Soldier Hill — Chapter 8

Coming of age fiction honoring sacrifice

8.

Eddie and Dave split the park that night, never looking back. By far, the big heist and that magical night would be their greatest hit of high school.

Something the boys never talked about or logged into the special memories section of the senior yearbook. It remained their secret. A mission that had to be done. Just like Pop-Pop in North Africa, Joe at Normandy, and Dave’s dad at the Inchon Landing and the Chosin Reservoir.

As high school carried on, something else happened. Mystical and moving, the boys continued to grow. As if the energy from Billy’s tree sparked the boys to shed those rebel stripes and strive to become better students and people.

They didn’t completely sell out but decided to ditch some slacker habits. Instead of skipping homework to skateboard through empty swimming pools, the boys would meet at the library to hit the books and study. Reports, assignments, and extra credit revealed themselves as opportunities rather than a bunch of chores.

It took Eddie more time, and by senior year, he joined Dave in college prep. By then, Eddie and Dave had also been accepted into the computer lab. In fact, the boys excelled in that curriculum, racing to the top tiers of all their mainframe classes.

By the time the boys were graduating high school, they had traveled quite a bit of ground. Not only had computers become a forte, but college had also crept into the horizon. No longer a mirage, Eddie and Dave had applied and been accepted to major universities to continue their computer studies.

Meanwhile, like a shattered bone, Billy’s tree continued to heal. By graduation, that squirt of nature looked like it might have a shot or two after all. Eddie figured the derelicts to swipe the tablet and chuck it in the lake for yucks. It didn’t matter. As long as the tree had a puncher’s chance, the boys knew the tree could survive and Billy’s memory preserved.

Years later, the park where the boys planted Billy’s tree hit the fritz. A decrepit, ratty, and rundown place, looking like the landscape in a wasteland movie. Besides that, the park became a war zone, overrun by druggies, muggers, and the mosaic of riff-raff terrorizing residents.

An exhausted police force had enough, and the mayor shut her down. High walls were put in place like a fortress bracing for an attack. Billy’s tree remained on the slope, as Keep Off The Property signs stormed the park.

Maple Valley found itself on the fiscal bubble, beached by corrupt politicos, funky favors, and shady deals. Cooked books hid money trails, as an ex-mayor and councilwoman resigned and fled to Florida. The bills washed up, as the borough struggled to fight off the credit unions.

The experts huddled and decided on better ideas for the park and property. All kinds of rumors began to swirl, as land developers stepped in, providing offers and blueprints. The pitched ideas for condos, an office park, and strip malls began to take shape.

After a series of builders went belly-up, more ventures came and went, sending the park into further decay. By now, it looked beyond salvation.

Board meetings and debates pressed on, while picket lines festered. Each side hunkered down, refusing to give in. Save The Park banners on one corner, Sell The Park posters across the street. Both sides ready to duke it out and settle this situation the old-fashioned way.

Each week the scene swelled, as more protesters filtered in. Heated words launched a few fistfights before a street-clearing brawl dispatched the police. Before the next town hall meeting, the council members feared a rumble.

Strike gear and water cannons rolled in to pacify the hooligans, or else. News vans full of reporters and video crews camped out to record the fisticuffs.

As everyone waited for the fireworks, backroom deals were struck. The pleas to the governor and state legislature were realized, and brand new funds washed ashore. The lineup of contractors with their bright ideas and designs was sent packing. The townies were told to quit agitating and find another cause. After winning a special election, the incoming board promised renovations and a safe place for the dogs to piss.

Once the new staff settled in, they fired up the program. First off, the lake was drained and remodeled. The slope with Billy’s memorial on deck for major changes as well. Rumor had it, every tree on the hill would be removed and discarded.

The park reopened, and by now, grown men with kids of their own, Eddie and Dave had to go. Fearing the worst, they entered. Gone were the jerks who used to pick-pocket, pedal dope, and loot the hot dog vendors.

Assorted crowds and patches of people fanned about the place. Joggers shared the path with people walking, as mothers pushed toddlers. Family cookouts, kids running around. Soccer leagues and full-court basketball games. Eddie and Dave began to feel like the men from a Twilight Zone episode returned from a time voyage.

The guys reached the lake area that was just as busy. No longer clogged with surface slime and resembling a dirty sink. Instead, fishing poles pulled perch, bass, and trout, from the stocked pond.

Eddie and Dave reached the high curve of the path where Moose chased them down years ago. Another tree stood in the same spot where Eddie and Dave had planted Billy’s. There were others behind it, spread out in a formation. At the base of the slope, a mahogany sign: Welcome to SOLDIER HILL.

Eddie and Dave climbed the slope, and once they scaled the hill, dead-on, they stopped. At that point, they realized this wasn’t a new or different tree. It was Billy’s, all right.

Those windshield wiper stems had exploded. In their place, thick, long pipes sprouting great leaves. Billy’s tree looked like a big green rocket, ready to blast off through the clouds. It branched and blossomed, dwarfing that payload the boys snatched outside the high school. No way a forklift could move or snatch this beast. Billy’s tree looked set for life. Exactly what Eddie dreamed of, so many years ago.

A stone tablet rested at the base of the tree, and Eddie stepped up to read it. A portrait of Billy, all nineteen years of him, etched in granite. The same image from the library’s microfiche and the one in the bedroom he left behind.

William “Billy” Logan Maple Valley, NJ Served Our Beloved Country Valiantly Vietnam

Stone slates peppered Soldier Hill. Surrounding Billy, other trees devoted to lost soldiers and sailors, each one planted by loved ones. Soldier Hill became a sanctuary honoring sacrifice, cradled in a grove of nature.

Park benches fanned the area. Bouquets and miniature flags sprouted about the tablets. All for local boys who perished in World War II, Korea, and Vietnam. Young Maple Valley men who never made it back. Manly faces sporting boyish grins surrounded Eddie and Dave. They wandered through the rest of Soldier Hill, pausing to read the other tablets as well.

A sailor who sacrificed at Guadalcanal, and others who died at Iwo Jima and Normandy. Eddie wondered if Dave’s father knew the guys from Korea. One of them fell at the Chosin Reservoir.

The town dug in, making no bones about the sacrifice and memory of their townspeople. Whenever a family came over to plant a tree, there’d be a news van and reporters. The cable crews to shoot a segment for the prime time news hour, and full-page write-ups and portraits in the Hudson Chronicle, which grew up to be a big boy daily.

Dave’s younger brother Jeffrey bragged about the caper, pushing their dad to carry the collection basket. The barflies at the VFW and American Legion kicked in for the granite tablet, and the whole ride snowballed from there.

Eddie couldn’t wait to tell Joe about this one. He’d never let Joe know that he and Dave had moved the tree. That part of the mission would remain classified and follow the boys the rest of the way. The End