Not in the Papers

Last Saturday the congregation of a local church put on a dinner for it's veterans in the convention center downtown.  It was a pishy posh affair, from what I heard from Fred, also known as Chucky, a church member who tended bar for the crowd. He would pour a row of shots and one for himself, so by the time the ruckus began, he was feeling no pain, even though he ended up overnight in the VA hospital.  Chucky is in his early seventies; the vets attending averaged mid-eighties, but apparently the fighting spirit and sense of dignity carries on, possibly abetted by the free-flowing alcohol.

There were speeches, tributes, glories; things were going great until the last ancient speaker introduced his wife, who was to present a recognition plaque to the Men of the Church, and looked as though she were around when the pyramids were built.

"Here is my wife, Mrs. ______," said the speaker.

A voice from a back table yodeled the clarion call, "I had her years ago."

Now, most of these men are at least 84 years old, but that didn't stop the speaker from approaching the heckler and lambasting him one in the cakehole.  These two elderly men had to be pulled apart by other elderly men, so besides taking time for the effort, bodies were pushed, shoved, and eventually slugged.  Tables went over.  The war was on.

Chucky yelled to his crew to get down to the floor, as chairs and decorative centerpieces became airborne.  He later declared that the brawl was a good party indeed, after he was x-rayed for getting clipped in the back of the head while breaking up a grappling match.

The police were called to restore order, ambulances arrived, no arrests were made, and the incident never happened according to local media or the pastor, Chucky's brother.  The Fighting 49th was treated, bandaged, and sent home to their wives, secretly wishing they would have a chance to punch a smart aleck next weekend.  Not too many showed for the Sunday service, the absence not noticed due to the attending wives, whose broadcasted glares dared anyone to inquire.  Hats were pinned a little more tightly to the head that day.

You have a pleasant night, and realize what beating hearts exist under a suit and tie while sitting with the congregation.  These men faced the unthinkable, and are still upholding a sense of duty and honor;  I wonder if that had to do with how the media completely let this slide under the rug. Foolhardiness or bravery?  Most likely a mix of the best of both.  Sleep well, put an extra blanket at the foot of the bed.  Good night.