The year was 1943 or possibly, 1944,
and the wars in Europe and the Pacific were raging. Multiplied millions of
young men heeded the call to military service, and millions more civilians, men
and women, labored in thousands of factories, research laboratories, and ship
building facilities across the land.
My grandparents, Earnest and Lillie
Ring, and future mother, Erma Ring, and her siblings lived in south Georgia at
the time, and were traveling somewhere on some road in some non-descript
automobile one day when they chanced upon a car by the side of the road. As a
result, my grandfather pulled over to see if he could help. (A similar scenario
once managed to get him arrested for a murder he didn’t commit, but that is an
entirely different story, and one which will have to wait).
I can just imagine the conversation
between the older and younger man.
“Well, hello there, stranger.
Anything I can do to help?”
To which the Army Air Corps officer
responded,
“Hi. Mighty nice of you to pull
over,” (and he seemed to be searching for a moniker with which to end his
sentence).
“Oh, sorry. I’m Earnest Ring. And
you are?”
“Lieutenant Lewis. Earl Lewis, Sir.”
“Good to meet you, Lieutenant.”
“My pleasure, Sir. Actually, I could use a lift into town to
buy a spare tire for this rim.”
My granddad indicated that the Air
Corps officer might ride up front with him, while my grandmother, mother and
aunts waited with the airman’s wife and son. And just before leaving,
introductions were made all around. The duo returned a half hour later with a
new tire, and promptly installed it.
“Well, Lieutenant that should get
you going again.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ring. Sorry, you
told me to call you ‘Earnest.’”
As they prepared to depart the two
men exchanged addresses and phone numbers, and determined to stay in touch;
which I’m glad to say, they did.
The location of Lt. Lewis’ duty
station has been lost to posterity, but he was apparently a flight training
officer or trainee at the time; most likely, the latter. At any rate, the two
men were true to their word, and the families occasionally dined together in my
grandparent’s home. And as Paul Harvey might well have said,
“And now the rest of the story.”
(For there is a “rest of the story.”)
It seems Lt. Lewis broke with protocol
on a recurring basis; for he would sometimes pilot his aircraft towards my
granddad’s home, suddenly dip low, waggle his wings, and drop something from
the plane, tied to a tiny parachute, or a rock.
Of course, the lieutenant’s arrival
was all too apparent, as the drone of those mighty engines might have easily
woke the dead. (Well, almost). And it seems Lt. Lewis’ aim never failed. The
falling object landed perfectly in the field behind the old frame house, and
was quickly retrieved by my mother, or one of her sisters.
And upon opening the little box, or
paper sack, Erma, (or Nita or Olline) would discover a message; which they
hastily delivered to their father. Of course, with numerous fly overs there
were any number of “air mail” messages which fell from that South Georgia sky.
“Earnest, we won’t be able to have
dinner with you, and your family Friday evening. Sorry. I just found out we’ll
be doing night training every evening this week.”
(or)
“Mr. Ring. I mean, ‘Earnest,’ is
there anything you want Natalie to cook for the picnic we’ve planned Sunday?”
(or)
“Well, hello again! Brent just got
his first tooth in, so we’ve been kinda excited about that. Hope things are
good with you and yours today.”
The two families enjoyed many happy
hours together, until the word came down that the lieutenant had received
orders to ship out to France, (or Italy or Hawaii, or some such place). And as
the story has been told to me, it was about this time that all contact was lost
between Earl and Earnest, their wives, and children.
And I think my mother was forever
impacted by this chance meeting, and the relationships which sprang out of it,
since not only did she name her youngest son after that military officer’s baby
boy, but my mother has never ceased to reflect on the gravity of that
friendship, and has done everything humanly possible to renew contact with Earl
and/or his now grown son, Brent.
Why, only today I posted an ad in
one of those reminisce-type magazines with a few succinct details; of which I have
just described at length here.
I think there are some people in
this life whom we are meant to meet, and, no doubt, people who we should avoid
at all costs. And then again, there are folks who come into our lives, and with
whom we lose contact, and we regret it the entire rest of our lives.
There’s a poignant scene in the
novel “Jane Eyre” in which the main character’s employer and friend speaks of
their upcoming departure from one another.
“Jane, I fear when you leave, and
travel across that great body of water some invisible string which joins us
will be stretched, and will snap, and we shall both begin to bleed inwardly.”
I think it’s that way when valued
relationships come to a conclusion, as the result of time, geographics or
emotions. And sadly, there seems to be nothing we can do about it. And yet
perhaps in the minority of these circumstances that invisible string that joins
us one to another has only been stretched, and has never snapped at all; since
it was Providence which strengthened the cords, and it was Providence which
knit us together in the first place.
*Interestingly enough, even in her
old age my mother never relinquished the hope that she might renew contact with
either Earl, or his son, Brent. I placed a couple of ads in veteran's and
reminiscence type magazines, but received no response. My mom passed away a year ago without ever having received any word of the lieutenant's whereabouts or
wherewithal. (William McDonald, PhD)
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