The Farewell Medallion

Chapter 1

“So, did I learn from the experience?  You bet!  Do I want to go back?  Not on your life!”
Grant Tiger smiled awkwardly as he leaned against the podium in the auditorium at the General Douglas MacArthur High School.  At the conclusion of what he called his, “what it’s like to be a Vietnamese prisoner of war” speech, it wasn’t the sound of the standing ovation of the entire student body that sent a chill down his spine.  It was the reflection from a tiny tear as it made its way down the slightly freckled cheek of the schoolteacher in the navy blue, white-trimmed maternity dress on the front row.  At that moment he couldn’t explain what it was that appeared so oddly familiar.  When he later learned who she was, he would realize it was the way a wisp of sandy hair dipped casually across her forehead.
After vice-principal Jeff Roberts stepped to the podium and announced that the fourth class period would start on time in exactly ten minutes, ordered pandemonium broke out.  Students and faculty began moving in all directions.
Jeff reached out to shake hands.  “I thought you said you weren’t much of a speaker?”
“Well, I guess if you call telling some old war stories speaking, I might possibly qualify.”  Grant stretched for a glimpse over the heads of the group of students that had gathered around.  The young teacher was busy reading the riot act to a student, who looked like an All-American offensive lineman, for borrowing a notebook from a cheerleader without her permission.
Jeff picked up on the distraction.  “That’s Lorna Kruger.  Her father was listed as missing in action in Vietnam.  If you don’t mind she’d like to meet you.”
“Of course, I’d love to.”
“I don’t know the details but she’s been talking to some organization that keeps records on missing servicemen.  You know, trying to find out something about what happened to her father.  Do you think there is any chance Americans are still being held over there?”
Grant paused, took a deep breath and reached up to massage the back of his neck.  “I don’t think so, and have no reason to believe that there is.  Of course, there are excellent people working on that problem that know far more than I do.  I can’t see why anyone would hold a prisoner that long, but if they tried it’s doubtful that they would be alive today.”
“I suppose you’re right.  It’s just one of those stories that keeps popping up.  Let’s head back to the office.  The teacher’s aide can take Lorna’s class so you can meet where it won’t be so noisy.”
When they entered Jeff’s office, Grant surveyed the small brown couch and soft beige drapes that created a warmth, in spite of the plainness of the painted concrete walls.  While Jeff was busy on the phone, Grant grazed through the photographs on the wall that displayed Jeff’s two main interests, a career in education and family activities.  Grant could count the number of real visits made in each other’s home on his fingers.  That seemed strange considering he had been married to Jeff’s sister, Betty, for thirty-three years.
Jeff stood up as he finished his call.  “Lorna will be right down.  That picture on the left was taken several years ago in the Rocky Mountain National Park.  Karen and I took the boys and hiked in about five miles.  They loved it.  It felt like we were on top of the world.  You should go with us some time.”
“I’d like to do that.  I should have done more things like that with Scott.  It’s a wonder he turned out so well, getting shuffled around so much while I was in the Navy.”
“Don’t sell yourself short.  I had a good visit with Scott last month, when he came back for Betty’s funeral.  He idolizes you and is practically following in your footsteps.”
“No, he has outdistanced me by a long stretch.  I don’t think I could have ever made it through the Navy SEAL Program.  I really look forward to spending some time with him on this trip.”
“Excuse me!”  They both turned to see Lorna standing in the doorway.  She pushed the strand of sandy hair away from her eye.
“There she is, Lorna Kruger, our teacher of the year last year.”
“Your talk was wonderful Mr. Tiger,” Lorna extended her hand.  “It really brings history to life to hear someone with a first-hand perspective on it.”
“Thank you!  Please call me Grant.  I sometimes feel a bit ancient, but I’ve never thought of myself as historic.”
Laura blushed.  “Oh no, I don’t mean that.  It’s just that some of these kids have such a limited exposure to what’s happening outside their small world.  Unless they knew someone directly involved, they don’t even relate to the Gulf War that was fought when they were in grade school.”
“Hey, why don’t you two sit here and talk,” Jeff said, starting to leave, then turning to Grant, “I’ll go see if the van’s ready.  We need to head for the airport in about thirty minutes, if you don’t want to be rushed going through security.  DFW gets to be a real mess in the middle of the afternoon.”
“You’re right,” Grant nodded, “I don’t need that.”
As Jeff left the room Lorna sank into the corner of the couch.
“You’re leaving so soon?”  Lorna asked.
Grant sat in the opposite corner of the couch facing Lorna, his right arm casually draped over the back.  “Actually I’ve been at Jeff and Karen’s for the past four days, but yes, I’m on my way for an overdue visit with my son in San Diego.  Jeff said your father was in Vietnam.  What service was he in?”
“He flew in the Navy, like you did, but I don’t know much more than that, since he was shot down just before I was born.  Do you think you might know him?”
“There’s a chance.  It depends on where he flew out of and when.  What’s his name?”
“Art Trammble.  He was shot down in 1967.”
Grant looked like he had just swallowed a baseball as a cold shiver covered his entire body.  “Art……Art Trammble?”  He whispered hoarsely.
Lorna leaned forward in alarm.  “Are you all right, Mr. Tiger?”
“Art was flying with me when I was shot down.  Art Trammble was my best friend.”
“Then, you did know him.  That’s wonderful!”
Grant’s head began to spin.  The first question he had asked his escort officer after his release from the prisons of North Vietnam was how to get in touch with Carla Trammble.  He was devastated by the news that she had died in an automobile accident the year after Art was shot down.  After a dozen phone calls he had run into a dead end.
“It just couldn’t be,” he said.  When I came back, Carla was dead.  There was no one else.”
“Really, Mr. Tiger, it’s fantastic.  You can answer so many questions for me.”
Grant wiped his hand across his forehead struggling to make sense out of what Lorna was trying to say.  “Where were you when I came back from Vietnam?”
“I guess I was at home.  I grew up in South Dakota with my adoptive parents, Aunt Alice and Uncle Wes.”
Grant continued to look at Lorna with an expression of incomplete comprehension.  She smiled and placed her hand on his arm.  It was then that he saw it.  Framed in the white collared V of her dress – hung from a gold chain around her neck – he stared at the exquisitely unique gold medallion elegantly crafted around a message of Chinese characters.