andy shouted through the plane’s interphone system. “Prepare for evasive maneuvers or to engage if necessary.”

The two Wildcats flew directly at the intruders and peeled off left and right in order to draw them away from The Chief. Schmitty immediately lowered The Chief ’s altitude in order to avoid engaging the Zeros against whom it had a significant disadvantage in maneuverability.

Immediately one of the Wildcats and a Zero became locked in a dogfight which after considerable intensity, resulted in both planes shooting each other down.

“I saw a ‘chute,” one of the men shouted indicating that the American pilot had parachuted out of his plane before it hit the water and exploded.

“We need to help the other guy with that Zero,” Schmitty said to Andy. If he gets our guy we’ll be hurtin’.

“What do you intend to do?” asked Andy.

“I’m going back up there. Gunners, be ready to engage,” he shouted into his microphone.

Schmitty flew up to the altitude where the fighter and the Zero were both maneuvering to gain position against the other. The Zero seemed to take particular notice of The Chief ’s re-appearance and altered his flying pattern to take a look as The Chief ’s waist and ball turret gunners opened fire on him. The Zero immediately went into a dive and roll with the Wildcat on its tail.

“That Jap’s got his hands full,” shouted Pete from the rear ball turret. But the Zero immediately looped around and opened fire on The Chief.

“Give him all we got,” shouted Schmitty, as the upper and lower gunners as well as the side waist gunners fired on it as it flew in and out of their range.

The Zero continued to focus its attention on The Chief and began pelting it with shots from its 50 caliber machine gun. It was like hail raining down with some of the bullets piercing The Chief ’s 227

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outer skin and ricocheting through the plane, sending the crew scampering for cover.

“Holy crap, that guy’s got some firepower,” one crewman shouted as Schmitty banked to the left to evade.

“Where the hell’s our guy!” Schmitty barked, just as the Wildcat reappeared on the Zero’s tail and opened fire. The Zero dove and turned and reappeared on The Chief ’s left wing, again pelting it with shots which were returned by The Chief ’s left side waist gunner.

“Our number 2 engine has been hit!” Andy shouted as it began streaming oil.

“Leave it on!” shouted Schmitty, “we need whatever power it’s still got!” as he banked to allow the Wildcat to maneuver back into position behind the Zero, which again looped below and bore down again on The Chief raining shots, which sent the crew again ducking for cover as the bullets pinged through the plane.

“Hold your positions,” Schmitty shouted through the intercom system. “That SOB can really fly and he definitely wants to knock us out!” The Wildcat reappeared on the Zero’s tail riddling it with shots from its machine gun. Again, the Zero dropped down and appeared below The Chief and opened fire which was returned by The Chief ’s lower gunner.

“Number 3’s been hit!” shouted Andy as the engine erupted in fire.

“Shut her down!” ordered Schmitty as he again took evasive action. The Zero, still fixated on The Chief but tiring of the fighter trailing him, began maneuvering over and around The Chief continuously firing while using dodging tactics whenever the Wildcat closed in.

“He keeps buzzing around us like a bee getting his stings in and he’s using us like a shield!” shouted Schmitty. “We can’t take many more shots!” As he spoke he spotted a cloud bank several thousand feet below just as the Zero was making another loop and circling around toward them.

“Andy, I’m going to roll us over and dive down through that cloudbank like we’re goners. He knows we’ve taken a lickin’ and he’s a good pilot, but he’s aggressive. I’m betting he won’t take a chance 228

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on us getting away and he’ll follow us down to see us splash! If he takes the bait, we’ll get him!”

“Captain, with one engine gone and the other limping along we don’t have enough power to pull out of a roll and a dive. We’ll drop like a stone!” shouted Andy.

“We don’t have a choice!” Schmitty shouted back. “He’s not going to give up even if it kills him!” He glanced at the two Joes’ medals hanging on the instrument panel, for courage, grabbed the microphone and spoke in a clear commanding voice. “Men, I’m going to roll us over and dive into that cloudbank below. I’m betting that Jap will think we’re done and follow us down our rabbit hole to see us splash and he’ll be all over our rear end if he does. Pete you’ll only have a few seconds to blast him before he gets off some kill shots. I can’t maneuver him off our tail in a dive. Make it count or we’re done!”

As the Zero closed, Schmitty spied a small opening in the cloud cover and shouted to the crew, “Hang on boys, here we go!” as he rolled The Chief over as if it was giving up its ghost and began the dive. As he did, the two medals flew from their perch and landed in his lap. He dove for the clouds and as they neared, Pete shouted, “He bought it. Oh baby, come to mama, you SOB!” as they bore through the opening in the cloud bank. When they emerged on the lower side, the Zero was right on their tail as they hoped and Pete blasted it with his machine gun and it exploded and dropped from the sky before it even had a chance to get off a shot. A rousing cheer broke out but the crew knew it wasn’t over yet.

“Oh God, we’re going to have to ditch!” one crewman shouted as the front and rear lower gunners scrambled out of their turrets since they couldn’t survive a splashdown. In the cockpit, Schmitty and Andy were pulling back on their steering control yokes with all their might to get The Chief, a giant condor fighting for its life, to level out to avoid crashing into the ocean.

“Come on, you warrior, pull up!” Schmitty shouted as the plane groaned and creaked under the stress of acceleration and the severe change in direction being asked of it.

“Holy Jesus,” one crewman shouted. “We’re going in!” Their altitude was so low the ocean spray was pelting their windshield.

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The Chief finally leveled out as the crew cheered, amidst sighs of relief.

“That was some piece of flying, captain!” Andy complimented, as Schmitty wiped his brow and acknowledged with a nod. “There may be a medal for you in this one,” he added.

Schmitty flew back up to the Wildcat which was circling the downed American pilot to relay coordinates to nearby ships who could pick him up. When he saw The Chief re-appear, the Wildcat’s pilot flew by as the two pilots saluted each other. The Chief limped back to Hickam Field on two engines and landed safely as the grounds crew ran out with fire equipment to douse any flames, if necessary.

“Holy Moses, look at you guys. You look like you’ve flown through a shooting gallery. You got a case of kewpie dolls in there or something?” the chief mechanic joked with bulging eyes.

“If we do, it’s full of bullet holes,” Schmitty replied matter-offactly as he headed toward command control to report the incident.

The next day Schmitty and his crew returned to more closely inspect the damage. The chief mechanic approached.

“You’re going to be grounded for a while. We need to rebuild the engines and you took a couple hundred or so direct hits. It’s amazing no one was hit. You guys are one lucky crew.”

“We’ve got a guardian angel,” Schmitty laughed.

“Well, if you do, he’s working overtime,” the mechanic replied as he shook his head and walked away.

Later that month George was back at Pearl and called Schmitty to get together. They met at their normal spot. When Schmitty arrived, George greeted him with a bottle of Budweiser. “How are you doing, stranger?” George greeted. “I heard you had quite some encounter with a couple of Zeros on one of your recon runs. Word is you flew like an ace. Nice job.”

“Thanks, I’m fine, but I heard you guys have had your hands full too,” Schmitty replied seriously. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, other than having the bajeebers scared out of me,” George replied. “We left San Diego after Christmas to escort the 4th Marine Division to Kwajalein in the Marshall Islands.”

“Yes, I know the place,” Schmitty replied. George continued.

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“We were designated to lead a diversionary strike at Wotje.

We were one of the lead destroyers and opened the firing for the bombardment and then maneuvered to avoid enemy fire. A shell hit our combat information center killing our commanding officer, two ensigns, three enlisted men, and wounding fourteen others.

What a mess it was. Our exec officer took over and we kept firing until we could maneuver seaward, and then of all things, to act as a submarine screen. Two days later while we were transferring our wounded to another ship we ran aground on an uncharted pinnacle. We had to sit there overnight not able to move. We were sitting ducks!” he exclaimed. “Near dawn, we spotted a Jap sub watching us through its periscope. We knew we were done because we couldn’t maneuver for protection and couldn’t get a torpedo shot off to protect ourselves. It was the most scared I ever was.

We knew we were going to get a couple torpedoes broadside from the sub. We all prayed to the Good Lord as hard as we could and I guess our prayers were answered because for no apparent reason the periscope went down and the sub turned and left without a shot.” Schmitty sat slack-jawed upon hearing George’s recounting of his own amazing story. “Then we had to get towed back here to Pearl,” George added. “I don’t know how long we’ll be here for repairs, but I hope it takes a while,” he laughed. “I need a break!”

“You do,” Schmitty agreed. “It sounds like someone is looking out for both of us up there,” as he pointed upwards.

“We’ll take all the help we can get,” George laughed and Schmitty joined in.

George remained at Pearl Harbor while the Anderson was being repaired which took a few months. He and Schmitty were able to see each other regularly, although they had to avoid the military police a few times because of the Navy’s non-fraternization rules.

They were able to take the motorcycle ride around the island which had been delayed for some time. It was like their long rides on the Indian and his Harley through northern Kentucky when they were carefree and foolish. Their simple lives had gotten so much more complicated from those days that even though they rode through a veritable paradise in Hawaii, the uncertainty of their future cast a certain pall over their jaunt. However, they both agreed to ride 231

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again when time and their schedules allowed because after all, it was each other’s company they enjoyed the most.

In mid-June, George sailed off on the Anderson to the southwest Pacific and Schmitty flew to the Marshall Islands on a reconnaissance mission. They both were in the heavy combat zones and when Schmitty would pray for his own safety, he always included a prayer for George on the Anderson which, more times than not, was drawing call fire from enemy shore batteries during Marine landings.

Schmitty completed his reconnaissance mission and returned to Pearl Harbor to learn he had been promoted from Second Lieutenant to First Lieutenant and also received a medal and commendation for his flying skills in a combat zone. He wrote Maggie to tell her the news: Dearest Maggie, I’ve been half-way around the world and haven’t been able to get a letter off to you. I hope you haven’t been worried that you haven’t heard from me much, but such is war. Anyway, I’ve been promoted to First Lieutenant and received a commendation which should probably go to my crew and maybe actually to The Chief. Anyway, now that we’re back in Pearl, I’m hoping to get some leave so I can get stateside to see you. Thanks for the package of goodies you sent me. I should be able to start writing you more regularly again. Maggie, I miss you so much I can hardly stand it, but as Dakotah the Indian said to me more than once, we must be patient.

Love, Bob

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Part IV “The Brave to the Maiden” “When you are beside me my heart sings; a branch it is, dancing before the Wind-spirit in the moon of strawberries. When you frown upon me, beloved, my heart grows dark…the shadows of clouds darken, then with your smiles comes the sun.”

—Anonymous Ojibway

24 The autumn of 1944 arrived and while the change of seasons wasn’t as apparent in Hawaii, the change in the climate of the war changed considerably in favor of the Allied Forces. Nevertheless, the fighting remained intense as the Allies pushed on to control key strategic positions and the Japanese fought hard to maintain theirs. Schmitty was hoping to be granted a furlough so he and Maggie could be together.

On November 29th the week after Thanksgiving, the Anderson arrived in port after having taken part in the Battle of Leyte Gulf, where the US Navy inflicted severe casualties on the Japanese naval forces, to such a degree, that the experts thought it could be a major turning point in the war. Schmitty and George met up at their regular haunt for a drink and some jovial conversation.

“George,” Schmitty greeted as he waved him over to their regular spot in the back of the bar. “How are you? I heard you boys were in another scrape out at Leyte Gulf. This is a major victory for us and who knows, may end the war sooner. Congratulations!”

“We took one in the chops, alright,” George replied. “We scored some hits on a number of planes and splashed one, but a Jap Oscar 233

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fighter crashed into our port side. We lost fourteen men and had twenty-two wounded. It was a sad day when we buried all those boys at sea. I told you I hate being on the burial detail. Now I do for sure.”

“Sorry you lost those lives,” Schmitty replied, in an attempt to console. “But they died for a good cause, you know.”

“It’s always called a good cause when it ain’t you doin’ the dyin’,” George mumbled. Schmitty could see that the war was taking its toll on George so he moved to change the subject.

“So how long will you be in Pearl?” Schmitty inquired.

“I think we’re heading to San Francisco for repairs soon,” George replied.

“Well that’s one of your favorite places. Take it easy while you’re there, buddy,” Schmitty encouraged.

“I guess that will depend on what the Navy plans for us while we’re there,” George replied matter-of-factly.

“I’m hoping to get leave soon to get stateside to visit Maggie,” Schmitty interjected eagerly.

“Well here’s to you and your bride,” George toasted as he raised his drink.

“And to my best man,” Schmitty replied, as he raised his bottle in George’s direction. They clinked the necks together to commemorate their toasts. A week later, the Anderson sailed for San Francisco and Schmitty received word he was being granted a two week leave beginning December 21st. He quickly wrote Maggie informing her of the news that he may be able to make it home to her by Christmas. He was also able to make plans to hitch a ride on a B-17 flying from Pearl to San Diego on December 21st, although he agreed to fly as co-pilot in order to secure the ride.

He arrived in San Diego in the early morning hours of December 22nd and headed to the Santa Fe station to purchase a ticket to Sturgis. Before his train left at 9:00 a.m. he called Maggie at the store.

“Hello, how may I help you?” Maggie answered politely.

“Hello darling, it’s me. I’m in San Diego and leaving in a few minutes to catch the train to get there to you, the love of my life,” Schmitty said emotionally.

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“Oh yeah, who is this?” Maggie replied seductively before breaking up in a laugh.

“You’re awful! Don’t be doing that to me,” Schmitty laughed with her.

“Well stop yapping on the phone and get on that train and get here to me, sailor,” she added with a giggle.

“The train whistle is blowing, I’ve got to go. I love you,” Schmitty replied. “I should be there on Christmas Eve,” he said, as he hung up and hustled to board the train. Once aboard, he collapsed into his seat not having slept for more than twenty-four hours since he left Pearl Harbor. Hours later he awoke feeling refreshed as the train chugged to the northeast moving closer to Sturgis with each passing mile. The vistas in the snow covered Sierra Nevada mountain range were breath-taking and the drastic change in scenery put Schmitty in the Christmas mood and brightened his spirits considerably, given both the season and his upcoming visit with his wife, Maggie.

He arrived at the Sturgis station early on Christmas Eve and caught a taxi to the Andriacco home on Dudley Street. He knocked on the door and waited for an answer. What a change in events, he thought while waiting. In his last time on this porch he stormed off confused about Maggie’s feelings for him and now he was there, married to her. Dakotah was right when he advised me to be patient and that everything happens for a reason. The door opened and Maggie leapt into his arms. Tears of joy flowed down her cheeks in rivers as they embraced not having seen each other in more than a year. She was still in her robe and nightgown and her body felt warm and tender as it melted into his.

“You’re here!” she murmured. “I can’t believe it. Momma, Bob is here!”

“Well don’t let him stand out there in the cold, girl. Let him in,” her mother cried out. Schmitty reached for his bag lying on the floor and entered the front room of the home. A Christmas tree glowed in the corner but other than that, it was pretty much the same as he remembered it, except his picture now rested in a place of honor on the piano previously occupied by Maggie’s former

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boyfriend, Alan, and alongside her brother, Tony, who was also away in the service. Mr. Andriacco entered the room.

“What’s all the commotion about?” he asked innocently knowing full well the reason. “Welcome, and Merry Christmas, Bob,” he greeted as they shook hands. “You look very handsome in your uniform,” he said admiringly.

“Thank you, sir” Schmitty replied modestly. “It’s so good to be here with you.”

“And with you, Son,” John replied.

“Let me show you to our room,” Maggie said anxiously. “I’m sure you want to freshen up from your long trip,” as Schmitty grabbed his bag and the two of them dashed up the steps to Maggie’s room and embraced as a young married couple would who had been separated for so long.

The Andriacco family gathered for their traditional Christmas Eve dinner before heading to Midnight Mass at Saint Francis Church. Schmitty called home to speak with his family to wish them Merry Christmas.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it home for Christmas, Dad. I’d love for you and Mom to be able to meet Maggie,” Schmitty said disappointedly.

“We are too, Son. I’m sure we’ll love her like she’s our own daughter. Merry Christmas and a happy new year,” he ended.

As he sat in church at Midnight Mass, Schmitty recalled his time in Sturgis over four years prior when he met Maggie. What a life-changing event it was when he wrecked on the Indian and stumbled into Maggie’s general store for help. It couldn’t have been planned any better the way it worked out. He remembered the Indian, Dakotah and his sage advice on life’s matters. I wonder where he is now? he thought. He also reflected on his exchanging vows with Maggie in Hawaii. When he had planned his original trip to Sturgis and Mt. Rushmore, he could never have anticipated how it would turn out. Sometimes you just have to expect the unexpected, he thought.

After Mass, as they left, Schmitty spotted Dakotah in a corner in the back of church. They made eye contact and Dakotah placed his fisted hand on his chest and bowed before disappearing in the 236

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shadows. Schmitty didn’t quite know the meaning of his gesture but was happy to have seen his friend who played such a critical role through his advice on his and Maggie being together. When they returned home, Maggie and Schmitty remained downstairs alone.

“Don’t stay up too late. Christmas Day is always a big one for us,” Mr. Andriacco urged as his bedroom door closed. Schmitty and Maggie enjoyed their time alone in the glow of the Christmas tree. Soon though, they headed upstairs to show their love for each other in the privacy of their room. What a lucky man he was.

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25 Schmitty woke early Christmas morning probably due more to his early military schedule than the normal excitement of the holiday. As Maggie slept, he lay in bed thinking of Christmases past with his family and George, and was grateful he was able to be with her for Christmas. He heard others stirring in the house so he proceeded downstairs and was greeted by Mrs. Andriacco who was preparing breakfast.

“Good morning, Bob,” she greeted. “Merry Christmas to you. I hope you slept well. You must have been very tired from your trip and staying up late last night.”

“I was ma’am, but it was a good tired,” he laughed.

The rest of the family soon rose and trickled downstairs, to begin their Christmas Day. When Maggie arrived she marched straight up to Schmitty and kissed him tenderly. The day proceeded as Christmases do with breakfast followed by a gift exchange with traditional treats and drinks. Visits from relatives all anxious to meet Schmitty filled the afternoon, followed by a Christmas dinner feast unlike any he had experienced since he left home. As the Christmas celebration drew to a close, one by one each family member made their way to their bedroom.

“Work day tomorrow,” John commented as he made his way up the stairs. “Don’t be late, Maggie.”

Maggie and Schmitty retired to their room, again enjoying their time alone. “You should come by the store tomorrow,” she said directly. “We could reminisce in the back storeroom about how we met there.”

“I like your thinking, but I’m happy reminiscing right here,” he laughed.

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After New Year’s, it was time for Schmitty to head to the station to catch his train back to San Diego where he was hitching a ride on a B-17 returning to Hickam Field at Pearl Harbor. As he packed, he and Maggie shared a few private moments in their room. Maggie cried as Schmitty sought to console her.

“Maggie, I’m hoping to be able to swing another leave sooner than before,” he said. “We may be able to meet up in six months or so. Besides, the war has definitely turned in our favor and may be over before we know it.” His comments had little effect in stemming her tears until he looked her in the eyes and said, “I love you more than you know. We’ll be together soon, I know it,” which slowed her sobs as they shared a kiss meant to withstand the test of time.

The couple gathered with Maggie’s family and they shared hugs and good-byes as Schmitty headed to the train station to begin his return trip. What a grand time it was being with Maggie, he thought as he fingered his wedding band as he waited for his train. Once on board he settled in for a nap. He had a long train ride ahead of him and a long flight from San Diego to Hawaii. He was tired, but again it was a good tired.

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26 “The Great Spirit is our father, but the earth is our mother.

She nourishes us, that which we put into the ground she returns to us, and healing plants she gives us likewise. If we are wounded, we go to our mother and seek to lay the wounded part against her, to be healed.”

—Big Thunder, Wabanakis Schmitty arrived in San Diego early on the 3rd and made his way out to the airfield.

“Lieutenant Schmitz reporting for duty, sir,” he greeted the officer in charge.

“You must be our co-pilot for the flight leaving at 1200 hours,” the officer acknowledged. “Did you enjoy your leave?” the officer added.

“Yes sir, with my wife,” Schmitty replied.

“Good for you. Let’s win this war so we can all do the same, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir,” Schmitty replied as he sat on a nearby sofa to wait the time before assisting the pilot with flight preparation. The flight was uneventful and they arrived at Hickam Field in eight hours.

Schmitty reported in on the fourth of January and was back in the boring routine of Navy life.

A few weeks later, the Anderson returned from San Francisco where it was undergoing repairs of the damages it incurred in the Leyte Gulf. George and Schmitty met up at their favorite spot.

As they sat catching up, two nurses approached and asked if they could join them.

“It’s okay with me,” George replied. “But he’s married,” pointing to Schmitty for emphasis.

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“Lots of people out here are married,” one replied. “We’ll take it easy on him,” she laughed as the two sat down on either side of George, and small talked. After an hour, George and Schmitty excused themselves and stood to leave.

“How long do you think you’ll be in port, George?” Schmitty asked.

“I don’t know. The way we’ve been kickin’ the Japs around, it seems high command wants to keep the pressure on,” George replied matter-of-factly. “We could shove off tomorrow for all I know.”

“Well, keep in touch,” Schmitty urged.

“I will,” George replied, as they shook hands and went their separate ways.

George was a bit prophetic as two days later the Anderson shoved off to perform picket patrol for ships moving to the battle fronts. Schmitty’s reconnaissance flights with The Chief increased in number. The military sensed it had the Japanese on the run and wanted to continuously hit them hard before they could reinforce their front lines. As usual, The Chief continued to out-perform everyone’s expectations and was earning a reputation in the Pacific theater. By mid-February the Anderson returned to Pearl Harbor and George and Schmitty again caught up at their favorite watering hole.

“How’s it going, George?” Schmitty greeted. “Glad to hear your ship hasn’t gotten into any more scrapes,” he teased.

“Maybe we’ve just been lucky or maybe we have some divine intervention or maybe the Navy realizes that ship has used up its nine lives. Who knows? Increasing the boredom factor at this point is fine with me,” George laughed.

“Here’s to boredom,” Schmitty raised his bottle to toast and George followed suit.

“How’s Maggie doing?” George asked.

“She’s fine. Just counting the days until she gets her man back,” Schmitty boasted.

“I hear ya’,” George replied.

“I’m a lucky man,” Schmitty replied with conviction. “Hey, I heard the Anderson will be pulling out in a few days,” Schmitty changed the subject.

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“It is?” George replied. “How do you know that?”

“Rank has its privileges,” Schmitty laughed, knowing that comment would get George’s gall. “You’re escorting a Marine Division to Midway. The Chief ’s undergoing maintenance, so my crew and I are hitching a ride on your boat to pick up a B-17 that’s been decommissioned. The new B-29s have replaced most of them so we volunteered to fly the old girl back to Pearl since we’re rated to fly ‘em.”

“Well, I’ll be. We’ll be on the high seas together. I can’t wait to see you hanging over a commode hoping to die so you’ll feel better,” laughed George.

“I’ve got my sea legs now,” replied Schmitty. “But I’d like to get you in a plane and do a barrel roll and watch you lose your lunch,” he laughed.

“Touche’,” George replied.

A few days later they were en route to Midway Island. It was more difficult for George and Schmitty to engage without appearing to be fraternizing but many of the enlisted men on board knew of their relationship from conversations with George so they helped cover for them when necessary. One night they met on the ship’s fantail under the cover of darkness where they were less likely to be noticed. The air was warm and the breeze refreshing compared to below decks. As they stared up at the one-eighth sliver of a moon, they struck up a conversation about their future.

“What do you think you’ll do after the war?” George asked.

“I don’t know,” Schmitty replied.

“Hard to imagine you haven’t thought about it, as careful and prepared as you are,” George challenged.

“I know. You’re right,” Schmitty agreed. “I’ve been so fixated on being with Maggie that I’ve overlooked it. I’m not sure if there’s a future for me as a commercial pilot or if I should go back to school to finish my engineering degree or what.”

“What do you think you’ll do?” Schmitty posed to George.

“My options aren’t as broad as yours,” George replied. “I suppose I’ll try to get my job back at the steel mill. Do you think you and Maggie will move to Kentucky?”

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about it so I couldn’t even hazard a guess what she’d say.” They sat quiet for a few minutes enjoying the breeze until George spoke again.

“Are you flying back immediately once we get to Midway?” he asked.

“Yes, we’ll probably spend the night and then leave in the morning,” Schmitty replied.

“I thought you pilots were sort of superstitious,” George said.

“I suppose we are,” Schmitty agreed. “I never fly The Chief without the two Joes’ medals hanging from the instrument panel, if that’s what you mean.”

“Then isn’t it bad luck to be flying this other plane?” George posed.

“George, we’re in a war zone. Each breath we take may be our last. We do what the Navy asks of us. Besides, we get credit for this mission so it gets our crew leave sooner, maybe in a month, which gets me back to Maggie sooner. I’ll be extra careful so you don’t have to worry about me,” he laughed. “Besides, we’re here on this earth to serve a purpose, but we don’t always know what it is,” he said.

“It’s starting to worry me that I’m the one with all the concerns,” George laughed.

“You’re right. That is a switch,” Schmitty agreed as they headed below decks for the night.

Two days later they arrived at Midway and Schmitty and his crew headed to the airfield to pick up the B-17 to fly back to Pearl.

A Mechanic’s Mate briefed Schmitty and his crew on the particulars of the plane since they hadn’t flown it before.

“She’s an old war horse,” he commented. “Been on plenty of bombing runs. Been shot up, patched up and shot up again. She’s a good bird, just being put out to pasture in favor of the new cats on the block, the B-29s. I was thinking I wouldn’t have to learn a new plane before this war was over, but you know what they say about thinkin’, especially if you ain’t used to it,” he laughed. “Oh, by the way, we hooked up an auxiliary fuel tank in case you hit bad weather or have to change course for some reason. You probably won’t need it though, since you’re not carrying a bomb load.”

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“Thank you,” Schmitty replied. “It sounds like you cared for her like our guys do our plane. We’ll treat her right – you have my word.” They shook hands and they boarded the plane to check it over themselves.

The sky was especially bright and inviting that morning as the plane lifted off at 0800 hours from Midway airfield headed due east to Hickam Field at Pearl Harbor. It was fully fueled for the 1,300mile flight which would take seven or so hours. As they prepared for takeoff, Schmitty addressed the crew through the plane’s interphone system.

“Men, stay alert. We’re flying in enemy territory and as always, they’re playing for keeps. We’ll have fighter escorts for a few hundred miles and then we’ll be on our own.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” a few were heard to reply to his directive. Pete, the feisty tailgunner shouted to the others.

“Bring ‘em on. I’ll shoot ‘em all down!” which brought a response from one of them, “Listen to you, tough guy. Getting back in one piece is all we care about.” The flight was uneventful and the fighter escorts peeled off and returned to Midway after it appeared the B-17 could go it alone. Air Control at Midway radioed there were no enemy planes in the air in their vicinity so they flew for a number of hours with no interruptions.

“You guys awake back there? Schmitty called once over the intercom.

“Aye, sir,” was the response. Schmitty and his co-pilot Andy discussed their plans for after the war. After a pause in their conversations Andy commented, “This old bird ain’t bad, but it sure ain’t The Chief, is she, captain?”

“No, she’s not, but she has led a hard life and most likely saved a lot of G.I.s lives, so it’s an honor to escort her to her retirement, don’t you think?”

“Yes, sir,” he replied. “Sir, did you just hear the communication from Hickam that there aren’t any planes in the air for 200 miles?”

“I did. We should have clear sailing on in. Let the crew know but tell them to stay on alert.”

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though, a Japanese Zero flew out of the sun overhead and strafed their plane as it raced by. It didn’t circle back but continued on its way.

“Where in the hell did he come from!” one crewman shouted, “And where’s he going?” another added as it did not engage.

“We’ve been hit!” a waist gunner yelled as the plane veered off course.

Two large caliber rounds had hit the cockpit, one piercing Schmitty’s seat. He slumped over unconscious as Andy struggled to gain control of the plane. A fire broke out in the cockpit where a bullet hit a fuel line from one of the auxiliary tanks.

“Fire, fire!” the navigator shouted as he retrieved a fire extinguisher and raced forward to douse the flames. An explosion then rocked the plane as the two engines on the right wing came to a halt. The plane began to stall. Andy continued to fight to gain control to no avail, as a senior member of the crew yelled, “We’re going down!”

“Mayday! Mayday!” the navigator barked into his radio to notify Air Command of their distress situation and to give their location. Several crew members raced forward to check on the captain and the co-pilot.

“He’s been hit and he’s burned,” Andy yelled. “Help me move him. We need to bail out!” The plane’s two other engines stopped turning, it groaned from the stress as if it had accepted its final destiny, rolled over and began its downward plunge toward the ocean. The crew quickly donned parachutes and life preservers and jumped out a side door one by one. Andy dragged the unconscious Schmitty over to the door after strapping a life vest and parachute on him, pushed him out and pulled the cord on the chute as another explosion ripped through the plane knocking him out the door. Their parachutes dotted the sky. The crew watched the plane hit the water, explode and disappear into its final resting place in the calm blue waters of the Pacific.

Things were eerily quiet as the men dropped into the water after shedding their parachutes. They began yelling to each other and started swimming in each other’s direction for fear they would drift apart in the ocean’s currents. Staying together would greatly enhance their chances of survival.

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“Anyone seen the captain and Andy?” they asked one another.

“We’ve got to find them. The captain’s hurt bad,” anguish showing in their voices. Soon they spotted Andy bobbing in the water holding onto Schmitty who was still unconscious and bleeding profusely from a wound in his back. They swam as a group toward them to help preserve Andy’s energy. One of the crewmen had jumped from the plane with a rubber raft and after getting it inflated, they hoisted Schmitty into it and tended to his wounds the best they could with whatever they had on them, and with a small first-aid kit they located in a pocket in the raft.

“Sir, you saved the captain,” one crewman stated the obvious to Andy.

“Not yet,” Andy replied, “We need to get fished out and get him to a hospital. He’s in a bad way.”

The men held onto a rope that circled the outside of the raft, which was taxed by their numbers, but nonetheless kept them together and afloat. They saw planes in the distance that were most likely searching near their crash location but the currents kept pushing them farther and farther from their point of impact. The men became agitated as they became fatigued and cursed their rescuers for their so far, ineffective results.

Schmitty moved in and out of consciousness by the hour and the men worried he wouldn’t make it through the night if they weren’t rescued soon. They had given him the small amount of morphine in the first aid kit but it was obvious he was still in great pain. Daylight turned to dusk and the men wondered if the rescuers had given up their search until morning since it wasn’t safe to have a ship shining search spotlights at night in enemy waters.

“I wish we had some flares to get their attention,” one complained.

“Or get the Japanese Navy’s attention?” Andy reminded them.

“Pick your poison.”

As night fell, one of the men felt an unusual bump against his leg.

“What the hell was that?” he exclaimed.

“Sharks!” another shouted as they could make out the silhouette of fins circling the small band of survivors.

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“I ain’t afraid of no sharks,” barked Pete, while waving a large knife he carried to use for self-defense, just as a shark jumped from the sea, grabbed his leg and pulled him under. It soon resurfaced with Pete in its jaws, who was screaming and stabbing as the shark disappeared again under the waves with its prey, never to be seen again.

“Oh, my God! We’re all goners,” one man cried out as the others called upon their God by praying together for their safety.

“The Good Lord already knows we’re in trouble boys!” Andy shouted. “We need to kick and make noise if we’re going to keep those sharks away. Make us look like some big beast they don’t want any part of.” The men obeyed and took turns through the night, kicking and shouting in hopes of warding off their feared predators, which was effective, as no one else was attacked.

Morning light brought new hope of rescue, but two of the crew began hallucinating as a result of fatigue and hypothermia, caused by the cold water. One of them had slipped off his life jacket during the night and it drifted away. The only thing keeping him afloat was his clinging to the raft, which was precarious at best.

“They must have drunk the saltwater. Bad news. We need to make sure they don’t do it again. We need to watch ‘em,” Andy ordered. The exhausted crew knew it was all they could do to barely fend for themselves but they were a close-knit group and would do the impossible to keep each other safe. Near mid-morning, the man who had removed his life vest, suffering from fatigue and hallucinations, released his grip from the raft and slipped beneath the water’s surface, unnoticed.

“Oh my God, Bill’s gone,” one of the crew shouted. “Oh Jesus, why’d he do that,” he cried. No one spoke while some sobbed.

A moment later a ship appeared on the horizon headed in their direction. While everyone’s spirits were buoyed by the sight of rescuers, it took a few minutes for them to begin shouting and waving for attention, as they mourned the loss of their two mates.

A destroyer pulled near the bobbing group and put a small boat in the water. Most of the crew had enough energy to scale the Jacob’s ladder to the ship’s deck, but a basket had to be lowered to pull Schmitty on board.

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“Is he alive?” the ship’s captain inquired.

“Barely, sir,” Andy replied as he saluted weakly, barely able to steady himself on the deck.

“Get him to the doctor,” the captain ordered. “What’s your count?” he asked.

“Eight, sir. Two lost,” replied Andy.

“Sorry,” the captain replied. “What happened to you boys, anyway?” he asked.

“We were shot down,” Andy replied.

“Really?” the captain inquired. “There aren’t any Jap carriers close enough to send out a Zero and none were showing on radar.

Strange. Anyway, you’re safe now and we’ll get you back to Pearl for treatment,” he assured. “Get some dry clothes and some hot food in your bellies. Well done, men,” as he saluted respectfully and they returned the homage.

Later that night the ship docked and the survivors were rushed to the base hospital with special attention given to Schmitty, given his life-threatening condition. His was a touch-and-go situation as he bounced in and out of consciousness throughout the night. The next few days would be critical to his recovery. ****** The Anderson remained at Midway for two days after escorting the Marine Division before it headed back to Pearl Harbor. When it arrived, George received notice to report to the Naval Torpedo Station in Newport, Rhode Island, for further torpedoman’s training. He was also being granted leave so he could go home before reporting to the Naval Station which would allow him to see his mother, his sister Clare and his young niece, Connie. He called to look up Schmitty, whom he assumed was on the island after flying back from Midway, but wasn’t able to make contact.

He headed to the Enlisted Man’s Club on base to have a drink with some of his shipmates. As he ordered, the bartender spoke to him.

“How’s your friend, Lieutenant Schmitz doing?” he asked.

“He should be back on the island waiting for maintenance on his plane to get completed,” George shrugged.

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The bartender said, “No, I mean how’s he doing after he got shot down. I heard they lost two men and he was hurt pretty bad.

Took a couple 50 cals through the cockpit. They say the plane caught fire, everybody bailed out and got fished out a day later, but Schmitz was hurt bad and burned.” George’s jaw dropped when he heard the news.

“You kidding me?” he replied before he tore through the door to head back to learn what he could of his friend’s condition. On the way he ran into the two nurses who had recently joined him and Schmitty for a drink at the bar on the other side of the island.

“George!” they shouted for him to stop. “We’re sorry about what happened to your buddy, Lieutenant Schmitz. We did all we could for him here. We’re praying he makes it.” Their comments served only to heighten George’s concern, as his mind attempted to digest the news.

“I need to see him. Where is he?” he asked frantically.

“We got him stabilized and put him on a hospital ship headed stateside to San Diego. They can do more for him there than we can here,” one replied. “Again, we’re sorry for what happened. He’s a nice fellow, and we know you were close.”

“Thank you,” George replied sadly, who turned and continued to race back to his ship in hopes of being granted permission to begin his leave so he could make his way to San Diego to be with Schmitty.

The Navy granted his request and he obtained passage on a ship bound for San Diego. He was anxious the entire four days it took to sail the distance. Was Schmitty still alive? he wondered.

George prayed for the survival and recovery of his life-long friend.

Why did he have to volunteer to fly that plane back from Midway?

Why? The ship arrived in San Diego but no one could disembark until the harbormaster had approved the proper paperwork. George waited anxiously on deck and dashed down the gangplank, with his seabag on his shoulder, when permission was granted. He called the base hospital to locate Schmitty, hoping he was still alive, and was transferred to the charge nurse on his floor. She relayed much of the same information to him he had learned before, but with a 249

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bit more details. Schmitty had suffered severe injuries; that one of the shells which hit the cockpit hit his seat and passed through part of his back, that he had suffered a head wound and been burned pretty badly on his arms and hands and was fighting infection as a result. George proceeded immediately to the hospital.

Maggie had just arrived, herself. She stood in the hall outside her husband’s room, trembling while trying to compose herself, unlike her normal headlong demeanor, not knowing what she would find once she entered. A nurse approached to inquire if she could be of assistance and after speaking for a few minutes, shook her head dejectedly, turned and walked away. Maggie steadied herself and slowly entered the room. She walked hesitantly to his bed and stood at its foot trying to process what lay before her.

Schmitty appeared to be asleep. She sat in a chair beside his bed and reached for a few of his fingers which were protruding from his bandaged hand. He woke when she touched him and while she could see that he was severely injured, she tried not to let it show in her expression. He smiled when he recognized her and she did likewise as she moved closer. He struggled to speak but hearing his voice buoyed her spirits, if only momentarily. She moved even closer to hear.

“I was having a dream, but it seemed real,” he spoke in a weak and labored voice. He paused. “I was on the Indian, but we were riding in the sky in the clouds or a fog and were traveling toward a bright light. Suddenly, we turned around and I woke up, and you were here.”

Maggie fought to hold back her tears. She stood, took his bandaged hand and held it against her stomach so he would know she carried his baby. Tears welled in his eyes. She sat down and continued to hold his hand to her. He rubbed his thumb across her face which comforted them both and whispered, “I love you.”

His movement stopped as he breathed his last breath.

She jumped up, grabbed his chest and cried, “Bobby, don’t leave us! Come back! Please come back! You’re the love of my life and we need you! Please baby, wake up! Wake up!” She buried her face in his motionless chest and sobbed hysterically.

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George had just made his way to the hospital and entered the room and realized Schmitty was gone. He staggered in shock, but gathered himself enough to move slowly toward Maggie and touch his hands to her shoulders.

She turned, glanced up at him and sobbed, “George, he’s gone,” nearly inaudibly as she choked with emotion. He stepped closer to his best friend’s lifeless body, trembling at the sight. He was so overcome with emotion himself that he could not speak. Maggie had just lost her husband and her baby’s father, and he his best friend since childhood. He looked down and realized his tears were bouncing off the back of her dress as she sat holding her husband’s lifeless hand. He felt as helpless as he had ever been in his life. He sat in a chair next to her, neither saying a word, each privately absorbing this horrific moment, knowing no words either could have said would salve the loss they shared.

The charge nurse entered the room to check Schmitty’s vital signs and after realizing he had passed away, said she’d have to go find a doctor. She pulled the sheet up over his head and commented they’d have to move his body soon for processing. The sense of finality of her comment caused Maggie to cry out and slump to the floor. George picked her up and carried her from the room. The pain of their loss was just beginning.

“Shadows are long and dark before me. I shall soon lie down to rise no more. While my spirit is with my body the smoke of my breath shall be towards the Sun for he knows all things and knows that I am still true to him.”

—Red Cloud, Oglala Sioux

251

Part V “What is life? It is the flashes of a firefly in the night.

It is the breath of a buffalo in the winter time. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.”

—Crowfoot, Blackfeet

27 “I give you this, one thought to keep, I am with you still, I do not sleep, I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow, I am the sunlight on the ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn rain, When you awaken in the morning’s hush, I am the swift uplifting rush, Of quiet birds in circled flight, I am the soft stars that shine at night, Do not think of me as gone-I am with you still, In each new dawn.”

—Native American Prayer The military is very honorable when caring for its dead.

Lieutenant Schmitz’s case was no exception. George received permission from the Navy to escort Schmitty’s remains home.

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fallen sailors and soldiers destined to be returned to their loved ones for burial.

Maggie accompanied George on the train bound for Cincinnati.

She had called home with the news and asked her mother to travel to Northern Kentucky for the funeral. Her father needed to remain in Sturgis to operate the family’s general store as it was already struggling through the war due to the prevailing shortage of goods to sell. She also had notified the Schmitzes of the loss of their son and after allowing them to absorb the shock of the news, asked them to begin making funeral arrangements in her absence.

The ride from California to Cincinnati seemed endless. During the day, George and Maggie kept each other company in a coach car often passing the time with George telling her stories about him and Schmitty growing up together in Latonia, with special emphasis on their time together in school as well as their summer escapades. They both laughed as he recounted each story. George also relayed the story about the Indian and Schmitty forging a special relationship with Mr. Donoghue whose own son was killed in France in the Great War. “You have wonderful memories of your life together, don’t you,” Maggie mused, which saddened George knowing now all he had were memories of his friend and their time together.

Maggie opened up about her and Schmitty’s relationship and their time together in Sturgis in the summer of 1940.

“You definitely had an effect on him,” George noted. “I know he loved you very much.” The story-telling with accompanying anecdotes had a soothing effect on both of them as they continued to struggle with their loss. The long train ride also gave them time to cope with their grief, knowing though that their healing wounds would be re-opened once they reached home for the funeral.

The train rolled into Cincinnati’s Union Terminal and was met there by the funeral director as well as the Schmitz family, and Mrs. Andriacco, who arrived earlier in the day from Sturgis. The sight of the coffin being carried from the train tore through their hearts as they clung to each other for consolation, the Schmitzes and Andriaccos unfortunately never having met before. George and Maggie tried to appear stoic under the circumstances but seeing 253

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their loved ones struggling in grief rekindled their own sorrowful feelings. The funeral director took away Schmitty’s remains as the family left to return to the Schmitz’s to prepare for the funeral.

Maggie and her mother left with the Schmitzes, and George made his way home.

“There you are, Son,” his mother greeted with a hug when he arrived. “I’m so sorry about Bob. I know how much he meant to you. You must be devastated. Sit down and tell me about it.” George retold the story which he wanted to forget about the mission to fly a decommissioned plane back from Midway and how it was shot down by a lone unaccounted for enemy plane. He gave her the Reader’s Digest version because it hurt him to recount it in greater detail. “I’m sure the Schmitz family is devastated by what happened,” she sympathized. “I know the whole community is.

Everybody is talking about it no matter where you go. It hurts us all.”

George went about unpacking and looked forward to seeing Clare and Connie, who unfortunately weren’t home. He lay down on his bed and looked about, happy to be back to familiar surroundings once again.

Maggie and her mother settled in with the Schmitzes who were as kind and accommodating as they could be in the circumstances.

At dinner they said special prayers for the repose of Bob’s soul. As they ate, Maggie spoke. “None of you have said anything, but you must have noticed I’m pregnant.” Mrs. Schmitz began to cry, but Ralph beamed at the news despite the pain he was feeling from the loss of his son.

“We wondered,” Mrs. Schmitz replied. “We’re so happy for you, but it feels almost surreal under the circumstances. Did Bob know?” she asked hesitatingly. Maggie cried as the question was posed.

“I told him just a moment before he passed away,” she sobbed.

“He cried when I told him.” They all began to sob, holding one another for comfort.

“The Good Lord has a plan for everything,” Ralph attempted to offer a consoling comment. “This has to be part of it.” In the aftermath of the news of Schmitty’s death, they spent much time 254

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praying together and seemed to know when to stop whatever they were doing and call on their Lord for guidance and courage.

Together they went about putting the finishing touches on the funeral arrangements. The visitation and wake would be at the Schmitz home, and the funeral at Holy Cross Church.

The next morning after a restless night, Mrs. Andriacco volunteered to do whatever shopping was needed since there would be a large gathering of well-wishers for the visitation and wake. She wanted to get out of the house and away from all the sadness, so Mrs. Schmitz asked her to go to the butcher shop to pick up some lunch meats. She walked to the shop near Ritte’s Corner and waited at the counter to order. An elderly man walked in and stood by, waiting his turn as well. He smiled and spoke.

“Hello there,” he began. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.

Are you new to the area?” he asked.

“No, I’m here for Bob Schmitz’s funeral. He was married to my daughter Maggie,” she replied.

“So sad. I’m sorry. I’m Jim Donoghue. I thought so much of Bob I gave him my son Joe’s Indian motorcycle. My son was spirited like Bob and I wanted him to ride the Indian like Joe did. It did me good to see how much he enjoyed it. It’s just awful he was killed. It shakes me up just thinking about it and reminds me of my Joe who was killed in the Great War. I’ll be at the funeral tomorrow myself.

So nice meeting you, ma’am. I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”

“Emma Andriacco, ” she replied.

“Nice meeting you, Emma. My condolences on your loss,” he said, as the butcher began taking and filling her order.

Emma returned to the Schmitz’s home and delivered her goods to Mrs. Schmitz. “Are you okay, Mom?” Maggie inquired. “You don’t look so good.”

“I’m okay, but I need some air. Come sit with me on the porch,” she requested. They went outside and sat on the swing, the same one Schmitty and his father used when they had their chats.

“Maggie, I never thought I’d have to tell you this. Actually, I don’t know quite how to tell you and now is an awful time to bring it up, but I must. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for what I’m about to say.” Her hands trembled as she spoke. “I was married before I met your father,” she began.

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“What?” Maggie interjected. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Let me finish, please,” her mother replied.

“I was married to Joe Donoghue. We met while he was in training in the Army at Fort Dodge. It was a whirlwind courtship and we were madly in love.” She paused to collect herself. “We married and shortly thereafter he was killed in the Great War in France. I was so heartbroken I just wanted to die myself.” She hesitated and took a deep breath and continued. “I was pregnant with you when he died.” She hesitated. “He is your father.” She stopped speaking.

“What are you saying, Mother? You mean Dad isn’t my true father? She hesitated as she absorbed the news. How could the two of you keep this from me for all these years?” she asked angrily. “I can’t believe it. I don’t know what to say,” as she buried her face in her hands and cried. The Schmitzes heard the commotion outside and Ralph wanted to go to the porch to inquire.

“Let them be,” Mrs. Schmitz intervened. “Don’t impose on their privacy. Everyone has to deal with their grief in their own way.”

Maggie raised her head and spoke. “Why are you bringing this up now Mother, when we’ve got so much to deal with? I’m pregnant, we’re burying my dear husband and I feel lost, and you lay this on me now? What are you thinking?” Emma hesitated before responding.

“Because I spoke with your grandfather, Joe’s father, Jim Donoghue, at the butcher shop this morning. We had never met, but now I’m afraid he knows who I am. He mentioned he was close to Bob and he’s coming to the funeral. He says he gave Bob the Indian motorcycle that was Joe’s.”

“Oh my God, Mother. You mean my real father was from here?

Where is he buried?”

“I don’t know,” Emma replied embarrassedly.

“You don’t know?” Maggie barked sarcastically. “How could you not know where your husband is buried?”

“I was devastated at the time. I think he was buried in France.

I received a letter from the War Department after the war about moving his remains, but by then you were a baby, I had met your father and we were getting married. He adopted you and I just 256

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wanted to put this part of my life behind me. I never dreamt it would ever come up again.” Maggie hesitated and thought through what she had just learned.

“Are you telling me that the motorcycle I rode to Mt. Rushmore with Bob when I was falling in love with him was my true father’s cycle?” Emma didn’t respond.

“Oh my God! Oh my God!” Maggie buried her hands in her face again and burst into tears. “I don’t even know what to think anymore,” as she rose from the swing and rushed into the house to her room and slammed the door. “I need to be alone!” Ralph saw their animated interchange and walked out onto the porch.

“Is everything okay, Emma? Maggie seems to be pretty upset.

Is there anything we can do?”

“She’s sorting through some things right now. This is hard for all of us,” she replied. “I hope we can get through it.”

“I understand,” Ralph replied. “We’re all of hardy stock and they say the Good Lord never gives us more than we can handle,” he said reassuringly.

“I hope you’re right, Ralph,” Emma replied, as she rose and walked into the house. ****** The following morning the inhabitants were busy but the mood somber in the Schmitz household as everyone was preparing for the visitation and wake. All of the arrangements were finalized as the family prepared for the agony they would soon endure. Maggie had not spoken to her mother since she was still reeling from the news about her true father. Not knowing what had transpired between them, the others just thought it was Maggie’s grief that was influencing her actions. No one dared to inquire.

Near three o’clock, the funeral director arrived in the hearse which carried Schmitty’s body. His coffin was draped with an American flag and an Honor Guard stood by to carry his remains into the house. A crowd had gathered outside to witness the handling. The Honor Guard, in full dress uniform complete with white gloves, was very deliberate and precise in its movements.

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George was present in his dress blue uniform and stood at attention at the curb as the guard performed their solemn rituals. When he entered the home following the casket, he comforted Maggie, who was happy to see him.

Soon, an endless stream of visitors arrived to pay their respects, filing slowly past the closed casket, some stopping to pray, while others offered their condolences to the family members. Most did not know Schmitty had married and were surprised, yet pleased to meet Maggie. She was very stoic and gracious to the mourners who continued to file through the home throughout the afternoon and into the evening.

After a few hours when the crowd lessened, George, overwhelmed with grief, exited through the kitchen door to the garage to be alone. On the way, he bummed a cigarette from one of his buddies, lit it and was sitting alone with his thoughts. He spied the Indian still resting in a shipping crate being guarded by Sandy, the family collie. He suddenly picked up a nearby crowbar, threw down the cigarette and in a fit of rage began to pummel the crate, which sent Sandy scampering for cover while chunks of wood and splinters flew about, many clinging to his uniform. Tears flowed down his cheeks as he screamed, “Damn it Schmitty! Why did you have to go and get yourself killed? You were always the cautious one. Why did you have to volunteer for that meaningless flight?

What am I going to do without you? What about your wife and baby? What about any of our plans together?”

He stopped swinging, sat down, picked up the remnants of the cigarette, took a few more drags and not being one to wallow in self-pity, again sat alone with his thoughts having vented his anger and grief. Miraculously, the Indian did not suffer a scratch as a result of his onslaught, although the crate lay in shambles.

After nearly four hours, the mourners dispersed and Maggie and Emma went to their rooms upstairs. Schmitty’s body remained as his friends intended to stay the night in a wake, while the Honor Guard left to return in the morning for the funeral. Emma attempted to comfort Maggie, who merely asked in response, “Was he here?”

“Yes,” Emma replied.

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“Why didn’t you introduce us?” Maggie asked agitatedly.

“Now was not the right time,” Emma replied somberly.

“When is the right time?” Maggie challenged. “You never wanted to pick a right time before.”

“I’m sorry,” Emma replied. “I’ll know when it’s the right time,” she said.

Maggie walked back downstairs and went outside through the kitchen to get some air. She saw a light on in the garage and walked in to investigate. There, George sat staring at the floor, seemingly lost in his thoughts.

“I didn’t know you were out here, George,” she spoke, which startled him. “You look like you’ve been working in a saw mill,” she joked half-heartedly. “Are you okay?” she asked as she attempted to brush the wood fragments from his uniform.

“I guess,” he replied. “How are you doing?”

“Holding up, I suppose,” she replied. She sat on the sawhorse in the doorway next to him, and they peered together at the crescent moon in the sky overhead.

“The last time I even noticed that sliver of a moon, Bob and I were sitting on the fantail of my ship as he and his crew was being transported to Midway for their last flight,” George commented.

“For some reason I was concerned, which is not like me. He told me not to worry, because flying that mission would get him home sooner to you. Sadly, it did.” His voice cracked and he stopped as she began to cry upon hearing his account and took his hand and held it for comfort while he put his arm around her shoulders to console her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” he pleaded.

“It’s okay,” Maggie replied. “I’ve got a lot on my mind. I found out yesterday from my mother that she was married before to a Joe Donoghue and that I’m his daughter.” George stared in disbelief when he heard her words.

“Oh my God, are you kidding me?!” he exclaimed. “Did I hear you right?”

“Yes,” she replied stoically. “I don’t know how I can ever forgive her. My life is in ruins, and now with a baby on the way……”

“Take a deep breath, Maggie. You’re going to get through all of this,” George encouraged. “You’re strong. I know that’s what Bob 259

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loved about you.” She cried again at the mere mention of Bob’s name. “You need your mother now more than ever. You must forgive her. I’m sure she had her reasons for keeping her secret from you all these years, but I know she never meant to hurt you,” he reasoned.

“Maybe you’re right,” she acknowledged, “But it’s still a bitter pill to swallow.” They sat without speaking for a few moments until George broke the silence.

“You have to admit we look like a couple of sorry sacks sitting out here moping, don’t you think,” as he tried to cheer her up with some self-deprecation.

“I suppose we do,” she replied meekly.

“And I’d bet my last nickel that Bob wouldn’t be too happy with us, either,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Let’s quit feeling sorry for ourselves, what do you say,” as he rose and took her hand to show her into the house. “It’s time to do what’s right!” They re-entered through the kitchen and Maggie strode into the living room where her husband’s body still laid, as his friends and family began the wake.

“Atten-hut,” one of them exclaimed as they all snapped to attention. “Officer’s wife on deck!” as they all saluted her in honor of Schmitty’s rank. She simply smiled to acknowledge their tribute and walked over to the coffin with a sad and forlorn expression on her face. She had already cried a thousand tears and could cry no more. She rubbed her hand across the star field on the flag as if to say, Good night, my love. Sweet dreams, before climbing the stairs to retire for the evening and prepare for the difficult day that lay ahead.

Schmitty’s friends were breaking out the drinks to be consumed through the night as they sat with the body of their buddy. George reached for a cold beer and asked “Where’s the church key?” as he looked for a bottle opener. Someone flipped him the opener and said, “What the hell happened to you?” noticing the wood fragments on his uniform. “You look like you’ve been chopping wood.” George looked down at his uniform but didn’t reply.

“Listen up guys. I’m going to ride the Indian in the funeral procession tomorrow,” he announced. “I think Schmitty would 260

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want me to. He loved that cycle and told me how much he wanted to ride it again. I need to ride it for him.” They let out a cheer but quickly hushed out of reverence in the circumstances.

The wake continued through the night as they always did. Stories about Schmitty, Holy Cross School, and practical jokes abounded.

“Hey George, remember the time you and Schmitty hid the frog in Sally’s desk overnight and in the morning when she opened the lid the frog jumped out on her chest and she let out a scream and peed her pants? I thought Sister Adelaide was going to wear out that yardstick on your rear ends,” one recounted. Everyone, including George laughed at the story and all the other ones that continued through the night and got better with each drink consumed.

George filled in everyone about his and Schmitty’s time together in the South Pacific to which everyone listened intently. The all-night banter helped to heal George’s psyche as he was able to enjoy the memories he shared with Schmitty through and since boyhood.

He was grateful for the mental boost to help him through the most difficult day of his young life, which was just beginning to dawn.

“May the stars carry your sadness away.

May the flowers fill your heart with beauty, May hope forever wipe away your tears, And above all may silence make you strong.”

—Chief Dan George

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28 “Day is done, gone the sun, From the lakes, from the hills, from the sky All is well, safely rest God is nigh.”

—Taps

At dawn, George left the wake to go home to freshen up and return for the funeral. While there, he spoke to his mother and sister, Clare, about his plans.

“Mother, I hate to run out on you but I’ll be leaving tomorrow for Rhode Island to the Navy Torpedo Station. I’d like to stay a few more days but I need to move on.”

“I understand,” his mother replied. “This all has been hard on you. I’m happy you were here to help lay Bob to rest.” She hugged him tightly to help ease his pain.

George left in a clean dress uniform to return to the Schmitz’s home. The Honor Guard had returned accompanied by American Legion volunteers, to transport Schmitty’s remains to Holy Cross Church for the funeral Mass. George headed to the garage to see if he could get the Indian running. He pulled it from what was left of the crate upon which he had exacted his rage of the previous evening, found a half-filled gas can and poured some in. He jumped on the kick-starter and it fired up right away, as always.

He revved the engine and knew it sounded and felt like a stallion wanting to break out of its corral and run in a field. He rode the bike out to the street and parked in front of the hearse which caused those waiting on the sidewalk to applaud in recognition of the symbolism of the Indian leading the procession. The sun poured from the sky as winter was finally loosening its grip and the 262

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long awaited fragrances of spring filled the air. The Honor Guard appeared at the door with the coffin followed by the family close behind led by Maggie, who stepped on the porch dressed in black and pulled back her veil to view the crowd which had gathered on the sidewalk. She looked about and made eye contact with George who sat proudly on the Indian. He raised his hand to acknowledge her and she nodded her approval of his leading the procession. The coffin was loaded into the hearse and the entourage slowly made its way to Holy Cross Church.

As the procession of mourners neared the Church, the bells pealed their dreadful toll which could be heard throughout the entire community. It signaled the beginning of the funeral ceremonies for their fallen hero and cast a pall of sorrow over the gathering congregation. George parked the Indian and stood at attention and saluted as the Honor Guard removed the coffin from the hearse with lockstep precision and slowly made way to the entrance of the church. No action could have been both more honorable, and yet so sorrowful for the fallen hero, as their handling of his remains. Sister Adelaide spied George standing at attention and observed the anguish in his face. She approached him slowly from behind and placed her hand on his shoulder in a comforting way. He turned and appeared to be happy to see her but did not speak and acknowledged her touch with a mere nod of his head.

“George, you’ve lived through some hard times,” she whispered from behind. “The Good Lord will help get you through this, if you let Him.” “Sister, I wish I could turn back the clock and Schmitty and I were showing up now to serve Mass,” he replied.

“I know,” she nodded. “George, life is a mystery. None of us has the answers. We must have faith.”

Father Fey, the Pastor, met the mourners in the church vestibule, blessed and prayed over the coffin before leading them down the main aisle. The Schmitzes and Maggie and her mother sat in the first pew and George and his mother and Clare in the pew behind. At the homily, Father Fey talked about how the Catholic faith teaches that at death you enter into the Kingdom of 263

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God. Near the end, he reminded everyone that their fate is in God’s hands and their belief in a higher power. He noted that acceptance is not always easy, that His reign is not of this earth but His power and glory can be seen in nature and in the actions of loved ones.

Finally, he said, “At times like this we wonder why God would take someone from us at such a young age when they had so much to live for. But He has a plan for all of us and only He knows what it is.

We have to have faith in Him.” George noted to himself that he and Schmitty had heard those words many times before at funerals but it wasn’t until now that he truly understood their meaning.

After Mass, the Honor Guard slowly returned the coffin to the hearse to begin the three-quarters of a mile trip to Mother of God Cemetery through the streets of Latonia, with George slowly leading the procession on the Indian. Since it was Saturday, many in the community lined the way to pay their respects to their hometown hero. As the procession entered the cemetery, it made its way slowly to section 13 for the burial as George rode the Indian right up to the grave. He heard a dog barking and saw it was Sandy, the Schmitz’s collie, who had escaped and run the entire distance to the cemetery. Breathing heavily, she stopped and sat next to the Indian as George disembarked and stood at attention.

The Honor Guard removed the still flag-draped coffin from the hearse with its normal honor and precision but now turned and marched in ceremonial quick-step in contrast to all of its previous slow, deliberate movements. They laid the coffin on a lowering stand above the grave as the mourners took their seats. Maggie bowed her head and wept quietly, her face covered by her black veil. Overcome with emotion, she took her mother’s hand and cradled it in hers. George tried his best to stand at attention but swayed at times with emotion. Father Fey said some final graveside prayers, and blessed the coffin as the Honor Guard and the local American Legion Post prepared for their twenty-one gun salute and the playing of Taps, that solemn melancholy trumpet tune that ends most military funerals. Following tradition, the Honor Guard ceremoniously folded the flag that draped the coffin and formally handed it to Maggie who cradled it against her chest. In response to his grief, George let his mind temporarily wander as he thought 264

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about the times he and Schmitty ran through this very cemetery as children playing catch, happy and carefree, never thinking this may be their final resting place.

Following the ceremony, many of the mourners moved away from the gravesite to allow the family some final, private moments.

Maggie rose bleary-eyed from her seat, still clutching the flag as her mother stood by to lend any needed support. She moved hesitatingly, leaned over and laid her gloved hand slowly on top of the casket as if regretting these final moments before her love was laid to rest. She moved it slowly along the contours of its lid, in a final good-bye movement, to help bring peace to both of their souls. An unusually warm, soothing breeze floated through the trees and enveloped the area, much as a lover’s arms would encircle his beloved. At that moment, she clutched her side as she felt her baby kick for the first time and Sandy dashed up and barked her familiar ‘hello’ greeting. Maggie then laid two yellow roses, her favorite, on the lid. She paused for one final lonely moment as her love, her cowboy, was now gone - and all that remained was her memories of him loving her and her loving him, and a baby to raise, without him.

As the mourners began to disperse, Emma spotted Jim Donoghue at a nearby grave. She stared intently, not knowing if he was visiting his late wife’s final resting place or his son Joe’s, Emma’s late husband. She gathered enough courage to approach with Maggie in tow.

“Is that him?” Maggie whispered to her mother.

“Yes,” Emma replied. As they drew near, Emma noticed the headstone had Joe Donoghue’s name engraved on it. She hesitated, herself now filled with emotion at having discovered her first love’s grave, but continued to press on to speak with Donoghue.

“Mr. Donoghue, I’m Emma,” she began, hoping to catch his attention. He turned to see who had spoken.

“I know,” he replied. “We met in the butcher shop yesterday.

I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

“No, I’m Joe’s Emma and this is your granddaughter, Maggie,” she said emphatically, choking with emotion. Donoghue, now himself overcome by the news, looked down at Joe’s grave and began to weep, his tears spotting the headstone.

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“Oh Joe, they’re here,” he whispered. “Pardon me, I’m an old man,” as he looked up apologizing for his display of emotion. “I’m so happy to finally meet you, but how could the Good Lord allow such a tragedy to happen? I prayed for years to be able to meet you, but not like this,” he sobbed. “I’m so sorry.” Maggie placed her hand on his shoulder to console him.

“Don’t blame yourself,” was all she could muster choking back her own tears. He looked at her lovingly as a grandfather would.

“You favor your father,” he said, as he dried his eyes. “He would have been so proud of what you have become. I can’t begin to tell you how much I thought of Bob. He was truly a fine man. I’ll miss him always,” as he reached forward to take her hand while she stepped forward to embrace him with a hug.

“Thank you,” was all she could manage to say.

“You know, if he hadn’t walked by my house that day and noticed Joe’s motorcycle sitting back in the garage under a tarp, we never would have met and I wouldn’t have been here today to meet you,” he observed. The group was silent for a moment reflecting on Donoghue’s words.

“Please let me know when your baby is born,” he broke the silence as he wiped his tears from his eyes with his handkerchief in a shaking hand. “God has blessed me today.”

“I will,” Maggie nodded. “I will,” as tears again welled in her eyes as she reached for her grandfather’s hand to show her commitment.

George stood nearby with the Indian and Sandy, observing Emma’s and Maggie’s interaction with Donoghue. Seeing Maggie kneel and touch her father’s gravestone underscored his own emotions as he knew well the story of Joe’s fate in the Great War. The exchange broke up after tearful embraces and George approached as Emma and Maggie walked toward the Schmitzes, who were waiting at their car.

“Maggie,” George began. “This is my worst day ever, and I know it’s yours too. I don’t have the words….” She stopped him mid-sentence.

“Say no more, George. I know you loved him and miss him, too.

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us for a luncheon at the house,” as she gazed curiously at the Indian at George’s side.

“Of course. I’ll see you there,” George replied as he climbed on the Indian and kick-started its engine as she turned to walk to the Schmitz’s car with Sandy.

“Do be careful, George,” she called back.

George started his ride to the Schmitz’s and decided to cruise through Latonia one final time in a tribute of sorts to Schmitty, but also to give himself time to clear his mind of the emotion of the day. He remembered Schmitty’s words when they rode together on the Anderson to Midway Island before Schmitty’s final flight, We’re here on earth to serve a purpose, but we don’t always know what it is.

He arrived at the Schmitzes and parked the Indian in the garage where he found Sandy waiting to begin her normal sentry duty. He wondered in passing what would happen to the Indian, given Schmitty’s passing, but knew it would just serve to remind him of the loss of his best friend. He visited with the Schmitzes and Maggie and other relatives, said his good-byes and left to walk home. When he arrived, he spoke briefly to his mother and proceeded to his room where he lay down to rest since he was exhausted from spending the night at the wake and the toll the emotion of the day had taken on him. As he stared at the ceiling, he desperately wished he would just fall asleep to later awake to find it was all just a bad dream.

“Do not grieve. Misfortune will happen to the wisest and best of men. Death will come, always out of season. It is the command of the Great Spirit, and all nations and people must obey. What is past and what cannot be prevented should not be grieved for.

Misfortunes do not flourish particularly in our lives – they grow everywhere.”

—Big Elk, Omaha Chief

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Epilogue “The Great Spirit, the Creator, has a plan for everyone, but we don’t always know its meaning or purpose, we must believe. With acceptance, comes peace —Dakotah, Lakota Tribe 1965 Young Charlie Hoffman was driving his 1957 Chevrolet down East Southern Avenue when the engine suddenly sputtered and stopped. He continually cranked on the engine until his battery began to wear down but it still wouldn’t start. He popped the hood and checked a few things and decided to let the car sit and walk the few blocks home to get some tools. As he began his trek, he saw an elderly gentleman cleaning out a garage. He recognized him from church and spoke.

“Hello Mr. Schmitz. Doing some spring cleaning?” as he politely walked into the yard to greet him.

“Yes, I am. I’ve accumulated too much junk over the years and it’s time to get rid of it,” he replied. “Are you having some car trouble? I saw you pop your hood.”

“Yes. It stalled and it won’t start. It may just be flooded. It’s got a new Holley carburetor and it may be running too rich. I’m on my way home to get some tools. Say, is that an old motorcycle sitting in the back, there?” Charlie asked. Mr. Schmitz turned and looked in the garage and replied.

“Oh yes, it’s a 1915 Indian that was my son, Bob’s. It was very special to him, and it was already twenty-five years old when he got it. Now it’s fifty years old, I suppose.”

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“Wow. Look at it. It looks brand-new,” Charlie exclaimed. “Has it been restored? Why is your son letting it sit here in your garage?” he asked.

“He was killed in World War II. He was a pilot and got shot down in the Pacific,” Schmitz replied. “It’s been sitting here in the garage ever since.”

“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t know,” Charlie replied meekly. “That’s a sad story. I suppose the bike belongs to his wife then? I can understand why she hasn’t done anything with it. Too many sad memories.”

“I never really thought about who owns it,” Schmitz mused.

“It’s just always been here. His wife was from South Dakota and he met her on a trip there before the war. They were married while he was in the Navy,” speaking slowly as if he was recalling it for his own benefit. “We hadn’t met her because they had eloped in Hawaii where he was stationed, and didn’t know she was pregnant until she came here for his funeral. Come to find out the Indian belonged to her father, Joe Donoghue, from here, whom she never knew, who was killed in World War I. In the end, we lost our son but gained a daughter and a granddaughter. They visit us each year and we try to get out to South Dakota, where they live, when we can. In the end, it all probably started when my son found the Indian.”

“Jeez, that’s some story,” Charlie replied. “Does it still run?”

“I doubt it,” Schmitz replied. “It’s been sitting in the garage since the funeral. I’d move it out occasionally to sweep behind it but I never started it up.”

“Can I look at it?” Charlie inquired.

“Sure, I need to move it out to sweep anyway,” Schmitz replied.

They rolled it out into the daylight and Charlie was even more impressed with its condition.

“Wow. Do you think we could try to start it up?” he asked.

“Sure, why not?” Schmitz agreed. “Let me get some gas.” He poured some in the tank and said, “Give her a crank.” Charlie opened the choke, jumped on the starter and it turned over and started.

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“Oh my God,” Schmitz exclaimed. “I don’t believe it.” It ran for a few minutes and Schmitz shouted over the hum of the engine, “Shut it off,” as tears formed in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t heard that thing run in forever and that sound brings back too many sad memories. I remember the day my son brought it home. He was so excited. Said he always felt a certain connection to it. I think part of him is still in that bike.” About that time Mrs. Schmitz walked outside to inquire what the ruckus was all about.

“We just started the Indian up and I can’t believe it ran. Purred like a kitten,” Schmitz replied.

“When are you going to do something with that bike, Ralph?

It’s not doing anybody any good just sitting there in the garage Bobby wouldn’t want it to just sit there forever,” she commented before returning to the house.

“Do you want to get rid of it?” Charlie asked.

“She’s right. I suppose we should do something worthwhile with it. Someone should get some good out of it.” Schmitz agreed.

“None of my other sons want it. They’ve got Bob’s old Harley but no one wants the Indian. Maybe they thought it was bad luck. I don’t know,” he shrugged.

“Would you sell it to me?” Charlie asked.

“I wouldn’t feel right selling it, but I would give it to you if you would give it a good home,” Schmitz replied. “What would you do with it?”

“It doesn’t look like it needs much work. I’d probably go over it and tow it to motorcycle rallies and display it. It sure would draw attention with all original parts and paint and all. It’s a classic and it’s got some real history,” Charlie replied admiringly.

“You’ve said all I need to hear,” Schmitz replied. “It’s yours if you want it.”

“Great. Thank you!” Charlie exclaimed. “I need to get my Chevy running and go get a trailer to tow it home.”

“Speaking of your Chevy, let’s take a look it,” Schmitz urged, looking out toward the curb. They walked out and Schmitz spoke.

“Crank it up and let me hear it.” Charlie jumped in and turned the key and it started. He raced the engine a few times and hopped out beaming.

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“Sounds okay to me,” Schmitz laughed.

“I guess it was just flooded,” Charlie replied.

“Maybe,” Ralph nodded.

“I’ll go home and get a trailer and be back,” Charlie replied excitedly.

“Okay, I’ll be here,” Ralph replied. Charlie returned a half-hour later with a trailer hitched to his car. Ralph helped him load and secure the Indian and soon Charlie was ready to leave.

“I can’t thank you enough, sir,” he acknowledged as he vigorously shook Ralph’s hand. “You won’t regret this, I promise.”

“Just give her a good home and we’ll be satisfied,” Ralph replied with a smile as Charlie pulled out of the driveway with the Indian in tow. Later at his home Charlie’s father arrived and inquired about the bike.

“Where’d you get that old Indian sitting on the trailer?” he asked. “It’s a beaut.”

“Old man Schmitz over on East Southern gave it to me. He says it belonged to his son who was killed in World War II. It was originally owned by a man who was killed in World War I. It’s a sad story,” as he went on to recount it with as much detail as he recalled.

“I know Schmitz and that he lost a son in the War but I never knew the story,” his father replied. “I guess it’s not something you would want to repeat time after time. Anyway, what are you going to do with it?”

“Well, you and I both know I’m probably either going to be drafted into the Army or enlist in the Marines, what with this thing in Viet Nam getting heated up. But before I do, I’d like to do something special with it. Maybe take it to some motorcycle rallies and show it off. It needs to be doing somebody some good. I hear that one in Sturgis is the grandfather of them all. What do you think?” Charlie asked.

“Sounds like a good idea. You always seem to know the right thing to do. I don’t see what harm could come of it,” his father replied agreeably. “And you never know where your actions may lead you.”

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“From the heart of the Creator grows the bounty, From darkness – light, From confusion – understanding, From anger – peace, From fear – courage, From despair – hope.”

—Dakotah, Lakota Tribe

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Sensational story of two young men approaching adulthood in the wake of the Great Depression and the challenges of the oncoming WWII. George and Schmitty encounter an old man with an antique motorcycle which seems to invoke the spirit of its previous owner—a soldier killed in WWI. Schmitty plans a cross-country trip to Sturgis and Mt. Rushmore to ponder his future, which brings unexpected results. With his and George’s futures weighing in the balance, they both make life-changing decisions which they will carry with them for the remainder of their days.

“Action, mystery and romance, The Indian has something for everyone. Barry Kienzle’s attention to detail is sure to impress even the most persnickety reader. A captivating story from start to finish.”

—ROBERT ZAPP, President (retired), The Bank of Kentucky “As the winds of World War II began to swirl, twenty year old Schmitty hopped on a 1915 Indian Big Twin motorcycle in 1940 and set out alone in search of his destiny. Kienzle takes readers along on this fly-by-the-seat-of–his-pants journey that leads Schmitty through the brave pasts of other men to his own future; a future defined by adventure, love and true courage in an era marked by uncommon valor. Kienzle’s extraordinary ability to perfectly capture the lives and times of ordinary Americans during the 1940s will make this story a favorite among readers who remember those days and will serve as a primer for those who have yet to discover them.”

—KAREN KUHLMAN, Northern Kentucky columnist Runner Up Great Southeast Book Festival Runner Up Great Northwest Book Festival Runner Up New England Book Festival Honorable Mention Paris, Los Angeles, and New York Honorable Mention Great Midwest Book Festivals

Barry Kienzle

Barry Kienzle, Kentucky native, author of the award-winning novel, The Crossings, won eight national and international awards including the Grand Prize at the Great Southeast Book Festival, Mom’s Choice Award and a Literary Classics Book Award Seal of Approval. The Indian, is its sequel and furthers the story of his father, George and his friend, Schmitty as they approach adulthood on the eve of World War II. Barry’s devotion to his community led him to serve on many boards over time including The Bank of Kentucky, Habitat for Humanity, senior citizens groups, and other not-for-profit organizations. He currently serves as President of the Northern Kentucky University Foundation and on the Advisory Board of BB&T.

Barry Kienzle