It was almost a hundred years ago and a young man was half-a-world away from his family’s farm. No one from Cass County Missouri had ever ventured so far away. Around his neck he had tied a cord and dangling on that was a round piece of metal about the size of a poker chip.
He hoped no one would ever have to take it in hand and read the letters stamped on it, because – if that happened – nothing else would ever matter. In the center of the disk were the letters U.S.A. Following the curve of the edge, his name was stamped into the metal.
John W. Huston.
My grandfather.
After a year-and-a-half, I’m finally getting around to the office, still sorting odds and ends from the move. Nailed up a couple of pictures that had been buried under a junk pile. Found a box and opened it up.
I’ve since sold the glass showcase, but the items in this box were displayed there at the old location, and pretty much forgotten about until this evening. What a mish-mash of stuff. The sort of treasure that pirates might hoard in a chest – if the ship that sported its Jolly Roger was confined to Skiatook Lake and the raiding of garage sales.
Looking over the items, I was trying to figure out where they’d come from. I recognized my sister’s Mickey Mouse watch. It broke and she was going to toss it. I was going to repair it. It’s still not working. A cardboard pressed recording of Richard Nixon’s nomination acceptance speech from August 8, 1968. I think I walked into his campaign’s local office (for some reason I was collecting election bumper stickers), and walked out with a “Nixon’s the One” 33 1/3 rpm Auravision recording.
Then, there was the metal disk with the hole punched in it. Looked it over for a couple of seconds, trying to remember what it was. Flipped it over and saw his name.
I’ve held it before, but the history of it never really struck me. In four years time it will be one hundred years old, and that long ago – this thing now in the palm of my hand was around the neck of a 23-year-old Missouri boy who would manage to survive his time in France. After the Great War he would come back to the US wearing the dog tag and eventually put it in a box.
He’d get married and have kids and they’d give him grandchildren – one of whom would wind up in a bookstore in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma. I remember sitting on his lap as a little kid – him asking me what I wanted to be when I grew up.
Bookstore owner, I told him. (That’s a bald-faced lie. I actually answered that I wanted to play for the New York Yankees. “Gonna start in the minor leagues?” he’d asked. “Nah,” I replied. “Just wanna play baseball for the Yankees.”)
Well.
A lot of years have passed since that discussion. Regrettably, my naiveté hasn’t improved much since that conversation with Grandpa Huston. Too trusting. Always expect the best from people. Believe what people tell me. I’ll admit that I’ve been taken advantage of and have been disappointed at times. Sometimes folks say things to me that turn out not to be true. I’m surprised every time it happens.
But I’m not so naïve as to think that I’d be sitting in front of this keyboard in a bookshop in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma, if it wasn’t for the man who left the farm and went to France and faithfully wore his dog tag and served his country, and then married that pretty telephone operator in Parsons who placed his call back home.
Thanks, Grandpa – for everything. Wish I’d had the chance to sit across the table from you. Maybe ask you a little bit about France and the big war.
Holding this little piece of metal tonight makes me feel as though I met you again for the very first time. I’m thinking there may be a spot in the shop where I can treat it with a little more respect. I’m thinking it has a lot more miles on it than I do and I’m happy to keep it safe – even out of my treasure box.
The other token in the image? A mystery coin that I found in the front yard about the time I was young enough to talk Yankees with my Grandfather. But that’s a whole ‘nother story!
Come visit!
McHuston
Booksellers & Irish Bistro
Rose District
122 South Main, Broken Arrow, OK!
