THE OLD MAN......

[rooter]

THE OLD MAN
A major networks camera panned slowly around and through the assembled crowd of
people. Colorful scenes of landscape, seascape, and early morning mists hanging over
the lush Hawaiian landmarks. Scattered through the milling crowd were many military
uniforms. The glaring whites of the Navy, to the more subdued browns and blues of the
Army and Air Force. Lots of multi-colored and floral patterned shirts along with short
legged trousers was indicative of the warm, sultry temperatures there at Pearl Harbor.
The camera continued to rovolve and scan in a seemingly random pattern. The
narrator droned on with facts and figures about this date being the sixtieth anniversiary
of the Japanese attack on this Pacific Island, and that being the date of the entry of the
United States into a war with the Empire of Japan. Facts that had been oft told and
repeated so many times and serving now as a on-air time filler. The early morning
sunrise was filtering through the steamy appearing fog hanging over the bay and shafts
of bright light appeared almost spiritual, marking this sad day of remembrance. A brisk
breeze tugged at the onlookers clothing, and wafted the hair of ladies in the crowd.
The commentator stated, that the time on the clock would be observed to the exact
moment that the sneak attack had occurred that December day back in 1941. The
camera was now looking toward the Arizona Memorial, and the remarkably mundane
sounding voice of the narrator was telling of the structures design features. It may have
been more informative, had the bored sounding person not attempted to fill every
moment with superfluous mouthings. Again the camera moved to the rows and groups
of people as the meaningless sounding broadcasted words continued. Close up on the
lens there was a quick flash of a face---a face so close that it’s features were
indistinguishable---just a rapid pink flourish and then it was gone. What happened? The
seeking, moving camera had stopped in its searching the more distant faces in it’s
inantimate eye, and very rapidly had reversed back to where the pink flash had been
noted. There, now very clear and distinct, was the full side view of a man. The
complexion now showed more than a hazy pink, but almost a flushed, sunburned
looking red profile. The man wore a head covering the military call a fore and aft cap
(Navy Chiefs used to call them ‘piss-cutters’). On the front portion of the cap was the
gold script writing PEARL HARBOR SURVIVOR and under that writing was some other
identifying groups name. Tufts of silvery hair poked out from around the caps edges
and the camera was so close it could record the generous growths of hair on the old
mans ears. Why was the camera lingering on this old veteran? Did he have some part
to play in the activities---was he famous, or just perhaps the cameraman knew who he
was, and was giving the old guy his five minutes of fame over national television. A
bugle sounded attention to colors and the commentor made pertinent remarks
concerning the sounds. Perhaps now, the old man sensed he was being watched, for
he turned full face to the cameras lens. The camera was accommodating, but did
nothing to glamorize the ancient mariners appearance. Faded blue eyes looking out,
once in youth, probably heart- rendering blue to many young female admirers, now
almost as colorless as blue sky showing through a white cloud. Deep crows feet around
and pouches under those eyes,denoted lots of getting “rained on and putting away to
dry---”. A broad, florid face, with lots of red viens showing on the bulbous nose and
fleshy cheekbones. Probably genes of a whisky drinking Irishman or a beer guzzling
German---maybe a ‘boozer’ himself. A more than generous sized mouth that turned
down at the corners with thin lips, almost to the point of none showing. A spot of dried
blood near the edge of the old fellows chin, indicating that perhaps his once steely and
steady hand, now had the shakes from age and infirmity. A spot of silvery, red looking
whiskers, high up on the cheek, showed that the shave had not been as thorough as
perhaps it had once been when a superior officer had inspected his youthful physical
appearance. The camera seemed to be frozen onto the old mans face, as he stared
unblinkingly into its dead but electronically alive eye. The bugle sounded
again---exactly 0800 and simultanously there was a clanging of ships bells and the shrill
whistle of a boatswains pipe. This moment in time however, instead of sounding colors
as would be normal on a military installation or ship, it was the Navy Band playing a
most rousing version of The National Anthem. The booming sounds of the drums---the
spine-tingling shrill of the horns--the attention grabbing clash of the cymbals. The
camera remained focused on the old mans face, lingering there for some unknown
reason. The voice of the narrator was now silent, and the air waves were being filled
with the patrotic sounds of the huge band. Part way into the sounds of the National
Anthem, a tear rolled out of the old fellows eye--then a tear from the other eye. Like a
slow rolling object, it was gathering momentum as it progressed down the ruddy old
cheek. On one side, that salty tear was all the way down to the corner of the drooping,
thin lipped mouth while on the other side the tears were getting cought up in the
unshaven patch of whiskers on his cheek and lingered there, collecting for a moment
and then in a flush, that side also, down to the sad mouth. I wondered to myself as I
looked into that old mans eyes, what terrible things those eyes had recorded onto his
brain back then and that he perhaps still clung to these long years later. Had those
eyes seen men about the business of making war and waging war---had he seen his
own sons or grandsons cought up in the carnage of war. The eyes of the old Vet told
no stories--eyes so time faded and sad, with tears falling from those eyes and his
probably not even knowing of them. Hurtful and tearful emotions for the man inside
that now aged frame, and his not even realizing they were falling or why. Wilborn

[pickenup]

A touching read....