day. Joanie and I were squeezed into the phone booth outside Romeo’s Package Store next to the Village Shop.
“All my uncle John could think of,” Joanie said, “was the Veteran’s Administration.”
The copy of the Medal of Honor list that Old Lady Coughlin got for Joanie said that Oswald Tupper was in the 1st Infantry Division, 26th Infantry Regiment, 3rd Battalion, Company L. Joanie had it written on a piece of paper along with the number for the VA. She dialed the number.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m trying to locate my brother.”
She held the phone away from her ear a little and I pressed my head against hers to listen.
“He is a veteran of what service?” the VA woman said.
“Excuse me?”
“Army? Navy? What service?” the VA woman said.
There was the kind of impatience in her voice that kids always hear from grown-ups.
“Army,” Joanie said.
“And he’s missing?”
“Yes, ma’am. He went to war and now it’s over and we haven’t heard from him and my mom’s awful sick…” Joanie said.
“I’ll transfer you,” the VA lady said.
We waited. Another lady picked up. Joanie told her story again. We got transferred again. Finally we got a guy. He sounded like a young guy.
“…and I don’t know how much time my mom has left,” Joanie said.
She sounded ready to cry.
“I understand,” the young man said. “What is your name?”
“Janie Krauss.”
“And your brother’s name?”
“Richard. Richard Krauss.”
“Do you have any kind of address for him?” the young man asked.
“I don’t know. I have an address, but I’m not sure it’s his,” Joanie said.
“Let’s try it,” the young man said.
Joanie gave him Oswald Tupper’s military address.
“The Big Red One,” the young man said. “That would be European Theater.”
“Can you look and see?” Joanie said.
“Hang on,” the young man said.
It was cold outside, with a lot of wind. But in the small telephone booth, with the door closed, the two of us were perfectly warm. We stayed with our heads together, listening. We didn’t want to talk in case the young man came back on the line. So we were silent. It took forever. But finally he was back.
“Janie?” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
“That was the correct address for your brother,” he said.
“Do you know where he is?” Joanie said.
The young man paused.
“No,” he said after a moment. “I don’t.”
“Can you tell me anything?” Joanie said.
Again the young man paused.
“Please,” Joanie said. Her voice was desperate. “Please. I don’t have a father. My mom’s dying. I don’t know where my brother is. Please tell me something. Anything. Please.”
“I was with the Forty-fifth Division,” the young man said. “At Anzio.”
Joanie and I waited.
“I’ll lose my job if you tell anyone I told you,” he said.
“I’ll never tell,” Joanie said. “I promise.”
“And,” the young man said, “there’s other jobs, anyway.”
“I won’t tell,” Joanie said.
“I’m sorry,” the young man said, “but your brother is listed as a deserter.”
“A deserter? Like, you mean AWOL?” Joanie said.
“Sort of like that,” the young man said.
“Oh my God,” Joanie said.
“If you find him,” the young man said, “he needs a lawyer.”
“Yes, sir,” Joanie said.
CHAPTER 37
IT was too cold for the bandstand, so we went into the Village Shop. We had three nickels left from the phone call, so I went to the jukebox while Joanie ordered two black cows from Alice at the soda fountain. I played an Andy Russell record, one by Eddy Howard, and Johnny Mercer singing “Personality” with the Pied Pipers.
We took our black cows to the far back booth and sat down.
“Wow,” I said. “You were like Barbara Stanwyck or somebody.”
“I know,” Joanie said. “I thought I might actually cry at one point.”
I’m laughing on the outside, crying on the inside, ’cause I’m still in love with you.
“I love Andy
“All my uncle John could think of,” Joanie said, “was the Veteran’s Administration.”
The copy of the Medal of Honor list that Old Lady Coughlin got for Joanie said that Oswald Tupper was in the 1st Infantry Division, 26th Infantry Regiment, 3rd Battalion, Company L. Joanie had it written on a piece of paper along with the number for the VA. She dialed the number.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m trying to locate my brother.”
She held the phone away from her ear a little and I pressed my head against hers to listen.
“He is a veteran of what service?” the VA woman said.
“Excuse me?”
“Army? Navy? What service?” the VA woman said.
There was the kind of impatience in her voice that kids always hear from grown-ups.
“Army,” Joanie said.
“And he’s missing?”
“Yes, ma’am. He went to war and now it’s over and we haven’t heard from him and my mom’s awful sick…” Joanie said.
“I’ll transfer you,” the VA lady said.
We waited. Another lady picked up. Joanie told her story again. We got transferred again. Finally we got a guy. He sounded like a young guy.
“…and I don’t know how much time my mom has left,” Joanie said.
She sounded ready to cry.
“I understand,” the young man said. “What is your name?”
“Janie Krauss.”
“And your brother’s name?”
“Richard. Richard Krauss.”
“Do you have any kind of address for him?” the young man asked.
“I don’t know. I have an address, but I’m not sure it’s his,” Joanie said.
“Let’s try it,” the young man said.
Joanie gave him Oswald Tupper’s military address.
“The Big Red One,” the young man said. “That would be European Theater.”
“Can you look and see?” Joanie said.
“Hang on,” the young man said.
It was cold outside, with a lot of wind. But in the small telephone booth, with the door closed, the two of us were perfectly warm. We stayed with our heads together, listening. We didn’t want to talk in case the young man came back on the line. So we were silent. It took forever. But finally he was back.
“Janie?” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
“That was the correct address for your brother,” he said.
“Do you know where he is?” Joanie said.
The young man paused.
“No,” he said after a moment. “I don’t.”
“Can you tell me anything?” Joanie said.
Again the young man paused.
“Please,” Joanie said. Her voice was desperate. “Please. I don’t have a father. My mom’s dying. I don’t know where my brother is. Please tell me something. Anything. Please.”
“I was with the Forty-fifth Division,” the young man said. “At Anzio.”
Joanie and I waited.
“I’ll lose my job if you tell anyone I told you,” he said.
“I’ll never tell,” Joanie said. “I promise.”
“And,” the young man said, “there’s other jobs, anyway.”
“I won’t tell,” Joanie said.
“I’m sorry,” the young man said, “but your brother is listed as a deserter.”
“A deserter? Like, you mean AWOL?” Joanie said.
“Sort of like that,” the young man said.
“Oh my God,” Joanie said.
“If you find him,” the young man said, “he needs a lawyer.”
“Yes, sir,” Joanie said.
CHAPTER 37
IT was too cold for the bandstand, so we went into the Village Shop. We had three nickels left from the phone call, so I went to the jukebox while Joanie ordered two black cows from Alice at the soda fountain. I played an Andy Russell record, one by Eddy Howard, and Johnny Mercer singing “Personality” with the Pied Pipers.
We took our black cows to the far back booth and sat down.
“Wow,” I said. “You were like Barbara Stanwyck or somebody.”
“I know,” Joanie said. “I thought I might actually cry at one point.”
I’m laughing on the outside, crying on the inside, ’cause I’m still in love with you.
“I love Andy
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