I always feel a pang of loss on this day, and think of our pal Mac Showers sitting under the pneumatic tube- the “bunny tube” waiting for messages from Main Communications in The Dungeon at District headquarters at Pearl. He was told by Commander Joe Rochefort to wait for notification from the Fleet about whether or not the predictions of his code-breaking team were correct, and whether the Kido Butai was going to get whacked by American pilots.
I looked down the bar to where Mac used to sit, and remembered the tales of those days long ago.
For the Battle of Midway, it was 73 years ago this morning. We talked about that and some other stuff at the Amen Corner at Willow last night. Jon-without is recovered from his- let’s put this delicately- his procedure- and Old Jim, JPeter, Barrister Jerry and the Missle Twins were making merry. We were celebrating the fact that Heather has ripped this softball season up like a house on fire.
Jon slid onto the stool next to me and signaled Brett for a vodka. He looked over at mine. “Which one are you on,” he asked.
“Encore,” I said.
“What did we decide the first one is called? We had them all organized: “Encore for the second, hat trick for the third, final four for the last one. I can’t remember what we called he first one.”
“Bliss,” I said. “We had provisions for more.”
“Right. You could slide on into the Bonus round.”
“Or careen into the Double Bonus,” growled Jim. “Then a cab.”
Heather was having a snack and celebrating her softball victory. “So, you were four-for-four in the opener. How did you do last night?” I asked.
“Four for five,” she said with a grin. “I was batting eighth, and came up the first time. The chumps in the infield all came in, because they thought I was a girl and couldn’t hit.”
“Well, technically you are one,” observed Jon-without trenchantly.
“Yeah,” I said, taking a sip of my diet tonic and vodka. “But she is a woman who can rip the horsehide off a ball. What happened?”
“I hit a frozen rope to the gap and legged it out for a triple,” she said with a grin. “They should have stayed back. I was coming in high and hard to third and it was muddy and slid in spikes up.”
“You didn’t, did you?” asked Missleer Steve.
“There is a little Ty Cobb in all of us, even on the Nature Conservancy All Stars softball team.”
“They got just what they deserved for disrespecting you,” said Barrister Jerry, surveying the “Clams Casino” crusted cod in the bowl in front of him. “If my math is right, you are now eight for nine, or batting .889. That is a respectable average in any league.”
“Damn straight,” I said. “Cooperstown here she comes.” I looked at his dish with interest. It was a tender flaky filet of fish, smothered with a Buttery Bacon Crumble, Little Neck Clam Broth, Preserved Lemon, House Made Potato Gnocchi, Tomatoes, Sweet Garlic & Italian Parsley .
JPeter looked on with interest. He looked up at Brett the bartender and asked about the special. “We have the mini Willow burgers- two little sliders. They are good.”
“And cheap,” I said. “They are just for the bar, not like the Crusted Cod, which is a full entrée.”
He agreed, and ordered a pair. “You still writing about the Civil War? Those are some interesting times.”
“Yes,” I said. In fact I just found something really crazy about my Great Great Grandfather. In fact, it is sort of eerie. I was writing to the librarian at the Rutherford B. Hayes Presidential Library and found something that completely freaked me out. More than the fact that his unit helped to save the Union.”
“What was it?” asked Jon-without.
“Hang on. I don’t want to spoil it. We will get to that tomorrow.”
Copyright 2015 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303