The Popcorn Man

He was the son of Edith J Williams, aka, 'Wings', the woman who lived in the home I was raised in. The one I type in, in the shadow of her lilac bushes. She took in my grandfather, 'Normie' as she called him, in the spring of 43 while the Popcorn Man stormed the beaches of Europe becoming a man. She cared for her garden and waited for Western Union to deliver the bad news.

He used empty hand grenades as lamps, filled with kerosene with boot strap wicks. Among his pockets, I imagine, were two rosaries, his drivers license, a folder of 16 photos of family and friends, a blood stained letter, and $1.61.

The war, I imagine him saying, was like a comic opera. Because you only die laughing.
The beaches were littered with leaflets demanding the allies to quit, and the skies rained shells from storm clouds of artillery smoke. They said you couldn't complete 12 missions without dying. Duncan J. Williams, The Popcorn Man, completed 18.

His nickname changed to Yo-Yo, because he always came back to you.

He had a paper angel in Worcester. They spent 90 straight days together before he was shipped off. He asked her not to exceed three dates with any particular boy. This way, she could get to know others and make her own decisions. But she wouldn't get to know them too well. He remembered these requests, I imagine, in the shadows of a crumbling monastery, picture in hand, while leaflets swirled in mini tornadoes with shredded ally uniforms choreographing a dance in it's shadow.

The Italians around him used his trench knife to cut their wedding cake while during downtime the troops would stage baseball games and give their cronies their share of beer. Oh, the Fighting Seabees.
"Mother, I am in the very best of health, and I hope to hear the same of you always". "Tell Mary, to head to the beach with the babies, and although I won't be there this summer, I will be next. It's a date. Take care of yourself and keep the stoves roaring and the chow line long."
He was captured by the Germans.

I'm holding, in a trembling hand, the notice declaring him a Prisoner of War.

Kriegsgefangenenpost.
Rank and Name: Sgt. Duncan J. Williams.
Prisoner of War No. 100663
Important: For prisoners in German hands the prisoner of war number should be clearly indicated if known.
A letter. From broken Wings.

Dear Duncan,
School started again today, and for the first time in 16 years there are no Williams', as Normie went to his mother last night. He called me three times today, Normie did. He is terribly lonesome, poor little fellow….and so am I. I wish I could have kept him as my own.
I am all alone.
I received a letter from Davey today. Still in California. He has changed his mind about coming home.
I hope you are well. I want to see you terribly. Love from all- Mom.
By Air Mail, Par Avion.
Everyone written about above would end their stories by dying a lonely death. I have never been so proud to have Normie on my arm, or to have been raised in this house, with the smell of her lilacs infiltrating my window every spring like a front line attack. I never knew the popcorn man, but the inspiration has brought me a mighty headache as I shield a laptop from tears.
The eye sees, the mind knows, the heart feels. I have no war to call my own, but I have people whom I love that I will never let go without a shoreline fight. I have integrity that won't be sold or drowned out. No matter how much you doubt yourself, remember that the Yo-yo always comes back.
I know that.