“We’re ready,” said Mr. Dellinger, satisfied that all was as it should be.
Just as one yawn leads to another…tears have the same effect. The wailing of a broken-hearted mother was more than the congregants could take. There wasn’t a dry eye in the place as the grieving family processed toward the open casket for the final look at the dearly departed.
Like the night before, Mable patted his hands and then touched his cheek. “Remember what I told you. This isn’t goodbye. I’ll see you later.”
Reverend Smith was standing beside of her when she said it. He was deeply moved by her words and had never heard a more sincere expression of trust in God’s eternal plan.
With the family seated on the front row, Elmo Dellinger lowered the lid on the casket.
“No,” cried Helen. “No. I’ll never see by baby brother again.” She continued to weep loudly for a moment as Woody attempted to console her. The Undertaker waited until Helen’s emotional outburst had subsided and then he signaled to the pastor that the service could begin.
Across the way from the family, taking up no less than five rows of pews were the six pallbearers and the honorary pallbearers, the 1953 graduate class from Strasburg High School. Most notable was the one pallbearer who was attired differently than all the rest. Donne Turner had made it home for his best friend’s funeral and he was wearing his dress uniform.
A funeral service in the Lutheran church is much like a regular church service. Congregational singing, sitting, standing, scripture readings, and a sermon. It was at the standing part where Woody again found himself in trouble with Helen, who had somehow become an expert on funeral etiquette. He had already learned earlier that members of the grieving family are to refrain from talking to others. And when the pastor called upon the congregation to “please stand,” Helen grabbed Woody’s arm and pulled him back down onto the seat, which gave rise to the third lesson on funeral protocol. Apparently ugly looks were acceptable among the bereaved.
Mable would later say that she didn’t remember a single thing about the church service. There was too much going on in her head to hear anything else. She couldn’t even recall seeing anyone there, despite a more than capacity crowd.
St. Mary’s Pine Church Cemetery, Mt. Jackson, Virginia – 11:30
Charlie reasoned that most of the people who came to the St. Paul’s service would depart from there. Following in a processional to the distant cemetery just seemed too far for folks to want to travel. He was wrong. Many did come and then there were the relatives and friends who still lived near where Charlie and Mable started their lives together.
Mable grew up in the house adjacent to St. Mary’s Pine Church. Her father, Moses Shown, was the caretaker of the church and the cemetery. Mable and Charlie were married in that historic church and their two children who died soon after birth were buried in the cemetery along with Mable’s mom and dad.
Despite spending the last fifteen years of their lives in Strasburg, they still thought of the area around Mt. Jackson as home. They visited there often and once a year Mable returned for the St. Mary’s Homecoming celebration.
In the distance could be seen the mountains that skirt the Shenandoah Valley. All around the cemetery was flat and fertile farmland where cattle grazed and tall grass bowed to the whistling summer breeze. Frequent gusts of wind showed no mercy to perfectly coifed hairdos and black hats. Men and women alike were sent scurrying after flying hats and scarves. Even the green canopy with the Stover’s Funeral Home logo was taking a beating.
Elmo Dellinger stood beside the Polk family vehicle and waited for the rear doors to the hearse to be opened. “The pallbearers are getting ready to remove the casket from the hearse. You’ll follow behind to the gravesite.”
This would be the final procession and the final farewell. Reverend Smith led the way, followed by the pallbearers carrying the casket, and the Polk family. Many visitors were already gathered around the tent while others were just leaving their vehicles. The Honor Guard from American Legion Post #77 stood at attention in a single line just inside the gate.
Mable looked at the casket carried ahead of her, just as she had done when following the pallbearers out of the church. How hard it was to believe that her son was inside. It all seemed surreal…impossible. It was also hard to believe that, as a child, she used to run and play in that cemetery while her daddy worked nearby. Of course, you never ever stepped on a grave. That was bad luck. And you never went to the cemetery after dark. Her daddy swore that he had seen apparitions engaged in all manner of spookiness at night.
Since those happy days of childhood, that old cemetery had become a place of sorrow with more funerals than she could remember. Each one seemed to be worse than the one before. But nothing compared to this. The only thing that would end this pain would be her own death.
Outside the canopy, the family waited as the casket was placed over the empty grave on the lowering device. Once the pallbearers had stepped outside the tent, Elmo Dellinger motioned for the family to take their seats. He stood by their side momentarily and watched as a few late arrivals approached the assembly.
The graveside service was shorter and simpler than what they had experienced at the church. Reverend Smith read a few scripture passages, shared a brief message of encouragement, and then prayed. At the conclusion, two Marines stepped forward and carefully removed the American flag from the casket and then meticulously folded it into a triangular shape. They handed the stars and bars to a Marine Corps Captain, who held the flag to his chest and stood at attention. The seven members of the American Legion Honor Guard then fired three volleys in a 21-gun-salute tribute to the fallen Marine and a bugler played a slow and mournful rendition of Taps.
The Marine Captain then slowly walked to the canopy and knelt in front of Mable. When he presented the flag to her, she was so distraught that she knocked the flag off her lap. Fortunately, the Captain caught it before it touched the ground and then handed it to Helen for safe keeping. And then, still on bended knee, he addressed Buddy’s mother. “On behalf of the President of the United States, the Commandant of the United States Marine Corps, and a grateful Nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation of your son’s service to Country and Corps.”
Upon the Captain’s departure, Elmo Dellinger announced, “This concludes our service.” And then he asked if the family wanted to stay to see the casket lowered into the grave. Helen didn’t even wait for him to finish the question. “No,” she snapped. “No way we want to see that.”
Finally, the funeral was over and all that was left was to try to get passed all of those people who wanted to express their condolences. But there was one of them that Mable just had to see.
“Where are you going, Mother?” asked Helen as Mable set out on her own.
Donnie had his back turned and was engaged in conversation with Bobbie Jean and Trudy when Mable tapped him on the shoulder.
“Oh, my gosh. Mrs. Polk.” And then she hugged him and they both cried together.
“You were always his best friend,” she said still clinging tightly.
Donnie felt awful. Not just about Buddy’s death. He believed that he pushed Buddy into joining the Corps. “Oh, Mrs. Polk. How can you ever forgive me?”
Mable stood back and looked into his tearful eyes. “Forgive you. What is there to forgive?”
“You know how I bugged him about joining the Corps. He’d still be alive if…”
“Whoa. Stop right there. Don’t you go thinking that. Becoming a Marine was his decision. Now, don’t be a stranger. I want you to come to see us when you can.”
“Yes, mam. I’ll do that.”
Mable then turned her attention to Bobbie Jean. “You were his friend, too. You’ll always be welcome at our house.”
“I would like to come to see you one day soon,” said Bobbie Jean. “Just the two of us. Girl to girl.”
“I’d like that.”
Their conversation was interrup
ted by others who saw that Mable was in a mood to talk. Charlie’s sisters and brother had cornered him and there could even be heard some occasional laughter coming from their group. Woody’s dad and sister were offering words of encouragement to him. And Helen searched the crowd in hopes that the mystery girlfriend, Sally Duffy, was somewhere to be found.
Sally was there alright but shy about making her presence known. She attempted to blend into the crowd hoping to avoid a recurrence of the embarrassing fainting incident at the funeral home. She was still thinking about when the military officer presented the flag to Mrs. Polk. Had she and Buddy stayed together they would have likely been married by now and she would have been the Mrs. Polk receiving the flag. Sally definitely had the broken heart of a widow, just not the title. And then she was struck with a sickening thought. Had the relationship continued after the summer of ’53 then he would have taken the job with the state, would never have become a Marine and he would still be alive. He didn’t have to die. If only…”
“Excuse me,” interrupted Helen.
Sally blushed from embarrassment when she recognized that Buddy’s sister had found her.
“You were at the funeral home last night,” said Helen.
“Yes, mam. I’m very sorry for causing all that trouble.”
“That was no trouble and I’m glad you were able to make it today. I’m Helen Weirich, Buddy’s sister.”
She knew him as Charles and also knew that his family preferred to call him Buddy. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Sally Duffy.”
“You knew my brother.”
“Yes, mam,” replied Sally.
Helen paused, expecting more information but Sally wasn’t sure how to respond. “How did the two of you meet?”
“We met a couple of summers ago when he was working in my hometown. I’m from West Point, Virginia.”
“That’s when he was working for the state,” said Helen, who was tired and unwilling, at least for now, to engage in a lengthy conversation. So she got right to the point. “How close were the two of you?”
“Real close,” said Sally. She could see Helen’s husband approaching. “I think your husband is trying to get your attention.”
“He’ll just have to wait. When was the last time you talked to Buddy?”
“About a month ago. He called me and…” Sally stopped and began to cry.
“What happened?”
“He was supposed to call me on his birthday…since there was no way that I could call him.”
Helen had seen enough soap operas to know real love when she saw it. Unfortunately, Woody had caught up to her and was in a minor panic.
“Mable and Charlie want to get on back home,” said Woody. “Sorry, to interrupt. I’m the family chauffeur today. Woody. Woody Weirich.”
“Sally Duffy.”
“Nice to meet you.”
Helen was more than happy to share the news she had uncovered. “Sally and Buddy were real close.”
“Don’t want to be rude, but they’re waiting,” said Woody, who then turned, waved to the Polks, and then headed their way.
There was still unfinished business. Helen wanted to know more. Much more. “When are you going back home?”
“Don’t know yet,” said Sally. “I was hoping to meet his parents but I don’t want to impose.”
“How serious was this relationship?” asked Helen digging a little deeper in the well.
Sally responded with just one word. “Very.”
“It’s going to be hectic at the house today. Could you come by tomorrow or the next day?”
“Yes, mam. I can do that.”
“Where are you staying?”
“The hotel in Strasburg. I had planned on staying a few days. Just wanted to experience a little bit of the town and the people he was so fond of.”
The Daily Grind – June 1955
When Dickie awoke on the morning of June 22nd, he was excited. This was the day of the return to normalcy, or so he imagined. With the funeral out of the way, he expected that his family would be happy again and he would no longer be relegated to playing quietly to himself. The day before had been such a welcome relief from all the crying and sadness. The opportunity to visit his cousin was the first time he had been allowed to play with another child in nearly a month.
Woody left for work early that morning and later in the day Charlie was set to return to his job at the Viscose. Dickie glanced out an upstairs window and was pleased to see that only the Polkmobile, as his Daddy called it, was parked in the driveway. The Polkmobile was a 1951 Chevrolet Station Wagon with wood grain side panels. “Ugliest car ever made,” insisted Woody. But Charlie loved it. A car and a truck all rolled into one. It was actually roomier and ran better than Woody’s black 1949 Ford Sedan but Helen made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that she was not about to attend her brother’s funeral in “that eyesore.”
Surely, the rule about tip-toeing down the stairs was no longer in effect. So Dickie took a much faster route down those wooden stairs. He jumped, two steps at a time. Four loud thuds and he was on the bottom floor. But as soon as he entered the living room from the hallway his mother greeted him, in battle position. Legs spread, hands on hips, and a scowl. Not at all what he expected.
“Richard Allen Weirich, what do you think you’re doing?” she whispered. His mom had mastered the art of yelling softly. Her contorted facial expression had the same impact as a loud scream. To make matters worse, she had invoked his middle name.
Dickie rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders. “Uh. Having fun?”
The whispered reprimand continued. “Your Granddad is trying to sleep and Mammaw is in no mood. Get on in the kitchen and eat your breakfast. And I don’t want to hear a peep out of you the rest of the day. Now, git?” Dickie had gotten pretty good at avoiding the fanny smack that always followed, “Now git.” He escaped with his bottom unscathed, rushed quietly into the kitchen, and filled his Wild Bill Hickok cereal bowl with Sugar Pops.
Through the doorway, he could see that Mammaw was on the sofa, just like before the funeral, with the box of Uncle Buddy’s pictures on her lap. Dickie recalled the many times when he spent the night with his grandparents and the fun he had when his grandmother played with him. Frequently, they walked together downtown, sometimes to the grocery store, or the Newsstand. There was a small oak tree at the edge of the property and when they passed, Mammaw stepped to the left and Dickie to the right, and then together they would say, “Bread and butter.” Mable claimed that saying those magic words would prevent anything from ever coming between them. But now something was keeping them apart. If there was just another incantation to bring back the joy.
Dickie reasoned that he had a lot to learn about death. Many of the people who came through the viewing line at the visitation made observations about Uncle Buddy’s corpse that seemed so strange. “He looks so natural,” said one. “He would be so proud of the way he looks,” said another. And the one that really got him, “That’s nothing more than a hunk of meat that was left behind. His spirit is in heaven.” These were grownups who were supposed to be considerably smarter and wiser than a 7-year-old. Maybe someday in the distant future, when he had gray hair and wrinkles, he would understand why it was necessary to say such strange things. Of greater concern, he concluded, was what death did to the living. Death is not confined to the one lying in the casket. A part of his grandmother died with her son. All those wonderful things that defined her were gone. No more baking cakes and cookies or cooking big meals. Weeds were taking over her precious flowers. Her prized vegetable garden wasn’t doing any better. If only he could find a way to help bring her back to life.
Bobbie Jean – June 22 – 2:00 p.m.
It was like a Wild West gold rush when the girls came calling to stake their claim on Buddy’s heart. None of them were lying about their deep affection for the fallen Marine. It’s just that the family had no idea that such relationships ever took place. The first to make an appea
rance was Bobbie Jean Norris.
When she arrived, the only one at home was Mable. Woody was at work, Charlie was tending to his cattle, and Helen and Dickie were on the way to the drugstore. Bobbie Jean tapped on the screen door. “Mrs. Polk, are you home?”
Mable was only a few feet away, still on the sofa looking at Buddy’s school pictures. “Come on in. It’s open.”
Bobbie Jean pushed open the door. “Oh, there you are. Is this a good time?”
“Come sit by me,” said Mable, who then laid the box of photographs on an end table. “I’m sorry for the way I look. Haven’t even combed my hair.”
“You look just fine,” said Bobbie Jean. “Just glad to spend some time with you. So, how are you holding up?”
“Doing the best I can,” replied Mable, “which ain’t all that good.”
“Charles was a special boy. The nicest and sweetest boy I ever knew. The reason I wanted to talk to you today is to tell you about how I felt about your son.”
“Oh? How’s that?”
“Well, to be honest, I’ve been in love with him since high school.”
In Mable’s world, divorce was spelled with capital letters, sinful, and shameful. She kept her thoughts to herself but Bobbie Jean’s confession had her undivided attention. “Is that right?”
“Yes, mam,” beamed Bobbie Jean. “We dated a few times our senior year.”
“He never told me.” Was it true? Had Buddy withheld a high school romance?
“I wanted to get serious but he didn’t. He was just the greatest guy. Would have married him in a heartbeat. When he joined the Marines and still didn’t seem to feel the same way about me, I made a big mistake and married just about the meanest man on earth.”
“I’m sorry,” said Mable, who was thinking that her husband was no better, but she was still married to him after 36 years and would be until the day she died.
“I gave him his first kiss.”
Mable’s eyes popped open as big as saucers. “You did?”
“Come to think of it, Trudy kissed him first and then I planted a big one on him right after.” In all likelihood, Mable had never heard of levitation but she was about to come out of her seat. Bobby Jean continued. “See, what happened was, Donnie kept teasing Buddy about never having been kissed. Just wouldn’t leave it alone. So me and Trudy gave him a quick kiss to get Donnie to shut his mouth. The four of us had the best times together.”
Farewell PFC Polk: The End of a Nightmare (In the Valley of Hope Book 2) Page 28