Momma Grizzly #4
Entry 4 of 39
Continuing the memoir of Kelly Clegg. - Parce
I spent the next two days drifting through my usual routine, handing in a couple of puff pieces for Ike to print to the Green Grapevine. Most people look forward to Friday; I never did back then. Friday usually meant a bus ride with the high school football team, the Grünwald Grizzlies, in my role as de facto local sports writer. And that meant glances from the team moms, conversations coming to a dead stop when I got too close. At least this week I had a reason not to think about that. I had been holding out for Wednesday—Veterans Day. And it had finally arrived.
There was no bigger day on the Grünwald calendar than Veterans Day, and for good reason. This town had a long and proud tradition of military service. Almost all of the older generation had spent time in active duty, reserves, or national guard.
The Grünwald Veterans Day celebration was a regional event that regularly made the news; sometimes my articles for the Grapevine got reprinted as far as Boerne and New Braunfels. The town’s scramble to accommodate a sudden influx of three or four thousand extra people always made for some entertaining interviews.
The main street was closed off to vehicle traffic. People parked their cars in the grass on either side of FM-138. They climbed into the riverbed, played pickup ball games in the school field, got their faces painted, and sipped ice-cold drinks. Festooned across the front of the VFW post was a paper banner, hand-painted to proclaim VETERANS DAY, 11/11/2015. At the neighboring park, some of the old guard had arranged an assembly line of barbecue pits, smokers, coolers, and crates of chip bags. They served piles of sizzling meat with tongs and plunged ice cream scoops into gallon buckets of potato salad.
The middle and high school bands stood on risers nearby. They had opened the ceremony with “The Star-Spangled Banner” and a medley of each military branch anthem. Among their ranks stood the occasional old veteran who still had the chops to play a trumpet or saxophone.
As Ike had asked, I hung out in front of the VFW to observe the festivities and get quotes from the town officials. As the music wound down, the mayor, Martin Vintner, stood up from a picnic table and made his way to the risers. Short and heavy, Vintner needed a hand from the band director to make the step up.
The Grünwald Chief of Police, David Branchett, followed Vintner out of the crowd and took a place off to one side of him. The two middle-aged men were never far apart on days like this. They were wearing matching red polo shirts, blue slacks, and white sun visors. The only difference in their outfits was that Branchett was wearing his badge on a leather gun belt. Hanging in a holster at his hip was a shiny revolver. He had a normal duty weapon, but on Veterans Day he always brought out that gaudy cowboy gun.
I took a position near the risers alongside Sam Schroeder, the local professional photographer. He took what looked like a pretty good shot of Vintner and Branchett. I’d have to remind Ike to ask him for prints. I crouched in the grass to avoid getting in Sam’s way and pulled out my phone to record the mayor’s speech.
Vintner waved away the polite applause. “Good afternoon, everybody. Thank you all for coming to honor our veterans and show your solidarity. Since Grünwald was founded, its people have never failed to step up when their country needed them. We’re proud of our tradition of serving and defending America. And I want to thank the newest member of the town council for helping us make this the biggest Veterans Day celebration ever. Where are you at, Chester?”
“Right here, right here.”
I had to do a double-take. The megachurch pastor had appeared at Vintner’s side. Maybe he had a natural gift for showing up in front of cameras. At least this time his suit wasn’t yellow.
Cotton took a small step to the side, putting the mayor behind him. “Sorry, folks. Couldn’t tear myself away from that barbecue. I’m sure you understand.”
Appreciative laughter.
“Now, don’t go and give me all the credit for today. The mayor and everyone else on the council played a vital role, as they do every year. But, as Marty said, today’s not about us. Today is about the sacrifices made by the veterans who came from here and all over the country. It’s about the men and women who gave some of themselves, and some who gave everything, to ensure our freedom. I’d like to lead everyone in a quick prayer, Marty, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at—”
“Dear Heavenly Father…”
I let my phone’s recording app run, but I didn’t listen during the prayer. My eyes wandered across the street, to the library and then the museum beside it. I had to force myself not to walk over there right now.
The “amen” came at last. Once Cotton had excused himself, Vintner didn’t have anything more to say. Fantastic. It wasn’t the first time an article about a town event would have more words from the pastor than from the mayor.
Still, I couldn’t stay irritated for long. Now that things had settled down, I could disappear and enjoy the festivities for a little bit. I crossed the main road and over to the museum, where a different sort of celebration would be taking place.
Aside from the newcomers from Atlanta, my boss was the only person who was newer to town than me. Ike had no interest in Grünwald’s lore, and he’d told me more than once that he didn’t want me coloring any articles with, as he called it, “that crap.” If he caught me here at the museum, he’d know I was here for pleasure and not business.