Where Did You Find That?

  Where Did You Find That?

Suzanne Marsh

A faded photograph, a young airman in his dress uniform, scowling at the camera. He looked very determined. I had no idea who this young man was, the questions began to form in my mind. Who was he? What war was this? The end of World War II, the Korean or Vietnam police action. It was hard to tell, but whoever he was I was determined to return the picture to the owner. I decided to return to where I purchased the old mahogany desk, it was not far from my apartment

. I stared for several minutes at the photo, he was a nice looking young man, his hair cut military style. He was not smiling, he appeared to be rather apprehensive about something.

I pulled up to the house where I had purchased the desk. I strode up the walk and rang the doorbell. An elderly, white haired woman answered the door, she opened it to the length of chain, peering out at me:

“Yes, what can I do for you?” Her voice trembled as she spoke. I gave her my best disarming smile:

“I found this photograph in one of the desk drawers; from the desk I purchased from you. I

merely wanted to return it.”

The old lady returned my smile:

“Please come in. May I see the photograph. I can’t imagine leaving a picture in there I thought I had cleaned the desk out of papers entirely Where did you say you found this picture. It is something I never wanted to see again..” She paused as I handed her the photograph, she

suddenly paled, I thought for a moment she was going to faint, but she quickly regained her composure. Unsure, I guided her toward the “colonial” couch in her living room. She sat there for several minutes just staring at that picture, it was almost as if she were attempting to get it to talk. My curiosity was more than slightly aroused. I came this far, I wanted to know about the photograph.

“Mam, do you know who the young man in the photo is?”

She smiled as her mind went back to another era:

“Yes, I do. That is the last picture I have of him, he was my best friend. We grew up

together. We did everything together when we were children. The picture was taken

in October of 1969 when he came home on leave. He was going to Bentwaters, England. I

was glad he was not going to Vietnam. Protesters were spitting at soldiers returning from

Vietnam. It was a time my generation is not proud of. So many of the boys I went to

high school with went over to Vietnam, few came back unharmed. Ed, thankfully did

not have those problems, several of our friends did. Post Traumatic Syndrome was the

term that was used most frequently. Before you ask young man, Ed enjoyed Bentwaters,

he said it was beautiful over the pond.

When he came home on leave from Bentwaters he brought me a lovely ring,

an engagement ring. He got down on one knee and proposed, I just stood there with

his hand holding mine, nodding my head yes. It was the happiest day of my life.

Ed returned to England the following week. Several weeks later, his mom passed away.

His dad was beside himself with grief. She was buried in the small cemetery down the

road from where I lived. Ed cried so hard that day, his heart seemed to broken in two.

I consoled him and his dad as best I could.

Ed returned to Bentwaters, he wrote me every day, telling me about the things he

was doing. He worked mainly on ejections seats in Phantom II jets. He told me several

times he was now sorry he had not gone to Vietnam. The ejections seats were important

but he wanted to be closer to the action. He went to his Captain, who in no uncertain

terms told him no. He was needed to Bent water and there he would stay.

His letters became more terse, then sad. I kept writing, telling him about things

here in the United States, and at home here in Fate, Texas. I told him Billy

Silver’s prize bull got loose, chased several state troopers down the road. He

said that was funny, then he said he wanted to see if he could get leave to come home.

This was not the Ed I knew, something changed him. He wrote less, when he did

write, his letters were about the ejection seats, the problems the air force was having keeping

up with repairs. For the first time, I wondered if perhaps Ed had found a British girl, and

was trying to let me down easily.

I wrote him, asking him if there was another girl in his life. This seemed to upset him

more than I expected. He sent a terse NO, THERE IS NO ONE BUT YOU. I felt

relief at that. But yet I knew something was wrong. I sometimes felt that we were drifting

apart.

Several weeks later I received a letter from Ed, telling me he was being transferred

to Incirlik Air Base. I bought a map to find the Air Base it was near Adana Turkey. Ed’s

letters were happier ones now. He said Turkey was very different from Bent water. He said

he felt revitalized. I wrote telling him I was happy that everything was going well. Then

about two months later the letters stopped coming. I knew there was something horribly

wrong.

I remember August 19^th, 1969 as if it were yesterday. Ed’s dad stood at the door, his

eyes brimming with tears. I asked him to come in, then I noticed another man with him.

The other man was a chaplain, he was here why? What has happened, then I knew

something had happened to Ed. My mind began to race, he had been injured, that was it.

The Chaplin, his eyes full of sympathy began:

“Carol, there is no easy way to tell you and Mr. Darling that Ed is dead. He died working

on an ejection seat, the seat blew sending him two hundred feet in the air, he neck was

broken. The Air Force is flying his body to Dover Delaware, from there it will be

transported to the funeral home. He will have full military honors.

I have not seen that picture since I put it away in the desk drawer all those years ago.

Young man, I don’t even know your name, but thank you for listening and kindly returning

the picture to me.”

The elderly woman somehow seemed strangely happy. I went to the grave yard down the road from here home. There was a small American flag and a yellow rose. I paid my respects to the man whose picture I had found. I had never expected the story that went with the picture, nor the love and loss.