A Flashback

 The gloom of World War II filled the air.  Service men in uniform were

plentiful on Memphis streets.  My chum and I did our duty, going to the

Y.W.C.A. club once a week.  It was a well chaperoned, properly conducted

affair.  As two seventeen-year-olds, we enjoyed it, too.  In fact, I became

comfortable talking to any guy in uniform.

One evening, I was having a snack in a “quickie eatery”, (today’s fast

foods), when a G.I. sat down beside me and struck up a conversation.  We

lingered.  As I rose to go, he made his move.  “If you’re not busy, why don’t

you come to my room and see my etchings?”  I had led a very sheltered life,

was very naïve, had no idea what he was talking about, but also, was very

curious.  I went – to a hotel, down a long hallway to his room.  Once inside,

he closed the door, put his two hands on my shoulders, and, not too gently,

sat me on the bed.  Standing erect, he towered over me.  I admit I was

scared.

“What do you think you are doing?  A nice kid like you —.”  He

proceeded to give me the strongest lecture I had ever heard.  He ended with,

“Don’t you ever, ever, EVER do this again!  I have a young sister about

your age, and I pray to God that if she’s ever in a situation like this, she will

get this same treatment.  Now, come on, I’ll take you home.”  He did, and

left me shaking, but more aware of dangers in life.

Fifty years later, to the beautiful strains of Guy Lombardo’s music, this

scene was vividly recalled to my mind.  I had long ago forgotten it, couldn’t

remember a name or face.  I suppose that was because I outgrew the need

for this lecture.  Be that as it may, it’s just one more time that I knew

someone’s watching over me.  In telling this story, I can acknowledge the

kindness of this stranger, now knowing how much I owe him.

Thank you.