Edgar James Moore

Never dropped, Porcelain will last forever;
but the fork will rust away...
So. Which is the strong, and which is the fragile?
Where is comfort?
Sometimes I pat my own shoulder
stroke myself there to go to sleep...

Dreaming of family I never knew

I had a visit from my 30 year old son. He brought back my father's Walther P-38 9mm pistol he had worked to free up. I showed him the papers authorizing him to own it as a war trophy from the second world war. One of the hand grips was missing, and Dad carved one from the clear Plexiglas of one of the crashed bombers kept for parts... We agreed never to shoot it....
I remember daddy saying he traded his browning 32 for the P-38 and that he wished he hadn't. But I am glad he did...

It like a fork,
is hard in my hands 
he is just a memory,
a bronze marker

Robert Glen Moon
S/Sgt 455th of 323rd 9th Air force
Psalms 23

My mother's father was an alcoholic.
My grandmother married and divorced him.
Twice! Cousin Claudia asked in her youth,
"Grandma? why did you marry E.J.?"

"Because he was the best looking man in town!"

"Why did you divorce him?"

"Because he was a selfish son of a bitch!"

"Why did you marry him again, Grandmother?"

"Because he was still the best looking man in town!"

"Why did you divorce him a second time?"

"Because he was still a son of a bitch!"

He would forge auto leaf springs for Ford, pounding a five pound sledge on hot steel all day, come home, wet his hands and wipe the dirt on a towel, read the paper and eat dinner, then head to the bars...

If a fight broke out he was happy; and would beat everyone there unconscious...

Some bar owners would seek him out to 'restore' peace...

In some photos he looks like cousin Dicky. Richard was a career pilot in the Air Force, commander of a squadron of C-130's, adviser to the Saudi Arabians, and instructor to the Royal Family in the finer techniques of water skiing. He finished his career planning Mid-East contingencies and retired before "Desert Storm." He is a flight attendant for an airline now, and taking care of Alice, his wife, who has serious medical problems.

Other photos he looks just like my Garrett. Mighty with a Spear... and a pen. Writes as "The three Armies." His thoughts are rarely where his face is, and bullies read the blankness as weakness. He also gives off the toughest guy vibe, and belligerents looking to best the best come to him, too. He gives them one chance to escape, "And they all leave the bar bloody."  A street musician, who turns robbery attempts into very bad career moves... He earned more respect in the one fight he lost, when pinned, the Jock smacked the back of his head  24 times, bouncing his face off the concrete.

Garrett said, "Is that all you got? You have to let me up some time..."

He had three spectators hold him down, saying, "I did what I came here to do..."

And quickly left! Garrett's face was normal in three days.

E. J.  was Irish. His Dad's parents from North Ireland, His mom's from Dublin. The grandfathers fought anytime they met...

He played Tuba in the "Sons of Italy" Band. They did funerals, and weddings, and entertained at parties.

When told Mom's shoes had holes he said,
"Best a dago die. Baby needs new shoes!"

Mom got only two new dresses a year (whether she needed them or not!) Yet he always had silk shirts to wear to the bar. His favorite drinking bet was that he could flex his bicep and burst the sleeves...

Timothy, my brother, had E. J.'s Tuba. I come from a musical family; Mother played the piano and sang. Janet went to college on scholarships to play the bassoon, and only stopped playing professionally five months ago, when at 61, a stroke took deftness from her left side. My third sibling, Philip, played the piano, baritone, then oboe, then everything to qualify as a band director. He appraises real estate now, jaded by the politics of school teaching. One Sunday afternoon, Mother played and sang, "Once I had a Secret Love..."
from a sixties musical, I think. Philip accompanied her on the oboe. The lowest note was out of his range, so Timothy would add it on E. J.'s Tuba, to peals of laughter at the incongruity. We taped the performance. I remember Janet exclaiming, "God! Philip! and bursting into belly laughs. In Timothy's hermit stage he was burning trash in Oklahoma during a burn ban he knew nothing about. The fire took 40 acres, and his trailer. The tuba melted...

The authorities didn't fine him. Figured loosing everything was punishment enough. He emigrated to Mainland China, and is a college professor there.

E. J. rarely woke Mabel when he dragged in late. But the money woes, the fighting and cruelty put her in bed with arthritis for four years. The family discussed how to divide up her children, and she prayed for strength, bargaining with God to stay with E.J. for the sake of the children if he could help her keep her family together. When Uncle Don was a senior in high school, she woke to him holding a pillow over her face, making outlandish drunken accusations of unfaithfulness. The next day she filed for divorce. He begged her to come back, and promised that would never happen again.

Something happened to make her leave again...

But when the emphysema started by the mustard gas in the trenches of World War 1, (He was always first back from a charge, when they sounded retreat)  compounded by smoking that ransacked his chiseled body, she returned; and nursed him to an early death 8 years before I was born.

I remember Mabel as serene. I stayed with her as a preschooler, when Mom was called in as a substitute teacher. She fixed me lunches of rice, canned peas, tuna, and mushroom soup. I have tried to replicate the casserole, but the taste, I can't find it anymore. If I could wiggle a toe at nap time in her heirloom bed, I would slip down after she fell asleep, and wonder the home alone. I don't remember my little sister being there. Christmases with the cousins, she played the piano and singed. As a high school senior, I moved in with her so someone would be with her in the night. She never told my parents about the many nights I slipped away to be with my girlfriend. When we married, we lived with her for a few months till I bought my first house. She was great comfort during the time of the miscarriage. When we visited her in the nursing home, her face beamed in the sunlight  from the window . David and Garrett's crayon sketches were taped to the walls. It always stung in my heart when she would call after us, "I know you are very busy, come see me when you can." I learned to visit often after she died. I need to remember how she loved life; even when it was to only sit in a bed in the sunlight, and simply remember. We later found a photo of a 1922 graduating class of nurses, and though I had only known her white haired bun, found her readily in the front row. She was dark, exotic, beautiful...