Soldier Hill — Chapter 5
Coming of age fiction honoring sacrifice
5.
Eddie decided to burn up Saturday afternoon at the Valley Public Library. Research time. Eddie grew anxious to dig in and find the truth about this Billy guy. Facts darting around like a pack of hornets whenever he pressed people for info. Problem was, the info he sought remained scarce and the people he asked weren’t too useful. What tree? Billy who? What are you talking about, kid?
Eddie wouldn’t say the burnouts tossed these smoke bombs, but the town seemed a bit stoned when it came to Billy and his tree. More concerned about the next Vietnam than the one already fought.
Everything in Eddie’s merry old Mayberry was “nuclear” and “holocaust”. Besides “computers”, the other buzzwords of the day. Would we blow the place up, or would the Rooskies push the button first? World War III had walked up to the batter's box. The warheads were steaming, and Eddie was out and about hugging trees.
Eddie locked his bicycle in the bike rack and entered the library. So far the stories scrambled. Billy grew up in Maple Valley and moved to Maple Park, said some lady on his paper route. Another one claimed he dropped out of high school. Somebody thought he transferred to Maple Tech to learn a trade. The only thing that jibed, he went to Vietnam and never came back.
As soon as Eddie sailed the front desk, he spotted Miss Brainiac, Fay McKinley. She sat alone at one of the large tables. Those big jobs seating six to eight always filled up with kids on the eve of finals.
Not Faywitch. She hogged it all up. Her books fanned out like trays in a bake sale. Look at me, I’m so smart. The bookworm gig on steroids. Her brown buggers, hemmed in by nerd-shop frames, peaked out at Eddie over the history volume. Eddie’s mug piqued Fay’s curiosity as she turned up the radar.
“It’s Saturday,” Fay said as Eddie reached her table. To her, Eddie’s appearance in a library on a Saturday is a foul connection from a time machine.
“I know what day it is,” Eddie told her.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. What’s it to you, googly eyes?
“This doesn’t make sense,” she said, stewing things up as if sent by Looney Steve Rooney to plant a grenade. Eddie caught Fay studying his motorcycle jacket.
“Research,” Eddie said.
“On what?” She asked, primping her oversized Hollywood specs. I need these glasses because I’m so smart and perceptive. Besides, they back up the brainiac image. Don’t you agree, dahling?
“You’re not goin’ to believe this Fay,” Eddie answered.
“Try me,” Fay said.
“Since I’m really interested in computers, I’ve decided that I’m going to become a better student. Actually, I’m going to improve my study skills so much that I get into college prep next year.” How do you like those peppers, Queen of Mean?
Fay fed her monster mind the info and busted right through Eddie’s fib. Up here, on Mount Olympus, we have a much different view on things…
“It’ll never happen, Eddie,” she said.
“We’ll see about that,” Eddie told her. Being better at stuff involves not givin’ a hoot what people like Fay said or thought. Something Pop-Pop told Eddie the night before he passed away.
“You’re not college material,” Fay said. Space is black, the moon changes shape, and Eddie is a born-to-fail chump. Everybody gets that one, except Eddie.
Eddie started by thumbing through the card catalogue, a behemoth piece of unique furniture. It stood on all fours, looking like a small bandstand. The library’s entire inventory on index cards. Each drawer had hundreds of them. One for each book in the whole place.
The idea was to pull the drawer and flick your fingers through the decks of cards. Since everything was numerical, Eddie had to find the right digits before he could start. Eddie was forced to wing it because of what’s-her-face.
Eddie pulled another file, digging for the Vietnam stuff. History, Current Affairs, Social Sciences? Come on, man, we gotta get movin’ here. Everybody’s watchin’.
“Do you need any help?” one of the librarians asked Eddie.
“Oh no, thank you,” Eddie said, keeping his eyes glued to the index cards.
Eddie knew Fay heard the feedback and caught her looking over. Eddie finally found the Vietnam books. Just in time before he looked like a fool in front of Fay. You’re not the only hot dog on the grill, Fay baby.
Eddie broke for the Vietnam stuff, tracing the books and numbers. There really wasn’t a whole lot to choose from. Eddie picked out the ones he thought would interest him. He found a small desk, roosted, and got busy with it.
Eddie even forgot about Fay. He inspected the entire section, careful not to miss anything. Eddie began to pull stuff from the shelves and jot down notes. Eddie discovered things he’d never heard or knew of. Great acts of heroism and sacrifice.
Eddie began reading a story about a pilot who was shot down and had to parachute from the crash. He landed in a village behind enemy lines, where he was captured and shuttled off to a prison called the Hanoi Hilton.
Eddie heard of that place before but didn’t know too much about it. There were prisons that were worse off, and that’s where this pilot ended up. Six years in captivity, bouncing from one hellhole to the next.
Eddie uncovered all kinds of torture, deprivation, and disease. The stuff these guys went through wasn’t much different from the movies they swiped from Charlie’s video store, or Dave’s dad’s Korean War stories. Boy, did he have those? He talked about The Rack and other battles called the Devil’s Shit Pipe. Nights so cold, they couldn’t light campfires that would blow their cover.
The material pushed Eddie on. He lost track of time, place, and most of all, Fay McKinley. Eddie dove is so deep that Fay already hightailed off before he noticed she’d even left the library. When Eddie had gone through everything he could find, he hit the main deck.
“Can I help you?” the librarian asked.
“I’m doing research on local guys that were killed in the Vietnam War. Is there a list somewhere in the library? Old newspapers, maybe?” Eddie asked.
“All the old newspapers have been moved to microfiche files. You may find what you’re looking for there.”
Eddie moved to the microfiche area. The stations, with large monitors, resembled fancy arcade games. The fiche cards looked like film negatives but were blue.
The library closes early on Saturday, and Eddie sensed the clock breaking down. And he refused to stop. Eddie still didn’t have a last name or year of death. The library had a stack of older phone books, but still short the last name, he couldn’t look up an address. Eddie had learned a lot about Vietnam but nothing more about Billy. As much as he enjoyed it, this flying ace wasn’t used to this altitude.
The shades outside tinted darker, telling Eddie this game was pretty much over. Eddie grew flustered, not knowing where to go from here or how to take things.
Done with his little history adventure, Eddie felt Billy slipping off and away. Maybe it was for the better, and none of Eddie’s business in the first place. The librarian hung up the phone and called out to the zombie at the fiche station.
“I need to let you know the library will be closing in fifteen minutes.”
“I understand. Thank you,” Eddie said while mopping up the microfiche table.
Eddie placed the blue negatives back in their slots, picked up his journal, and reached for his motorcycle jacket.
Crashed and burned, Eddie felt like such a loser. Yeah, he tried and big wubba deal. Once the library shut down, Eddie had this really bad feeling the whole thing would be over. That he’d never find out the truth about Billy and his real identity.
Eddie passed the librarian on the way out, and she stopped him as he skirted the front desk.
“I think I might have some information for you,” she said. Too tanked to answer, Eddie managed to light up. “I spoke to my husband. He knows the names of some local fellas that died in Vietnam. I’ll get the names. If you want to come back on Monday, I could help you with it.”
“That’d be great. Thanks a lot,” Eddie said.
Out riding their bikes, Dave and Eddie reached the VFW hall and pulled in. The place was so packed, cars decided to wedge around the slots and hedges. The boys mazed through the rows of parked cars just to reach the rear entrance.
Dave’s dad pointed the snout of his pickup against the wall and right by the door. Not one to ride out the action, Dave’s dad had been there to help with the set-up. Known to drink all day and through the night at parties like this.
Since it was a busy night, Dave had to check things out, and see if it was cool to bring Eddie in. Dave was a part of this. Eddie wasn’t. Before deserting Eddie and his mom, the old man even ditched Uncle Sam. MPs went to bag his ass in Daytona Beach and haul him back to the stockade at Fort Dix. And this was during peacetime.
Eddie waited while Dave slipped into the hall. In his wake, the door slammed open. A couple of older guys in two-pointed blue caps and jingling medallions waltzed out in a group hug. They stumbled past Eddie, singing an old Navy song. Anchors Aweigh. Eddie watched them zigzag the lot right behind a row of parked cars. That’s when Dave reemerged, all bummed out.
“I gotta go,” Dave said.
Dave lifted his Huffy bicycle and placed it in the bed of the pickup truck. Eddie hopped on his bicycle and pedalled off as Dave went back into the hall. Eddie pictured Dave’s dad blowing his stack over Dave asking if Eddie could stay. Dave’s old man had a habit of getting pissed off and raising his voice.
Eddie didn’t feel like going home either. Instead, Eddie found himself in a patch of small woods. It was the grove of trees behind the high school baseball field. Eddie hung out beneath the scoreboard scoping the hall.
A few minutes passed before the door swung open again. This time it was Dave with his dad. Pops looked smashed to hell. The old man hung onto Dave as he guided him towards their pickup truck. He wasn’t jollied up like the sailors, moving more like a zombie.
Dave pushed his father into the cab of the pickup. He buckled his Pops in all right but in the passenger side. He strapped his dad in with the care you see a parent snapping up a toddler. Dave then wiggled in behind the pickup’s steering wheel.
Eddie watched and listened as Dave turned the ignition key and fired up the truck. Eddie still couldn’t believe his eyes, even when the truck rolled backwards. Dave cut the wheel, pressed the gas, and seconds later had her in the street. Who’s writing this script?
Eddie edged himself up the crest, still dumbfounded and amazed. Eddie watched as they approached and passed. Dave cruised along, while his dad’s boozed-up head pressed against the glass of the sidekick door.
Nobody spotted them. Yet. Eddie ran his bicycle from the grove to get a fast start, hopped aboard his banana seat, and pedalled after the pickup truck. It was one thing to drive young and one notch over an empty parking lot. The Boulevard’s a lively street with real traffic!
Eddie continued as fast as he could. Dave’s taillights rambled Maple Boulevard, steady and straight. No fuzz to interfere with Dave’s getaway and have a hoot. Instead, Dave remained in control, pinning the speed limit of twenty-five. The cops around here don’t care if you’re a cabbie or Rocco’s delivery wagons. Eddie had no idea how the police would respond to this call.
Dave started to ditch Eddie and he pedalled faster, but the kid and his bike didn’t have the horsepower tonight. He watched Dave zip by Rocco’s Pizza and vanish down the slope. Eddie caught a second wind and started to pedal harder. His thighs started to burn before going numb.
Dave put on his signal and the pickup turned the corner. He made it all right. Dave and his family lived two houses in. Eddie knew as close as they were, he had to break off. As exciting as this episode was, the back story remained dark, private, and personal.
Eddie kept quiet about it the next morning when the boys met with the shopping carts. They pushed the cages up the hill to a one-car garage attached to a split-level house. Mr Gordon managed the paperboys and used his garage as a depot and staging area for the Hudson Chronicle.
The boys loaded the Sundays into the wells and left for their routes. After a few weeks, they owned the hang of one another’s course, picking out all the right houses. Eddie and Dave would dash the streets, racing up and down the walks as the garbage men do.
Eddie wondered if Dave knew he caught the midnight show. Eddie was dying to ask Dave about it. What was it like, driving for real? Dave leap-frogged their whole class, and part of the juniors as well. Dave had flirted with one of life’s secret passages, if only for ten minutes. Dave finally came clean, as Eddie gleaned he hadn’t pressed Dave to give it up.
“In most families, the alcohol drives people apart. In our house, it keeps us together,” Dave said. To Eddie, it was all about climbing the crazy horse and sticking it to the man. To Dave, much deeper. Fragile, and part of things.
“Do me a favour, Eddie,” Dave said.
“Of course. You know that, pal. Whatever.”
“Don’t tell anybody what happened last night.”
“I won’t,” Eddie told him.
On Monday, Eddie smoked through his paper route and raced for the library. It’s cool stuff when a grownup keeps their word. Molly got right into things, leading Eddie back to the fiche portals. He sat down as Molly hit the power switch. She placed one of the blue sheets on the plate, feeding it into the machine.
“I found a few guys and separated them for you,” Molly said while pointing towards the fanned-out spread. She helped with the rest of the setup, and once Eddie settled in and looked like he could do it on his own, Molly went back to the front desk.
The photo of a Navy guy filled the screen. For some reason, Eddie thought Billy was Army or Marines. When Eddie read the name, he knew it wasn’t his guy, but read his story anyway. Eddie went through the list and read them all. When Eddie finally reached cleanup time, he was down to the last few.
The portrait of an Army man crowded the fiche’s large, square screen. William Logan. Eddie knew Billy was short for William, but his guy lived in Maple Valley. This Billy came from Maple Park. Close, but no snow cone. Eddie still read William’s story.
William was killed in Pleiku during a fierce firefight. An ambush, the article reported. He was a paratrooper in the armed infantry. William’s story unfolded. He’d enlisted in the Army and was killed around Easter Sunday, along the Ho Chi Minh Trail. Eddie might have had the wrong soldier but not the date. He died on this very day.
The young man wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps. His dad was a decorated soldier who had fought in World War II and was a paratrooper under General Eisenhower. The article didn’t mention any family members, other names, or the streets they lived on.
William had also graduated from Maple Tech, the local vocational high school. A lot of people looked down their noses at the kids from Tech. They weren’t college material either but were doing something about it. Learning trades in order to find honest work. Something the Becker’s of the world, no matter how book-smart they might be, would never get. William studied auto mechanics with dreams of staying in the service to fix fighter jets.
Eddie put William’s negative back in the pile and viewed the rest. There were no more Williams or any Billys left in the deck. No fallen soldiers from Maple Valley to connect these fuzzy lines. Eddie felt as if he had been showered with cold water. The whole adventure telling him his Billy dream had reached the end of the line. Eddie left the library more confused than he did on Saturday.