The Old Man

It was January 20^th. “Ask not what your country can do for you-ask what you can do for your country.” The radio at Sissy’s was blaring. I had just turned eighteen. I had just buried my mother. And, I had just ordered another beer.

I was definitely not in the mood for the drunk who parked himself in the stool next to mine. He was an older man. Not an old man; in his forties. His hair was dark but for the gray at his temples. It looked like he had not shaved in days. The stubble on his face was salt and pepper, more salt than pepper. His clothes looked slept in. I watched him in the mirror behind the bar.

The bartender knew him well enough to put a drink in front him. He drank a beer with a whiskey shot. I was beginning to think the man was trying to kill himself, slowly. He then turned to me. He called me Benny. I told him my name was Jamie. That’s right Benny. I decided it was easier to be Benny.

He bought us each another drink and began telling me why he’s been looking for me.

“Did you listen to Kennedy’s speech. Imagine, an Irish Catholic in office. Never thought I would see the day. Benny, do you remember back in ’41 when the Japs hit Pearl Harbor? Ha! Of course you do, what am I saying. Who doesn’t? I went and enlisted the very next day. We were going to save the world Benny; we were going to save the world. Well, we did, didn’t we? I was in Germany then deployed to the Pacific. What those frauleins wouldn’t do for a pair of stockings and a candy bar. Don’t get me wrong. Most of those girls were just plain scared, looking for comfort; same as us.

“I saw my share of battle. I was wounded at Midway. I got clipped in the shoulder. That was when the Japs took me. I don’t like to think about that too much. I spent most of my time thinking of her.

Do you remember her Benny? Oh my, but she was a looker. The most beautiful woman I ever met; would ever meet for that matter. I’m not sure what she saw in me. I was a gawky kid. Too tall, very clumsy and not a clue what I was doing. We made love the night before I left. I asked her to marry me. She said no, she would wait for me. We wrote every day. Well she did. I tried but when you are living in a foxhole, you don’t have the room to write. Once I was taken as a POW, I never heard from her again. She probably thought I didn’t care because I never wrote. But I thought of her all the time.

After the war and my release, I tried to find her. I dated here and there. I tried to forget her. I couldn’t, she was always on my mind. I never did marry. I felt like it would be like cheating on her. I’m telling you Benny, if I could talk to Lorena just one more time.”

He stopped, wiped a tear from his eye and ordered another drink. I asked him what his name was, he told me it was Bart, short for Bartholomew. I asked him again for the girl’s name. Lorena, Lorena Spooner.

I stared at him. It was my turn to wipe a tear from my eye. I told him I knew Lorena, she never married. She spoke of him fondly every day of my life. I told him I was sorry but she was buried just today.

And then I called him Dad.