A World War II hero acts on his misgivings about a Hollywood fraud who’s beloved by all. 2,868 words. Illustration by Thomas Warming.
Bellflower, California — September 26, 1954
I take a sip of Lone Star and flip through the fan magazines. Here’s Hollywood movie star Del Hawk as the grizzled platoon leader at Guadalcanal. Here’s another of him leading a tank charge at the Battle of the Bulge. This one is of him parachuting into Normandy with the 101st Airborne. And that’s him again in the cockpit of a B-17 Flying Fortress raining bombs on the Third Reich.
I finish off my fifth beer of the night and set the bottle back on the scratched coffee table. Then I leaf through more of the fan mags. Del Hawk with Spencer Tracy and that ice skater Sonja Henie at the Racquet Club in Palm Springs. Del Hawk on Seabiscuit with Bing Crosby at Del Mar. And, dang if Del Hawk isn’t with that sultry dish Hedi Lamaar in this other photo. She’s wearing a black-and-white polka dot swimsuit by the pool at the Beverly Hills Hotel. And don’t they look all idly rich.
A a fly does a carrier landing on my nose before lifting off and circling overhead inside my home at the Friendly Gardens Trailer Court. I pick up my Colt .45 and take aim at Mr. Flyboy and squeeze off a round. The silence explodes. Brick-a-brat trembles. The tabby high-tails it. Drunk as a skunk, I lower the pistol and slouch into slumber, the TV station already signing off with an Indian-head test pattern. But before I doze off, I make a vow to meet the celluloid hero I’ve followed since I left the Army in 1945. Maybe, just maybe, I can get him to sign an autograph.
Now I’m staring at the girl again and thinking she’s kinda cute. Her name’s Pet. Least, that’s what they call her here in the court anyways. She’s about five-three. Maybe a hundred pounds if carrying a bowling ball. Red hair done in a pixie cut. And can she horse laugh when she’s real tickled! I know cause she laughs a lot when I tell her my stories of Texas outlaw country. She tells me she’s only eighteen and already an excommunicated Mormon. How’s them apples? She knows things about the world, that’s for sure. But she’s never stared into the eyes of an Uncle Sam drill sergeant or spilled Nazi blood.


























