When Agent Boothby returned the maps and the rest of the stuff they had confiscated from the warehouse after Pearl Harbor, he said, “Well, we had every reason to worry. After all—”
“I know. It was war,” Mom said, fingering Mr. Kaye’s dog tags. “Tommy loved golf. And he loved this town. Makes total sense to me. Now.”
“And I’ll be the first man to tee off when you get it built,” he said, patting her hand.
After he left, Mom went upstairs to the ballroom at the Look-Sea Lounge. It was dark except for the huge windows spilling in a beautiful sunset. She just stood there, a champagne glass in her hand.
“Mom? You okay?” I asked as I came up behind her.
“Pour yourself a glass,” she said, pointing to the bottle on the bar. I did and then joined her in front of the windows. She looked at me, her face a total wreck, but her eyes sort of calm.
“To Tommy Kaye,” was all she said, lifting her glass to the horizon then taking a sip. “The best enemy anyone ever had.”
I did the same, then left her alone to the rest of the bottle, and her memories.
I found Hero and gave him the sad news. Call me crazy, but I know that dog mourned.
Anyway, now that the war is officially over, there’s talk of some big city newspaper man who wants to write up Tommy Kaye’s story. Well, if he comes to me with questions, good luck! I’m not talking. A story like Mr. Kaye’s isn’t meant for newspapers. It isn’t for strangers or gossips or the Sand Dune Telegraph. A story like his is meant to be told around a campfire, in a smoke-filled room, or late at night with the lights down low, as though the windows are all covered in black cloth. It should be told someplace quiet, someplace incommunicado, like the basement of a church. That’s how quiet hero stories should get passed on. Sort of like I’m passing it on right now. Just you and me.
But enough of this. According to the Sand Dune Telegraph, some kids are throwing a surprise birthday party for me tomorrow at the bowling alley. Yes, me. Town Hood. The Town Clown that everyone laughed at back in ’42. How’s that for irony? So I’m going incommunicado myself for a few hours.
Have to go practice looking surprised.
Author’s Note
It’s always difficult to address the use of disrespectful slang in a work of historical fiction. One needs to be true to the times, yet sensitive to the current way of thinking. What went unnoticed—and indeed was encouraged—by the culture during a time of war is simply inappropriate today. Words to describe foreigners and especially the enemy such as Jap, Kraut, Chinaman, and even Oriental were commonly used during the World War II-era, but are considered derogatory today.
People in the 1940s used different slang than we do today, and some words in this book might not look familiar to you. To read more about the slang used throughout the book, please visit the author’s website at www.plattbooks.com.
JUST WHO IS THIS RANDALL PLATT?
(Hint : Not a guy!)
Randall Platt writes fiction for adults and young adults and those who don’t own up to being either. Platt, a lifelong resident of the Upper Left Hand Corner, has been a full-time writer for twenty-five years, which is certainly long enough to know better. But since Platt finds no shortage of fascinating characters and stories springing from the beautiful Pacific Northwest, the books just keep coming. This explains why nearly all of Platt’s novels take place in Washington or Oregon, the exception being Liberty’s Christmas, which takes place in Texas during the Depression. A film, Promise The Moon, has been made of Platt’s humorous western, The Four Arrows Fe-As-Ko.
Platt’s novels have won several awards including twice winning the Willa Literary Award and twice winning the Will Rogers Medallion for best young adult literature. Platt has also received the Keystone State Reading Award and has been a finalist for the PEN Center USA award as well as the Washington State Book Award. Platt is a sought-after speaker and presenter at conferences, schools, and libraries, and specializes in fun and honest answers shot straight from the hip.
Several times a week, Platt puts away the words and heads for the nearest handball court or hiking trail.
More information than you ever wished to know about Platt is available at www.plattbooks.com, Facebook, and LinkedIn, as well as the usual book websites.
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