I don’t really know what started this calamity, but I blame my Uncle Tracey. You see, when we found ourselves at war (WWII), it was different from WW-I and Korea and Vietnam. You could say the same about all the other military actions too. WWII was the only one in which American soil was actually attacked. It was a war in which the aggressors (Hitler) and Japan’s Premier (Tojo) had plans to conquer and own the USA. It caught our attention, and a wave of military patriotic resolve swept across our great nation. Eligible young men were chomping at the bit to get in the fight. And they did.

I think all my uncles on both sides of my family went away to fight the “Huns” and the terrible “Japs.” One uncle comes to mind and that was my dad’s brother, my Uncle Tracy. He ran a little gas stationgrocery store on HW 270 in a small town called Fanshaw — a little berg between McAlester and Poteau. Tracey told his scared wife, Inez, that he was going to let her run the “store” and he would go to war — to protect his family. Inez was irate and said she couldn’t and would not do it, “I can’t and will not fix truck flats while you go off and do no telling what.” But Tracy did it anyway.

His brother, my dad, ran a grocery store in Centrahoma but because dad had so many kids, was exempt from the draft. Boy was mom happy about that — but dad always said he felt guilty about not going off to war. Sometimes he stated that he wished he had done like his brother Tracy and just went on. He felt guilt, but mom had no patriotic zeal that made her want more of the hard work found in a rural grocery store such as in Centrahoma. She felt dad was where he needed to be.

Yes, Tracy went off to war. Inez, being in an unrepentant mood refused to run the station, sold it and wound up living with my Bullard grandparents. Inez constantly griped about being “parked” up there on Goat Ridge Road under the dominion of her mother-in-law. I went down there too, to help out on Grandpa’s farm. Inez had this pretty little 1 year old named Gail. I fell in love with her and in between hearing Aunt Inez’s gripes about all her hardships (I spent most of the summer of 1942 hearing her problems) I was playing with Gail and enjoying the soft summertime air up on Goat Ridge. Aunt Inez suffered on.

So how was Uncle Tracey doing? Surprising well. While my other uncles had to dig foxholes and get shot at (and hit) my Uncle Jack was living dangerously on the high seas risking death every day. Tracy? Oh him. He was inducted into the MPs. Schooled on how to be an MP and assigned to ride the rails. You know, the passenger trains that raced all over America during those years. His job was to provide security aboard those luxury Streamliners. He had to dress up in his dress uniform and help traveling servicemen with their problems — show a presence.

To ease his “pains” of having to ride the train all the time Tracey was provided a Pullman berth. Don’t see those much anymore. It’s a private room on the train with a bed, shower and a button (to summon help) and of course the porter saw to it that his uniforms were kept clean and nice. No K-rations for Uncle Tracey. He had an open and free meal ticket to the trains sumptuous dining car. He didn’t talk much about the club car, but one wonders. Oh, yes, he wrote home to his Inez about how good he had it.

Inez was furious and shared her fury without ceasing. My dad undoubtedly heard about it and it may have affected his daydreams as he went about his back-breaking work at the grocery. We had a big feed store with the grocery and feed seemed to have constant needs to be carried around and either loaded or unloaded. Yes, his mind was working.

It was after Linda Kay was born. I heard one of dad’s friends say, “Hey Cecil, guess you’ll never have to go fight now that you’ve got another baby.” I think this just goaded dad ‘cause I heard him more and more confess his guilt about not serving — about not helping President Roosevelt win this war and save our good nation. Whatever, one day my dad announced that no matter how many kids he had, he had decided to leave us, his family and go fight for our freedom and continued existence. Mom was beside herself. Gerald was proud. Sue was less than puzzled and Kay was, as I said, a baby.

Dad meant it. He promoted his only employee, an unfortunate Nazarene preacher named Brother Craig, to manager. Mom was given permission to double her efforts as a mom and grocer and the rest of us were ignored, as was her salary. The date arrived for his going. He had to drive to McAlester and do military stuff. Getting in should be easy, he said.

So it was in that cold darkness that shrouded Centrahoma’s early mornings I heard the raspy starter on our 1935 Ford grinding just outside my bedroom window. He soon drove off into the east. I was a worried 8 year old. I could hear mom crying and Gerald’s snores.

We never heard from dad again. That day. We all went through the motions of our daily chores. It was a long day, Linda Kay and mom spent a lot of time back in our apartment (where we lived) and I left them alone. Brother Craig never spoke a word all day. That day brought a lot of questions from our customers. Gerald proudly passed the word about our war hero dad. That night mom led us in our prayer circle. She wondered (aloud) if he might have already been shipped out. She went to bed, grief-stricken and all of us (except Gerald) laid down with heavy hearts. I woke that evening to the sounds of a 1935 Ford just outside my window. It was dad. He came in and I heard him tell mom that they had rejected him on health grounds and reported that some smart alec had even told him, “Good grief man, you have four kids. You’re the reason guys like me are fighting this war. Go home!”

So, dad got up the next morning, put on his apron and went back to work in his butcher shop. Building sandwiches for the Cody Ranch Crew who waited patiently by our East entrance with their horses. Later that day Mom was humming a happy song. Brother Craig seemed happy and unpromoted. Life went on and my Uncle Tracey continued his merry life on that luxury passenger train on its never ending treks between Houston and Chicago. A bunch of my other long suffering Uncles won the war. Aunt Inez finally loaded herself up, migrated to California (like all good Okies should) and waited on Tracey to finish his journey on the train. Turned out, Aunt Inez liked me just fine. Oh, and dad? He soon sold the grocery and we all moved to Stonewall. Everybody was happy. Even Mom.

Be sure and go to church Sunday. God still loves America and He loves you too.

Wayne Bullard, DPh Cwaynebullard@gmail.com