Prologue
February 2011
Royse City, Texas
Countless people around the world, not to
mention around the Dallas Metroplex, were talking about Superbowl XLV that
had been played the day before in Arlington. It was the topic around business
watercoolers and school classrooms alike. Even stay-at-home moms shared tweets
and emails chatting about their favorite commercials. Ultimately, Packer fans
basked in their team’s victory while Steelers fans experienced bitter
disappointment.
Even
though Jim sometimes enjoyed football, and of course the commercials, he was
thinking of something completely different and unrelated while driving home
from work that day.
Instead
of watching football, he had spent his Sunday afternoon with family celebrating
his youngest daughter Casey’s twenty-ninth birthday. He and his wife Jo Nell
found much more happiness with loved ones surrounding the dinner table than in watching
grown men throwing an inflated pigskin around a field.
It
was actually dinner Jim was thinking about; or rather, the leftovers he hoped
to find in the refrigerator.
Jo
Nell was an excellent cook. Casey had requested chicken and dumplings, fresh
spinach salad, and crescent rolls made from scratch, but it was dessert that
was Jim’s goal. The peach cobbler made him salivate like one of Pavlov’s dogs
when his house finally came into view.
As
he turned into his driveway, he noticed the grass was finally showing signs of
recovery after the winter’s uncharacteristic ice. He made a mental note that it
would soon be time to fertilize.
Leaving
the engine running, he got out to check the mailbox. Since he usually beat Jo
Nell home from work, this had been his job, which he had performed faithfully
and lovingly for years.
Expecting
to see nothing but bills and advertisements, he scanned the various letters
until his eyes came across something he couldn’t immediately identify.
“Who
would be writing me from Mauritius? Where the heck is Mauritius, anyway?” he
said to himself.
The
sender was someone named Phillipe Mourand. He lowered the hand holding the mail
and looked down the street trying to remember if the name was familiar.
There
was a good chance it was junk mail. Jim frequently got mail that looked
different on the outside than the advertisement on the inside.
He
got back in his car and pulled it forward into the garage. Still not
recollecting the sender’s name he was tempted to drop the letter into an open
garbage can but took it inside with the rest of the mail. Something prompted
him to keep it.
Even
though he intended to put the mail aside and go to the kitchen, his curiosity
got the better of him. He sat down in his living room recliner and opened the
envelope—his stomach growling in protest.
Opening
the folded pages revealed a black and white photograph he’d never seen before.
He sat the picture on the table next to him and began to read the enclosed
letter.
James W Mellody
2071 Oak Ave.
Royse City, Texas
United States
January 3, 2011
Dear James
My name is Philippe Mourand. I am French, and I currently live in
Mauritius in the Indian Ocean.
My aunt recently forwarded me the fascinating photo herewith attached;
the photo was taken during WWII in Élisabethville, Aubergenville, twenty-five
miles west of Paris. You can see six German soldiers with an American POW that
they just arrested. Facing the soldiers, a French civilian makes a military
salute to cheer up the POW and tease the German soldiers: Robert Mourand, my
grandfather.
The POW landed in a tree near Aubergenville-Élisabethville railway
station and was immediately arrested by the Germans.
I am currently doing some historical research in order to identify the
POW, get in touch with him and his family, and forward them a copy of this
photo. The evidence I have gathered so far indicates that the photo was
probably taken on June 24, 1944, shortly after the successful bombing of the
railway bridge between Sartrouville and Maison-Laffitte.
During the mission, two B26 bombers crashed in the Paris area. Thirteen
American airmen bailed out. ten were made prisoner. and three managed to avoid
being captured. Sgt. James Weldon Mellody is among the ten that were made
prisoner and there is therefore a slight possibility he could be the man on the
photo. The MACR (Missing Aircraft Report) filed in the USAF archive indicates
that he is from Royse City. I found your address in the phone book and thought
you could be related to Sgt. Mellody. I apologize if this letter reached you in
error.
I would be very happy if you could email me back so that we can further
discuss this fascinating subject.
I will be looking forward to hearing from you.
I wish you all the best for 2011.
Best regards,
Philippe
Stunned,
Jim picked up the old photograph and studied it for a long moment. Was it
really possible the man being marched through the city was his father?
He
was so lost in thought he didn’t hear Jo Nell’s arrival home and her calling
him from the garage door.
“Jim,
can you help me with these groceries?”
She
could see her husband sitting in his chair and became a little concerned when
he didn’t respond or even acknowledge her.
She
tried again. “Jim, can you help me please?”
Again,
there wasn’t any response from her husband. She became very concerned.
She
assumed something was wrong and quickly closed the gap between them. She
noticed a letter in one hand and an old black and white photograph in the
other.
This
time, standing right above him, she tried again.
“Jim,
is there something wrong honey?”
The
stress in her voice was enough to bring his mind back to the present. He looked
up at her but didn’t know what to say.
Finally,
he managed, “Nothing is wrong. Either someone is playing a joke on me or I’ve
just been given the surprise of my life. Do you think this looks like my dad?”
She
took the picture from his hand and worriedly looked at Jim’s face before
glancing at it. After just a few seconds of studying the photograph, she
commented, “That is Weldon. You can tell by how tall he is compared to those
around him, and those ears are definitely his. Where did this picture come
from?”
He
handed her the letter and watched her face as she read it. She finished it and
looked at Jim again for a moment before re-reading it.
He
noticed her eyes become moist and realized he was feeling emotional himself.
“Jim,”
she said. “This is incredible! Your father never talked much about the war and
now, years after he’s gone, you can find out what happened to him yourself. Maybe
this is a chance to fill in some of the gaps.”
Jim
nodded. He knew his dad had been shot down over France, and that he’d been a
POW for almost a year, but not much more than that.
The
old photograph whispered to his spirit. He suddenly felt closer to his father
than he had in years.
The
peach cobbler wasn’t thought about again that night and Jo Nell found her
groceries in the car the next morning before she left for work.