Wings, Women and War

WINGS

WOMEN

&

WAR

BENJAMIN F. GUILES, Col. USAF [RET]

Trafford

on-demand publishing service

Victoria, BC Canada

© Copyright 2003 Benjamin F. Guiles. All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

The Author wishes to thank his wife Audrey B. for her intrepid assistance as critic and counselor and his daughter Pamela L. for permitting us to enjoy her charms on the otherwise rather grim front cover.

National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data

Guiles, Benjamin F. (Benjamin Franklin), 1921-

Wings, women & war / Benjamin F. Guiles.

ISBN 1-4120-0923-5

I. Title. II. Title: Wings, women and war.

PS3607.U496W55 2003         813’.6         C2 003-90412 8-X

__________________________________________

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CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter I

The Innocent

Chapter II

The Challenge

Chapter III

The Decision

Chapter IV

The Breakaway

Chapter V

Thearmy

Chapter V

Fighters To Bombers

Chapter VII

Build Up

Chapter VIII

Flying The B-29

Chapter IX

Kansas

Chapter X

The Crew

Chapter XI

The First Mission

Chapter XII

Hornet’s Nest

Chapter XIII

High Altitude

Chapter XIV

A New Command

Chapter XV

The Raid

Chapter XVI

Maximum Effort

Chapter XVII

Total Commitment

Chapter XVIII

R&R

Chapter XIX

Final Blows

Chapter XV

Going Home

Chapter XXI

Starting Over

Chapter XXII

Consequences

Chapter XXIII

New Challenges

Chapter XXIV

Adjustments

Chapter XXV

Women

Chapter XXVI

Temptation

Chapter XXVII

Miscarriage

Chapter XXVIII

Agnes’ Decision

Chapter XXIX

Berlin

Chapter XXX

Tension

Chapter XXXI

Luftbruken

Chapter XXXII

The Good Life

Chapter XXXIII

Weather

Chapter XXXIV

Back To Kansas

Chapter XXXV

A New War

Chapter XXXVI

Truce

Combat Mission Briefing Packets

Epilogue

The Author

Dedicated

to

The valiant men of the combat crews of the 73rd Very Heavy Bombardment Wing B-29s Saipan, Mariannas Is. November 1944-September 1945. They went alone in airplanes still full of mysteries. They flew into the vast primitive reaches of the

Pacific Ocean,

without intelligence of enemy forces

without reliable weather forecasts

without aids to navigation

without a place to land,

without enough fuel,

without a reserve force behind them

and

without reasonable hope of rescue.

With nothing but faith in themselves, their crew mates

and God

They attacked the last mighty stronghold of the Axis;

The Empire of Japan.

And stubbornly sustained that attack until the slow build-up of Forces could be accomplished.

One Literary Review

Wings, Women and War is a sweeping historical novel about a sensitive youth who is tempered into a man through the crucible of war. Young Dan Glezen has traveled from the remote Adirondack Mountains to study music in New York City. He is taken under the auspices of a number of people who are committed to nurture his budding career as a lyric tenor. While this country boy is consumed in his demanding schedule of studying, rehearsing and performing, all around him the terrible reality of war is looming. Soon Dan will cast aside his musical aspirations to take to the air in the service of his country. Dan leaves school and enlists in the army shortly after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. Yet what Dan might have lost by leaving his music behind has been well-sacrificed when he discovers the exhilaration of flying. However, with the joy of piloting his own plane comes the onus of leadership, which Dan learns to accept through his deeply ingrained sense of duty and integrity. Dan and his loyal flight crew are deployed to the Pacific theater, where they fly the B-29 Superfortress against the Japanese Empire until the final surrender in 1945. By now we are more than halfway through the narrative of Wings, Women and War and there is a crucial aspect of Dan’s character yet to be mentioned. The ingenuous and earnest young Dan is thoroughly irresistible to women. Giselle, the beautiful waitress who will meet a tragic end in Brooklyn; Reb, the intellectual and sensitive schoolmate; Estelle, the older seductress who initiates Dan to the pleasures of physical love; Leilani, the fiery young Hawaiian girl Dan meets during an R and R leave; the two friends Madeline and Patricia who welcome him home from the war; and Gretchen; a survivor of the battle of Berlin. All these women become inextricably involved in Dan’s life and each one will leave an indelible imprint on his heart—but it will be the headstrong and intelligent lawyer, Agnes, daughter of a wealthy Washington, D. C. power broker, who earns Dan’s love and enduring commitment. At the end of the war Dan at last settles down with Agnes, but the life of contentment he has dreamed of does not come easily. Dan enters into a heated conflict with his influential father-in-law. After Dan toys with the idea of entering the political arena, he instead rededicates his life to the Air Force. Which action infuriates his father-in-law who, in revenge, manages to have him sent to Berlin, unaccompanied by Agnes, just as the blockade is commencing. Through judicious use of his skills as an instrument pilot, air traffic controller and engineer (and some luck) he avoids being kidnapped by the East German underground and successfully manages Templeh of terminal until the blockade is lifted. After a brief peaceful respite in Training Command he is called back to SAC headquarters when the Korean conflict erupts. Duty takes him to Okinawa where he flies his last mission in a B-29. By the end of the Korean War, Dan is a Colonel and finally ready to be a husband and father.

Author Benjamin F. Guiles has created a complex and winning hero in Dan Glezen. The fast paced and engaging story moves briskly along and Mr. Guiles writes with steady assurance as he takes us from rehearsal halls in Manhattan, to the chaotic skies over the Pacific battlegrounds, the lushly romantic Hawaiian Islands, the rarefied parlors of the Washington Elite, and the turmoil of Berlin. In every one of these environments there are alluring, multidimensional, vibrantly portrayed women. Wings, Women and War is an engrossing historical novel rich in romance and adventure.

PROLOGUE

Was it by chance or was it Providential that for the ten years preceding the beginning of World War II, the United States was subjected to the most devastating social upheaval since the Civil War? The character of the people was being burnished in the crucible of the Great Depression, the withering drought and the dust storms of the Midwest, the unemployment lines in cities on both coasts, and the tensions of the distant wars that rumbled just over the horizons, in Europe and Asia.

As they progressed through their teenage years, the Baby Boomers of World War I, saw diminishing opportunities for them in industry and agriculture, commerce and science. The costs for education in law, medicine and finance were already prohibitive for most. Vacancies in trade apprenticeships for printing, steam fitting, tool machining and others were guarded jealously for the sons of men already in those professions. Even those especially gifted and working their way through the colleges providing scholarships were unsuccessful in gaining employment in their fields. A master’s degree in engineering might get you a position operating an elevator for fifteen dollars a week. Marriage was almost unthinkable. Children were unthinkable.

Who were these young men and women and why were they being subjected to such rigors? What was the source of their strength and their hope? Where would they make their stand ? When would they take the torch of leadership and the yoke of responsibility? How did it come about? Is there a lesson to be learned from this page of the agonizing history of our mothers and fathers?

Strengths come from faith in institutions. Loyalty and courage from deeply instilled family values. These can be traced back to old traditions like the family supper. It was not dinner. Dinner was either at noon or out at a restaurant. Supper was the evening meal at home. It was the regular occasion when the family gathered to share food, thought and spirit. It was here that the cherished values passed from generation to generation. It was here that sons learned to respect, protect and venerate women, their mothers and sisters. Daughters learned how to manage men, not only to get what they wanted for themselves, but to encourage and guide their men to become more than they would ever become alone. God, through his Holy Spirit, sat at table. He was an invited guest. He could be seen in the eyes and heard in the voices as discussion, laughter and debate continued long after the food was consumed. Fathers presided with restraint as when breaking a new colt. Mothers encouraged and persuaded to keep her children on the moral road and out of the tempting byways.

In these years the Puritan Ethic of hard work and sacrifice had taken a fresh hold on a society deeply constrained by economic hardships. The missionary stimulus of earlier times had been revived. Many young people were eager to work with the old, the poor, the ill and in foreign, undeveloped countries. Gold was not a household Icon. Doctors made house calls, as did priests and pastors. Even veterinarians would visit at the sick animal’s home. There were personal and family charge accounts at grocery stores, drug stores and other merchandise outlets. It was an accepted practise to stop by on a weekly basis and pay something on account. Trust was almost universal. Few people ever locked the doors of their homes. It was considered unneighborly not to invite a caller into your home and offer some refreshment even though the cupboard might be less than full.

For the most part, even though incomes rarely matched expenses, and many homes had not yet been wired for electricity or plumbed for running water and indoor toilet facilities, people did not admit to poverty. There was such a pride in the institutions, in family and in community that to admit such a thing would have brought shame to a place where there was no room for shame. A people rich in love and spirit, cannot abide shame. Shame is for those who are poor in spirit, poor enough to surrender. That thought never occurred to these people, the people being prepared, being nurtured and hardened, being spirited to sustain the most savage, brutal, military onslaught the world had ever known. And still, not knowing if it were by chance or by some overreaching foresight, when it came, they were ready. This is their story.

You will find that they were very different from the people who came after them, the Baby Boomers of World War II. They may, from this distant perspective, seem naive and gullible, even simple, in the way they perceived good and evil, right and wrong, honor, duty and guilt. You may believe that they were foolish to put their lives at risk in untested airplanes in a sky so filled with unknowns. In this now more cynical world, you may wonder at the complete gallant faith they had in one another, placing their very lives in hands not yet tested in the battle. But with all of this, you must in the end, come face to face with the fact that had they been fashioned otherwise, or believed otherwise or acted otherwise, you would not today be enjoying the freedom and peace that they risked so much to preserve. So judge gently and walk softly, for you are going among the dauntless men who climbed the mysterious, beckoning skies and lived on the very edge of life. Learn from them the pure sweet taste of life when you dare to live it to it’s fullest.

WINGS, WOMEN & WAR

CHAPTER I

THE INNOCENT

Far ahead to the North the fires of Hell were painting the high clouds crimson and yellow with the flickering brush of death. Down below, on the streets and in the apartments and restaurants, the small shops and home factories people were dying by the thousands. Dying in the horrible way fire first terrorizes, then traps, suffocates and consumes everything in it’s path. This was our second raid on Tokyo. Last night we had burned Nagoya. The night before, Osaka. In the end we would burn all of Japan that was flammable. This was total war. In all of human history no such massive devastation had ever been visited on any nation.

As we climbed up to our attack altitude, the four huge engines of the B-29 produced a muffled roar inside the big bomber. We were comfortably pressurized and warm, enjoying a last cigarette and cup of coffee before reaching land-fall. I looked out through the nose of the plane, which was almost entirely constructed of glass, at the black sky filled with stars. My thoughts drifted away from the steady roar of the engines, the persistent odors of gasoline, oil, exhaust fumes and perspiration, to the mountains of New York state, my beloved Adirondacks. I thought I could smell the pine and hear the gurgle of the brook as it tumbled over the rocks in it’s race to the lake. I tried to remember how it all started. How I came to be in this awesome circumstance. How an innocent boy from the mountains came to be responsible for the destruction of so much humanity.

It started in the fall of 1940 when I moved to New York City. I had just turned eighteen. I had also just received two scholarships, one from New York State and a private one from the Henry H. Hasses to study voice under the tutelage of Madam

Hass, a retired Metropolitan Opera star. For a young man raised in the Adirondack mountains of upper New York State this was a major cultural change. Two years at Union College in Schenectady, N. Y. had started the transition to new and different values and attitudes. But that was a small male student body and working five hours each day washing dishes in a local restaurant had placed severe restrictions on my social activities. The shortage of funds was to continue to limit my activities in my new environment.

Through family connections I acquired an upstairs bedroom with two Maier sisters who owned a home on 77th street just off 4th Avenue, in Brooklyn. They were very proud of their German heritage which included extraordinary skills in the kitchen. They were in their late fifties or early sixties and there was plenty of room in their lives and their home for me. Through recommendations from Union College I was enrolled in the Fine Arts (music) Curriculum at the Washington Square college of New York University. This web of connections led to regular employment as Tenor soloist at both the Brick Presbyterian Church on Riverside Drive and the Dutch Reform Church in Flushing, Long Island. Wedding and Funeral singing engagements did much to ease the financial stress of living in Brooklyn and studying and performing on Manhattan and Long Islands.

My singing instruction took place in the Hass’ studio in Steinway Hall on 57th street, Manhattan. The Hasses took complete charge of my life. This privilege was accorded them by my mother who was deeply concerned that I continue to mature in the pattern she had set. As a school teacher whose spine was stiffened by militant Baptist precepts the path she designed for her son was very narrow. She was well aware that I rebelled from time to time, usually out of her reach, but she relied on the well instilled values to counter balance my natural male inclinations. None-the-less she placed me in the hands of people, the Hasses and the Maier sisters, whose value systems reflected her own. So it was that I had entered a great new, strange, exciting world while still being guided and in many ways supported by the interwoven lives of people who for their own reasons took a personal interest in my education, career and welfare. How could I fail either myself or these wonderful people, all of whom became very dear to me?

My voice was a lyric tenor. At that age and from that heritage I did not smoke or drink or cuss very much either, all of which was a source of confident pleasure to the

Hasses. He was tall, lean and gray. She was the well publicized buxom figured mezzo-soprano with a lovely face and warm personality. They were huggers and kissers which was quite a change for me. They insisted that I dress appropriately for the role I was to ultimately occupy in the world of music. Always the tie, the jacket, the hat and gloves as well as a graceful stride and the etiquette of attentive listening. They never referred to anyone by their first name. It was always by their title, profession or position……..as first violinist, or professor, or conductor. When I asked how I should be addressed there was a short pause then Mr. Hass, the internationally famous pianist said, protege, for now, until you have your first successful recital. Then you should be addressed as Madam Hass’ lyric tenor. With a twinkle in his eye he slapped me across the back (just like an Adirondack lumberjack ). I took the gamble and responded Were you once addressed as Madam Hass’ pianist Sir? Yes, young man, and I was damn proud of it as you should be. I knew then that we were friends.

The college courses of sight reading, history of music, languages, theory, orchestration, harmonics and arranging were designed to support the singing career without regard to which direction fortune took it. The Hasses believed that a thorough foundation was absolutely essential not only to understanding music but performing to the best of your ability. It was hard work and long hours on the subway, quick meals at Home and Hardardt’s and very few hours I could call my own. I never had time to get into all the trouble my mother had imagined. I was too busy. Then came the first recital.

It took place in a small theater within Steinway Hall which was designed for just this purpose. There were seats for perhaps one hundred guests. The artists performed without any electronic aids. It was all very close-up and personal and a little scary. I had a piano, a cello and a viola to accompany me. The selections were the light, sometimes sad, sometimes merry songs which exhibited the full range and quality of my voice. After the first applause I relaxed and enjoyed it completely. The Hasses declared it a success and were delighted that they had received several requests for me to perform at private functions by distinguished people who had attended. This seemed to confirm for them that their original appraisal of my potential was valid. I wondered if it was this easy and this much fun why more people weren’t singers. I was very soon to discover.

One of the requests to perform at a private gathering was from Mrs. Edith van

Ambersen of Columbus Circle. Mrs. Hass accepted for me and guided me in the preparation of a suitable program. When I went to her luxury apartment just off the Circle, overlooking the lower section of Central Park, Mrs. van Ambersen was unhappy that I had not included any of the songs from current Broadway shows. When I returned to the Hasses with this news there was quite a heated discussion about what constituted real music and what should be described as maudlin trash. Trash won out this time, if only temporarily, to please the influential Mrs. van Ambersen. In about a week I had conquered a half dozen tunes. They were of course coached in the operatic style by the Hasses and their presentation to Mrs. van Ambersen brought on another discussion which , in the end, was to develop into a second track of vocal training which dealt with modern song, dance, presentation and the public release of emotion, feigned and real. To train me in this new art form Mrs. van Ambersen sent me to see her friend Estelle Windsor who had a studio in Washington Heights on 175th street and St Nicholas Ave.

Estelle was much younger than either the Hasses or Mrs. van Ambersen. I guessed that at thirty six or seven she had retired from the Broadway stage to tutor young artists for that career. The dance and the teaching had kept her in great shape. I wondered that she had left the stage so early. She explained that she was actually a little lazy. That proved to be false. She worked both of us like slaves.

I didn’t realize how these people were moving me about like a pawn until the explosion when Madam Hass learned about Estelle. She reminded me of my mother’s charge to her and the pledges I had made to work hard , take care of myself and stay out of trouble. She saw Estelle as trouble. She was also opposed to the two track training which appeared to be developing. She declared rather emphatically that I had not yet learned how to sing and I was already trying to be an actor. I asked if, in fact, the opera was not a stage and she had been required to study acting as well as singing? Of course, she admitted but that was real acting and real singing not song styling by performers with little or no talent who reached the stage by taking their clothes off either for the audience or the producer. I wondered if she included Estelle in this group-but was either to wise or scared to ask. I agreed to concentrate on training my voice. But Estelle had her hook in me. I liked that new kind of music, I liked the opportunity for recognition by my own age group and there was money in that theater. I also liked Estelle.

To heal the hurt of the Hasses I worked harder and hugged a little more. Of course the basic techniques she taught me were valid in any and all arenas including both Broadway and Church. Stand erect but relaxed. Breathe from the diaphragm. The candle flame must not flicker. Focus the voice in the forehead and let the sound escape over a relaxed tongue. Look at your audience as individuals and phrase the lyrics so that they are meaningful and moving as the authors intended. It sounds so easy but is so very difficult in practice. But practice I did. And this to the delight of the Maier sisters whom , to my surprise, spent much of their time listening to my voice exercises through the sliding doors which separated the parlor from the dining room. The use of the piano in the parlor was one of my fringe benefits that came without charge.

I learned that they were listening when one evening after an especially long session I closed the piano and started for the stairs and there on the newel post was a tray with a brand new chocolate `eclair and a cup of hot chocolate. Nothing had ever tasted so good! Next evening I included in my practice a couple of German songs I knew they liked. So it soon became a ritual. Fresh baked German goodies and thank-you ( danke-schoene) songs through the crack in the sliding doors. Now I was never just singing for myself, I had a very attentive and concerned audience.. My practice took on new meaning, new value and a new sincerity. Mrs. Hass noticed the change and thought it was Estelle. She did not want it to be Estelle but she was silently happy for the results.

This was a time of very hard work but it was also a time of growing confidence in my chances for success. The singing in the churches was opening many doors to opportunities in friendships and sponsors for engagements in that arena. The connection with Estelle was opening doors that could lead to a Broadway career and the recitals in the elite circles of the Metropolitan Opera’s Operatic Guild could lead to radio, concert and film roles I could hardly imagine. Don’t get carried away with the dreams. Keep a level head. What better way to do that than with a waitress. And there was one.

At least once a day and sometimes three or four times on the way to and from the subway station I passed an Italian restaurant. Since I never seemed to have any extra money I would usually limit my quick meals to a bowl of soup or a hot dog or maybe just a piece of pie-never all three. She was maybe nineteen, maybe even twenty. She asked me how old I was. I lied. She knew I lied. Neither of us cared. The casual conversations over the counter soon turned into personal questions and answers which developed into a real friendship. The only one I had with a person of my own or close to my own age. I found that I could confide in her and she would honor my trust, even help me worry when things were not going just as I expected. She never seemed to want anything from me for herself. Perhaps it was because she knew I didn’t have anything or maybe it was because she was one of those rare people who really enjoy giving, or maybe , just maybe she really liked me. Whatever it was I decided to relax and enjoy it. Giselle was French in an Italian restaurant in a section of Brooklyn totally populated with Germans, Swedes, Norwegians, and Finns. They loved her. She was small and pretty and very much in love with life. I looked forward to our over-the-counter conversations. When something new and exciting happened in my day I would hurry over to tell Giselle all about it. She would always laugh and cheer and give a squeeze of the hand or muss my hair. Everyone would look over and smile with our demonstrated happiness. I was falling in love.

One cold , rainy November night as I was returning from an engagement in Flushing I passed by the restaurant but it was closed and the sign was in the window. Sometimes when it was after closing I had seen Giselle cleaning the counter and tables and setting the service for breakfast. I paused to see if she was still on duty. I saw her coming out of the kitchen toward the counter. She was running and I saw her mouth open but could hear nothing through the closed door. Right behind her came a tall lean man with black hair hanging down over his eyes. His mouth was open too and he looked very angry. As I moved to see if I could open the door she turned toward him and with her back to me seemed to shake her little fist at him. He grabbed her and they both disappeared from sight below the counter. I kicked but it held. I put my hat over my fist and smashed the glass. The alarm sounded as I ran behind the counter to see what had happened to Giselle. They were both gone. I raced into the kitchen. That too was empty. Then I felt the hand on my shoulder. Thinking it might be the man I had seen attacking Giselle I ducked and swung as hard as I could.

I woke up with the big red face of a husky cop peering down at me. Son, you’re in trouble. Where’s Giselle? I asked squirming in his grip. What happened to her? As he started to answer the sharp stabbing pain behind my ear almost made me faint. Hurt some Son? That’s a pretty nice egg you have there. Hey Doc.,come look at this kid’s head. Look’s like he may have a concussion, I laid quite still then till the Doc came over. He felt all around my bump and grunted head like a rock, he’ll be okay in a couple of days. Reassured I would live I asked again, Where’s Giselle? The big cop looked at me for a minute then said, Aren’t you that country boy that was real sweet on her? Yes sir, I like her a lot. She’s the best friend I ever had. Where is she ? What happened to her? He put his big hand where my bump was and without touching it said very softly, She’s back there in the alley….ahem … with her throat cut. Now easy, son. You’ve been hurt pretty bad yourself. Just lay there easy. There’s nothing you can do now. We all know you tried, but you aren’t up in the country now and you don’t know how to handle these bums. You leave that to me, I know how, and you’ve got my promise ….I’ll get that S, O. B. if it’s the last thing I do. I promise you. You rest easy for a while then we’ll take you home. He took his hand away very slowly as he almost whispered It’s okay to cry son, she was certainly worth that…Thanks. I said as I put my arm over my face.

The world, the people, and the city had a new look. The glitter and the gleam were gone. Cement was gray. Rain was Gray. People were pale gray. Tears came in the night. I was singing around a lump in my throat. I wandered down by the bay. The bay was gray with gray birds and gray waves.

The Maier sisters decided that this could not continue. They started to serve me breakfast every morning before I left for classes and Marie, the younger, left for business. This was not to be a quiet peaceful time. They were full of chatter and questions, not the yes or no kind but questions that required explanation and thought; thought that did not permit the nagging sadness to creep in behind the eyes, the sadness that drained everything of color and brilliance. It worked, and I learned again the true meaning of friendship, irrespective of age, irrespective of sex,or origin or wealth, or appearance or anything except the inner worth of one person in the eyes of another. God I missed Giselle.

Giselle’s mother let me sing at her funeral. Everyone from the restaurant was there. The big cop was there too. He came over after the service and remarked what a great Irish tenor I would make. Have you found him yet? I asked. No, not yet. But we will. He was her husband , you know? He responded, looking straight at me. No, I didn’t know she was married, I never asked. I was wondering now why she had never told me. The cop saw me working the problem and filled in the answer. He’s been in jail for the past three years, just got out on parole. He may be looking for you while we are looking for him. Had you thought of that, son? No sir, I never thought of that. I looked down at my shoes trying to figure out where this puzzle was going. We were just friends, you know. I said, looking up again. Yes, I know….but does he? You watch yourself, young fella, stay under the lights and out of the alleys Then with a big grin he said And learn some Irish songs!"

I was neglecting my college studies. This was brought to my attention by Miss Rebecca Fox who occupied the desk next to mine in three of our classes. I guess that the alphabet had something to do with that seating . She had never spoken to me or even knew that I existed as far as I could tell until after what happened to Giselle. Of course she had no knowledge of that either , but apparently my behavior was so changed that she remarked about it. Are you in some kind of trouble? I was startled by her question. Why yes. I guess so I said. You mean you don’t know if you are in trouble or not? Well yes, I know I’m in trouble: I just don’t know how much. I was a little confused by my own answer. She looked at me and I saw her for the first time. A dark beauty. I’ll bet she is Jewish. I said to myself. For such a bright young man you say some pretty dumb things She smiled the edge off the insult. But if you keep going the way you are you’re going to flunk all three of these courses. I guarantee it. She was deadly serious. I started to say I didn’t know you cared but bit my tongue because in her eyes I saw that same look I had seen in Giselle’s when she was worried about me. The sudden sadness came behind my eyes and I could not see her. Excuse me please I mumbled, and almost ran from the room.

The next day after classes she came up beside me in the hall and asked with a small smile Have you figured out just how much trouble you are in, Dan? I looked to see if she was teasing or she was really concerned. She was worried. No, actually I don’t have any way to find out Oh, come on now, it can’t be that complicated. I’m afraid it is Miss Fox. My, aren’t we formal? Please call me Rebecca ‘till you know me better, then you can call me Reb. Okay Rebecca, I like that name. But if you prove you’re a Reb I’ll call you Reb if you like She took my arm and we walked out onto the street then into Washington Square. It was cold and windy which made her nose red and her hair blow. I was beginning to like Reb. As we swung along she asked me to tell her about my trouble. Only if you want to. Maybe I can help. I told her everything. At the end the tears started to come again and I said The wind always makes my eyes tear Don’t you ever lie to me again, Dan Glezen. You have every reason to be broken up about her. It was awful. So sudden and brutal…….I would want you to cry for me if I were Giselle. I would, I really would. I heard the sob in her throat and shared my handkerchief with my new understanding friend. It turned out that she was really more than that. She was a person who took control and did something. I found myself boarding the Long Island train with her as she developed a plan to insure that the tall lean blackhaired killer would not find me before the police found him. We got off at the Forest Hills station and walked over to her convertible parked in the commuter’s lot. She drove us to her parent’s home set way back in the trees on a few quiet acres just off the Sound. I was way out of my class. She was sensitive to my apprehension and put her hand on my arm as we approached the front door. Everything is going to be just fine. Trust me ,Dan". I tried, but when I was introduced to Mom and Dad I could feel the sweat down my back. She introduced me as a friend from school and let it go at that.

We had a simple dinner with wine and light conversation about school and where I came from and what my career goals were. After dinner her Mom asked me to sing a couple of songs. They were very complimentary about my presentation and I asked if Rebecca would sing. They knew then that Reb and I didn’t know each other very well because her special talent was the violin. She really played beautifully and I said so with enthusiasm. She was so happy that she gave me a little kiss. I noticed some frowns as I returned to my chair.

"Well Dan, Reb says that we may be of some help in solving a problem for you.

Maybe you would like to tell us about it? Well sir, that is very kind of you ……. and Rebecca, but I really don’t see how you could be of much help in my situation. Oh come now Dan , Reb asked us to help out and we want to ….what is it….you running low on funds? I smiled a little weakly. Sir, I wish it were as simple as that … er….l don’t mean that I wouldn’t appreciate your help, but sir, it is not money. It is much more serious than money……I mean that money won’t fix this. He started to frown and then to scowl. He turned to Rebecca and said You aren’t in trouble too are you? Oh, No, Daddy , It’s nothing like that. This is really serious." The fat was in the fire. I was really sweating now. How could I get out of here and not hurt Reb? The only way I knew was to tell the whole story again to the Foxes.

They listened attentively, their expressions reflecting first astonishment then anger and finally the same inevitable sadness everyone feels at the brutal taking of a young life…..a life very much like their daughter’s now somehow in reflected danger.

Mrs. Fox sat silent looking first at me then at her daughter. Mr. Fox was a man of action. So , young man, what are you going to do? Well sir, I don’t have any concrete plans….just stay out of sight as much as possible, continue my school and singing engagements and…… You call that staying out of sight? Hell, any third grade kid could find you without even leaving the city. You’ve got to do better than that. I’m glad you came out here. You did the thing Reb. We’ve got to hide this young fellow until they locate that killer. Now Mother, addressing Mrs. Fox, we have to put Dan up here for a few days…maybe even a week or two….nobody is to see him or know he is here. Reb can see that he keeps his studies up and those people at the churches must be told that he has the flu or something that lasts a week or two…How about measles? Yes, Measles. Nobody will want you if you have the measles….Well, what do you say , Dan? Sir, Mrs. Fox, I don’t feel right about this There’s no reason to involve you’ or Rebecca. God forbid something might happen to her because of me. No. Thank you very much for your kind offer but I just couldn’t. I shouldn’t have come out here in the first place. I had just better go back to Brooklyn and take my chances. He is probably long gone by now anyway, and we are worrying about nothing… Dan, you look smarter than that. Mr. Fox interjected. You are the only one who can identify the killer. He has to get you. He has no choice. And I don’t see that you do either. That’s settled. You stay here. He stood up walked across the room and put his arm around my shoulders. You are a good boy, Dan. I’m glad you thought about Rebecca, I only hope that if she is in trouble some day somebody will go a little bit out of their way to help her. I stood there trapped in the warmth of strangers. How very good people could be…….and how very bad.

We did as Mr. Fox said. Rebecca notified everyone that I was confined with the measles and would not be available for a couple of weeks. She also saw to it that I kept up with the college work. Actually working with her the studies which had been so tedious seemed interesting and challenging. I could not let her outdo me. Yet I was never quite certain if she adjusted her pace to mine or really bent her best effort. At any rate we thoroughly enjoyed one another. The Foxes took note of this in their quiet way and treated me more as a son they never had than a strange country boy in trouble. I told them about my family and the Hasses and Maiers and the possibilities that appeared to be out there if I could just reach them. They told me of their hopes for Rebecca’s professional future. I could not have been more at home, more at ease,more supported had they been my own family. Mrs. Fox and I were home together most of the day and became very close friends. When Mr. Fox and Rebecca came home in the afternoon and evening we would get right after the studies so that we could have more time to chat after dinner. Mr. Fox and I had many good games of chess which was a little boring for Reb so she was off in the music room playing the violin. It was really quite a happy time. No one mentioned the reason.

They caught Giselle’s killer on Staten Island. Mr. Fox called the Bay Ridge station house and gave them his home phone number to reach me for identification. I returned to the Maier home and resumed my regular schedule. The sisters were very happy to see me and were a little perplexed to see no evidence of the measles. They had heard about Giselle and my part in the episode. They had wisely kept their silence for which I was very grateful. Neither the Hasses nor my parents knew anything of the circumstances. A murder in Brooklyn was news for only one day at best then interest moved to another unless there were political or syndicate connections. This had none. The identification was simple and straight forward as was my deposition. The man was returned to prison pending disposition of the new crime of homicide. It took a while for me to return to normal. I wasn’t quite sure what that was exactly but if the test was appetite, I was almost there. I was ravenous. The school term was drawing to close and I must decide what to do over the summer vacation. Mrs. Hass had no such problem. She knew exactly what I was going to do, when, where, and how. There seems to be a great deal of natural precision in the Germanic mind….and some degree of authoritarianism. I was handed a summer schedule which had already been approved by my mother. The Scots also can be a little pushy. But in all fairness somewhere in August I was allowed two weeks to throw away just as I pleased. My favorite thing was wilderness canoeing and that was what I looked forward to most I loved the wild rivers and the natural things that had not yet been civilized. Skinny dipping and lying on my back in the soft sand watching the wind push the clouds around was, for me. right next to paradise.

Reb came down to the Adirondack Trailways bus terminal in the Dixie Hotel to see me off. She had been trying to get her parents to spend their vacation at Lake George but had had no success. They usually went to Europe but that seemed out of the question considering all of the turmoil over there. The Catskills seemed a better choice. Then of course, we would not see each other until next term. It was to be my first separation from her since the incident. I had not thought much about it seeing her nearly every day at school and often on weekends at concerts and other occasions we attended together. It was a shock to realize how much I was going to miss her. She was much wiser and much more sensitive to our real relationship and so came prepared. I didn’t do too well. Half way to Kingston I thought of some wonderful things I could have said. I promised myself that the first chance I had I would put all those things into a nice long letter to my Reb.

The Hasses spent the entire summer at their second home and studio at Lake George. My lessons were increased in frequency and intensity. Several recitals and concerts were scheduled as were social occasions where I was presented to the rich and famous who had summer homes around the lake. I felt as though everyone knew I didn’t have another pair of shoes in the closet but I braved it out anyway. Once I overcame the depression of poverty I had quite a good time. Of course I was accepted only by the adults. There were no invitations too join in the sailing or the dances or any activity which was not sponsored and controlled by the parents. In the whole long summer I never made a friend form among the young elite of my own home town. Of course none of them had gone to school there or entered into any of the community activities. All of their friends and hence all of their interests centered around the winter activities in the city. Fun in the sun at Lake George was merely an extension of those activities with many of the same people. I was a stranger, an outsider at home. Since I had been out of high school now over three years those older friends had gone to seek their futures elsewhere as well. I felt a separation and loneliness that made me keep my promise to write a long letter to Reb.

Reb was not enjoying her summer either. Her response to my letter made it very clear that there was a bond between us that was going to endure. She didn’t speak of love. I hadn’t either. The soul wrenching experience of Giselle had somehow frozen a part of me that had no yet warmed to Reb. She knew this. She was content at this point to enjoy the closeness that we had. She never mentioned any other male friends and of course she knew everything about me now so there were no contests for affection. There was just an easy togetherness that grew and grew even in separation. I was already anxious to return to New York and it was only July.

My oldest friend, Jim Frazier was still at home , or more accurately had hated college so much that he quit and took a job as mail carrier in the local Post Office. When he learned that I was back he dropped by and we made plans for a two week canoe trip up the Hudson river and back. We had made this trip a couple of years earlier and got along so well it seemed perfect for both of us. Mrs. Hass didn’t quite understand what was so great about living outdoors with all those black flies and mosquitoes, and skinny dipping , after she understood what it was, was not something she wanted to contemplate. Mr. Hass on the other hand, in his usual kind manner, said how he wished he were my age again and could enjoy those simple things that he had nearly forgotten. He made me promise to tell him all about it upon my return. I responded honestly Sir, we would love to have you go with us if you think you could handle the hardships. But there are no bosses out there. Everyone takes his turn at cleaning fish, doing dishes and making the coffee. He looked at me with a grin and said,Dan you are a natural born rascal with some recent refinements. I wish that I were ten years younger I’d take you up on that invitation. As I went out the door I turned back with a parting shot,Sir, am I now to be called Mrs. Hasses’ Rascal? You go have your fun ,Dan you have earned it. We’ll see you in a couple of weeks. Take care. Yes, take care, take care. How careless are the young…..with affection, with time,with youth. I had two weeks without a care in the world……..a world that was coming apart.

We lay rolled in our blankets on either side of the roaring fire, looking up at the billions of stars, waiting for sleep. Each pursued his own thoughts. Each dreamed his own wide awake dreams. Jim decided to share his. Dan, I’m going to marry your sister. Sure you are. Which one? Jim was serious. I’m going to marry Marie Does she know about this, Jim? There was a pause. No, not yet. There was another longer pause. I failed my draft physical last week. They classified me 4F: bad eyes and a heart murmur. I’m going to be around after all her football heroes are overseas. I’m going to marry her and have four kids and stay with the Postal department until I can retire. Then I’m going to have a farm and raise cows and make maple syrup. What do you think of that? This time it was my turn to pause and think. It was clear that Jim had figured this all out and had settled on a plan that would define the rest of his life. I was having trouble staying a week ahead of events. I envied him a