Quincy was having a hard time.
Maybe it was the humid, 90-degree temperatures. Or the long line of former warriors at the podium. Maybe it was just being here, on the small island in Micronesia that, for a couple weeks in 1944, exploded with some of the fiercest gun slinging in the Pacific phase of World War II.
Peleliu was essential, the generals declared. Capture the island and protect McArthur’s flank before he returned to the Philippines as promised. 50 years ago. Quincy hadn’t been back.
Quincy grabbed Joe as the ceremony rambled on. Can you get me a van, he asked, or a ride out of here? Too many memories long repressed, too much pain.
There, that’s the beach, Quincy declared. Orange Beach. Pull over. Joe followed behind as the fragile, silver-haired, old man walked to the sea. Resting on a stone, he peeled open his heart and confessed his tale.
Arthur was his best friend from Canton, Ohio, Quincy explained. They enlisted for the war to end all wars because it was the right thing to do. Arthur was athletic, Quincy bragged, and handsome.
Alive and well after the battle of Guadalcanal, they stole a bottle of Jack Daniels from a commanding officer. We’ll drink it after Peleliu, they decided. A celebration before we head home.
Arthur didn’t make it out of Peleliu, Quincy mumbled as tears dotted his shirt. Crossfire on the beach landing ended their lifetime of plans. He was a good man. He was a good man.
Slowly, Quincy pulled the Jack Daniels from his bag. The 50-year old bottle still had the original stamp and seal. Quincy rolled up his khaki pants and walked out in the knee-deep bay. He paused, opened the bottle, poured half into the ocean, took a generous swig for himself and started to cry.
Many World War II buffs come to Peleliu and the islands of Palau to inspect the vine-covered battle sites and well-preserved ruins. Children retrace the steps of father-soldiers. Wives uncover chapters of heroism previously untold. Divers inspect bombed ships and downed Japanese Zeros that now serve as homes for kaleidoscope fish and Technicolor coral.
“Respect,” says Tangie as he guides history seekers around the lush island strewn with tank shells, artillery guns and fighting caves occupied by Japanese soldiers even after their country surrendered. “That’s the most important part of the tour.”
Quincy collared Joe again at the hotel the next day. Thanks for the understanding and help, he said. He was better now. Just needed a quiet moment with an old friend.
I’ll be back to your beautiful islands, he promised. Where can I reach you, Joe? I’ll be back next year.
The box arrived one year later along with a letter from Quincy’s daughter.
My father spoke warmly of the afternoon you shared. He fought another battle that day -- a battle with lung cancer, a battle he recently lost. In his will, he left instructions for his remains to be sent to you.
You’ll know where to scatter them.
