It was a warm, humid August evening, 1945. Fairmount Park was full and green. The homes and apartment buildings facing the park had windows wide open. Some had fans whirring to lighten the denseness of the air. Within one of the apartments, Jennie, a grandmother held her two year old grandson in her arms as she finished cleaning the dinner dishes.
It was a warm, humid August evening, 1945. Fairmount Park was full and green. The homes and apartment buildings facing the park had windows wide open. Some had fans whirring to lighten the denseness of the air. Within one of the apartments, Jennie, a grandmother held her two year old grandson in her arms as she finished cleaning the dinner dishes.
The street outside, Parkside Avenue was busy with traffic, cars and trucks stopping and starting at the light. Sun was setting and the air began to cool slightly. Jennie always looked forward to the dark summer nights when the heavy damp air relented, and people came out onto the streets and sidewalks to stroll and sit on front steps in folding chairs to discuss the current world events. The war was on everyone’s mind all the time. No one could remember a more eventful year. Beloved President Roosevelt had suddenly died. Elected four times, everyone in the neighborhood thought and hoped too that he would live forever. Jennie thought to herself. “It’s not the same with President Truman…I don’t feel safe anymore. Roosevelt was a father of the country. He was our leader in this terrible war.
Two year old Michael fidgeted in Jennie’s arms, and she squeezed him to get him to be still. She kissed him on his cheek and stroked his hair. She stopped her dishwashing and looked out the front window into the expanse of the park across the street. She could hear the murmuring of the neighbors on the sidewalk in front and below her window.
Suddenly the now cool and peaceful darkness was shocked with an explosion and flashes of light. Jennie lurched forward almost losing her grip on Michael. She watched the fading flash of light, then suddenly another explosion, then another and another. Michael cried out, and held Jennie tightly around her neck. She soothed him with kisses and soft words.
“It’s the war. Don’t be afraid. It’s the war!” He was very afraid. It’s the war.
A few years later he asked her if he had been in the war. She looked at him puzzled.
“You…in the war? Of course not! The war was in Europe. We have been safe in America. We are safe in America.
“Then what were the explosions and the flashes of light,” he asked.
“The war was over, everyone was celebrating. The explosions were fireworks.”
“So, I was not in the war?”
She laughed.
“You are safe. You have always been safe. We are in America. It is 1950. We are all safe.”