The Old Scrapbook

by Dennis Higgins

  “Say, James. If something were to happen to me over there…”

  “Don’t say it,” James interrupted.

  “Okay…just check in on her, alright.” Ray wiped his eyes. “It’s time to board. I love you.”

  “I love you, too, little brother,” James said and then smiled. “Go kick those Nazi’s ass and give them one for me, will ya?”

  “You got it, and take care of that cough.” Ray hugged his brother and then boarded the train without looking back.

  ****

  January 4, 1943

  Bet received her first letter from Ray, from Camp Claiborne. She couldn’t wait to open it.

  Darling,

  I received the Christmas cookies your mom made. I shared them with my bunk mate. He’s a swell fella.

  They are going to train me to parachute out of an airplane. That will be better than the marching and other drills they are having us do.

  I miss you so much already. Christmas and my birthday just wasn’t the same without you. They showed us the movie, A Christmas Carol, but it wasn’t like our Sunday night shows. I miss holding your hand. I hope you miss me too.

  With all my love,

  Ray

  Bet hugged the letter. She tried to sniff it to see if she could catch his scent, but could only smell parchment and ink.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Camp Claiborne, Louisiana

  May 10, 1944

  Sergeant Gentry stood before his men. “Your basic training is nearly completed. You will soon be deployed overseas to defend our country. I’m proud of you men. Each and every one of you has worked hard and shown that you are ready for combat. As you parachute out behind enemy lines, remember, my thoughts and my prayers are with each and every one of you.”

  He paused for his words to sink in. “Men you are all members of the 325th Glider Infantry Regiment of the 82nd Airborne Division. You have been fully trained, you will be brothers in arms in the battlefield. You will fight as equals and some of you will die as equals.”

  He called on a private in the front row. “Look to the soldier to your right. Would you die for him?”

  “Sir, yes, Sir,” the private called out.

  He then called on Raymond. “Private, if there was another American soldier from another regiment in need of help, would you be willing to die for him?”

  “Sir, yes, Sir,” Raymond called out.

  “How about you, Private,” the Sergeant said, calling on another. “Would you die for your president if he was on the battlefield with you?”

  “No, Sir, I would stay alive to protect him, Sir.”

  The men laughed and so did Sergeant Gentry. “God bless you, men. Dismissed!”

  ****

  June 21st, 1944

  Chicago

  Bet was thrilled that Ray’s latest letter contained a couple of photos. A lump formed in her throat when she read of the dangerous mission he was on. She had heard the news of the successful attack called D-Day and had been worried. Although he survived the mission, code named Omaha Beach, it sounded to her as if he nearly hadn’t. She kissed his photo. To her, he looked so handsome as a soldier.

  Chef-du-Pont in Normandy, France

  June 7th, 1944

  Following the first wave of attacks, the 325th Glider Infantry Regiment would arrive by glider to provide a division reserve. The two separate missions, the Galveston and the Hackensack, were made just after daybreak. The first had a lot of casualties as seventeen men died and a hundred were injured.

  Ray was part of the 3rd battalion of Mission Hackensack. As the gliders approached Ray could hear severe ground fire. He readied himself when it was time to make his jump. He took out the picture of Bet and himself and kissed it. In the light of the full moon, he could see the balloons of the 320th Barrage Balloon Battalion floating above the ships in the distance. Down below there was intense shooting as he sprang out of the glider. When he pulled the cord to open his chute, he looked down. He saw a fellow soldier shot and killed right in the air. He tightened his grip on the riser cables. He could hear bullets whizzing right past him. Once on the ground, he released his chute and took cover. The ground fire was intense. Although many of his regiment made it down safely, fifteen troops were killed and sixty men wounded. By 10.15, all three battalions had assembled and reported in. With ninety percent of its men present, the 325th Glider Infantry Regiment became the division reserve at Chef-du-Pont.

  By July 4th, a million allied troops had invaded France, taking most of the country back from the Germans. Now it was time to celebrate.

  Ray found himself in a crowded French tavern with members of his company and others, drinking warm beer.

  “Here’s to Company G”, one of the men toasted and they all drank.

  “Here’s to the 82nd Airborne,” another man shouted.

  Ray stood up with his glass. “Here’s to America, happy 4th of July.”

  The men cheered and drank, even the Canadian and British soldiers.

  Suddenly a hush fell over the crowd as someone motioned towards the door. Men from what had been called the Colored Squad walked in. They were from the 320th Barrage Balloon Battalion. They were the first men of color to see combat and the first men to arrive at Normandy.

  Ray broke the silence by standing and raising his glass. “To the anti-aircraft balloon men of the 320th. They paved the way for us, boys. Here’s to the brave Buffalo Soldiers.”

  The crowd broke out in cheers and the men were welcomed in.

  Ray saw one man making his way towards him with an intense look on his face. Suddenly he recognized it was his friend, Luther, from the coal mine.

  “Well, I’ll be tanned,” Luther said. “I thought that was you, Sardine.”

  The men shook hands warmly. “Luther, you big goliath, how the hell are you?” As he said it, he could hear Bet’s voice in his mind telling him not to curse.

  “Look at us, Ray, We’re soldier boys,” Luther noted, motioning towards their uniforms.

  “Where did you do Basic?” Ray asked.

  “At Fort Huachuca, Arizona,” Luther answered. “You wanna know the best part? The WAACs were stationed there too. You know I love the womens.”

  Ray laughed and told the bartender to bring Luther a beer.

  After they drank together and talked about their part in the D-Day invasion, Luther went back to be with his company.

  Ray sat, smiling at the irony of meeting his old friend so far away from home. Suddenly he heard a friendly female voice with a strong French accent break his thoughts. He looked and saw a pretty, petite woman sitting next to him.

  “You have a nice smile, soldier,” she said. “How you say…Penny for your thoughts.”

  ****

  Chicago, Present Day

  I hugged Megan. “We now have the connection. Betty Campioni was the daughter of Frieda Rilat, who was the sister of Harriett, who was married to Ray’s brother, James…my great uncle.”

  “But look at the year she was born,” Megan said. “She was fifteen and sixteen in the scrapbook photos. She must have still been in high school.”

  “I know, I never would have guessed, my dream girl was just a kid. She seemed so much older, somehow.”

  “She probably was,” Megan said. “I think she must have been very mature and smart for her age.”

  “You just gave me an idea,” I said as I went back to my computer. Megan and I were using dual computers to search better. “Looking through Ancestry.com I found her high school yearbook picture. She went to Gage Park High School.”

  “That makes sense,” Megan responded. “Look here.” She pulled up a Bing map of the Chicago Lawn neighborhood. “See… here’s the school and here is the location of the beauty salon.”

  “Wait,” I said. I went back to my computer. “The address where Frieda and Bet lived, look at this 1940 census info.”

  “Holy cow, let me plug that in,” Megan replied. “Kenny, it’s the same apartment you thought it would be. Yo
u must be some sort of psychic or something.”

  “Something,” I answered. “And look, the census lists all the people living in the household. Frieda, Betty at 13, and Donald, 6. That must be her brother. The baby, Kat, must not have been born yet.”

  I reached over and kissed Megan. “It’s like we know her, even though we don’t.”

  Megan went back to her computer with an intense look on her face. I went to pour us some iced tea. When I came back, she had a strange look on her face.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “I think I found her obit,” she said and turned her laptop to face me.

  Betty Jankauskas (Campioni) passed away November 1, 1996. Megan and I got really quiet as a deep sadness overcame us.

  The obit listed her children as survivors. I realized if I could find one of them, I might be able to discover how her life turned out; possibly, even what happened to my great-uncle. I was so disappointed I couldn’t talk to Bet directly. It would have been so wonderful to sit with her and surprise her with the scrapbook from her long lost past. To ask her all the questions I had. To laugh with her and experience that personality first hand. To see if the years since had changed her. She died young, only seventy years old and left the world twenty years ago.

  I was emotionally spent at that point. I asked Megan to shut down her computer and just sit with me on the couch. We held hands and she leaned into my shoulder. I rarely turn the TV on, but decided to stream a cool jazz music station, since my remotes were handy. I didn’t want to move. Megan had this habit of unbuttoning my shirt and rubbing my chest. It’s a habit I approved of. If I had felt like moving, I would have gotten us some wine. We fell asleep together on my couch.

  I saw disturbing images. Bombs exploding, dirt flying everywhere, men screaming out, guns, and the sky lit up with the sights and sounds of war. Then I saw women crying. Hundreds, thousands of people…wives, girlfriends, moms, and dads. All were weeping for their dead. I then saw Bet. I was observing her from above her bedroom. I couldn’t see her face, but could somehow feel her pain. She felt so alone, like she was the only person in the world and her loneliness was crippling. Then suddenly our positions switched and she was looking down on me, calling my name.

  “Ken, Kenny, Kenny, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”

  When I opened my eyes, it was Megan who was looking down and calling out to me.

  “Hi,” I said to her.

  “Baby, let me make us some dinner,” she said with a concerned look on her face. “You should rest. We don’t have to go out tonight.”

  “That would be great,” I said…“but honey, you can’t cook.”

  “Are you kidding, I can make a mean frozen pizza.” She smiled.

  “Okay, frozen pizza and wine, I’m in.”

  “Just one more thing,” she said. “How do you turn your oven on?”

  She’s a keeper!

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  August 5th, 1944

  While the meatloaf was baking, Bet sat at the kitchen table remembering how Ray proposed to her, right at that very spot. She looked down at her diamond ring which sparkled, even in the dim light of the bulb hanging from the kitchen ceiling.

  The radio from the next room began playing the new Bing Crosby hit, Swinging on a Star. Bet thought about the images being sung about in the song and imagined swinging on a celestial body and carrying moonbeams home in a jar.

  Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard the postman put mail in the slot. She ran downstairs and retrieved a letter from Ray tucked between the phone and light bill. She opened it carefully.

  Dear Bet,

  I am looking down at our picture as I write this. It makes my heart hurt to look at you. I have to tell you about something that happened the night we were celebrating on the 4th of July. We were drinking a lot and toasting our victory in France. Do you remember when I told you about my friend, Luther, from the mines? Well he showed up here in France. I bought him a beer and we had some good laughs. When he left the bar, a local girl came up to me. I liked the way she talked, so I bought her a drink. Even though she was French, she reminded me of you and for a little while the loneliness went away. But then she started touching my face and brushing the hair behind my ears. Her touch felt nice…

  Bet dropped the letter down and took a deep breath, afraid to keep reading. Once she mustered up the courage, she picked up where she left off.

  …and made me think even harder of you. I always loved the way your hands felt on my face. Well, this is when I had to tell her to stop. I told her about the promise I made to you, to not flirt with the European gals. I showed her your picture and told her all about how much I love you. She said something about me being far away from home and one night wouldn’t matter, but I told her it would matter to me. I invited her to stay and talk to her about you some more. That’s when she lost interest and went to sit with another GI. I guess she just wanted to flirt and who knows what else. So I just wanted to tell you that I am keeping my promise and always will. I love you, Bet. I miss you so much, it hurts.

  Next month they’re moving us out to Holland. Next, to Normandy, this mission should be a piece of cake. I won’t be flirting with any Dutch girls either. I promise. I hope you’re waiting for me too and keeping your own promise.

  Love, Ray

  Bet kissed the letter. She was so proud of Ray. It made her realize how difficult the temptations must be for the boys overseas. She was blessed to have found such a great guy. She knew by the way he acted with her and Kat that when he came back home he would make a great husband and father. Bet couldn’t wait for their life to begin. She said a quick prayer for his safe return, as she always did.

  That evening, Bet pasted more pictures into the scrapbook. She couldn’t believe the last set they took together were taken on December 20th of 1942. That was going on two years ago. She looked at the photo. It appeared funny to her. Ray looked like he was on a slant. She captioned it. ‘Is it me or the picture or him? (Lopsided)’. Even though the date was different, she affixed a photo of her praying next to it. She decided to caption it with the song title she had heard, seemingly a hundred times, ‘Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition’.

  She then looked through the entire scrapbook, admiring her handiwork. She believed it was a fitting tribute to their love. She had some miscellaneous photos along with the ones Ray sent from overseas, but it was late, so she tucked them into the back of the book for later.

  ****

  September 27th, 1944

  Bet was in a strange melancholy mood all day. She didn’t feel like working on the scrapbook, or even cooking dinner that night. She wondered if her mom would mind having take-out food. She thought about chop suey, but it reminded her of Ray and how much she missed him.

  She listened to the words Dinah Shore was singing on the radio. It was a song called I’ll Walk Alone.

  I'll always be near you, wherever you are each night,

  In every prayer.

  If you call I'll hear you, no matter how far.

  Just close your eyes and I'll be there.

  Please walk alone and send your love and your kisses to guide me

  Till you're walking beside me, I'll walk alone.

  She let her chin rest on her hands as she stared out her bedroom window. It began to snow. She thought September was early for snowfall. She remembered something her grandmother, Emma, had told her once, that when snow falls that early in the year, someone dear has died. She went and got Ray’s picture from her nightstand and kissed it gently.

  ****

  Groesbeek, Holland, Kiekberg Forest

  September 27, 1944

  The 325th had to wait. Due to bad weather conditions, their gliders couldn’t take off until the 23rd of September. Their landing went smoothly and the night was spent in the dense forest North of Groesbeek. On the 27th they headed for the Kiekberg Forest. It was thick and hard to penetrate with its steep hills and valleys. The Germans had a strong hold
on it and Allied forces desperately needed to control and protect the Heumen Lock Bridge. C Company was already grounded and now it was time for Ray’s G Company to go in. It was 05.45 on a dark foggy Wednesday morning.

  As he always did, Ray kissed the picture of Bet and placed it back in his shirt pocket, right before jumping out of the Waco glider. Ray made a perfect jump and landing, but had to immediately take cover, as the ground battle was fiercely raging. He tried to meet up with the men from his battalion, but the smoke was heavy.

  A U.S. Army Air Force Waco CG-4A-WO glider (s/n 42-79211).

  National Museum of the U.S. Air Force photo

  060505-F-1234P-004 - Public Domain