Stodghill Says So

An opinionated posting on a variety of subjects by a former newspaper reporter and columnist whose daily column was named best in Indiana by UPI. The Blog title is that used in his high school sports predictions for the Muncie Evening Press.

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Location: Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio, United States

At the age of 18 I was a 4th Infantry Division rifleman in the invasion of Normandy, then later was called back for the Korean War. Put in a couple of years as a Pinkerton detective. Much of my life was spent as a newspaper reporter, sports writer and daily columnist. Published three books on high school sports in Ohio and Indiana. I write mystery fiction for Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine and others. Three books, Normandy 1944 - A Young Rifleman's War, The Hoosier Hot Shots, and From Devout Catholic to Communist Agitator are now available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble and other booksellers. So are four collections of short mysteries: Jack Eddy Stories Volumes 1 and 2, Midland Murders, and The Rough Old Stuff From Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine.

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Thursday, February 12, 2009

Bands, Parades & Nifty Women

Last evening while savoring a Turkish Delight, my thoughts drifted to a story I had read earlier in the day. Be nice to soldiers returning from distant places, it said, because when men came back from WWII they were greeted by brass bands, parades and women rushing to plant kisses on their lips.
So let's see. I was handed my papers late one afternoon at Camp Atterbury. When a clerk came to the last one he said, "This to to give to employers when you're trying to find a job, which you probably won't." It contained a single sentence so I read it on the spot: "Cared for and cleaned an M-1 rifle while living under adverse conditions and delivering direct fire upon the enemy."
After a second reading to make sure I hadn't missed something I said, "Dillinger's dead and Capone's in prison so who do I give this to?"
He uttered the stock answer given by all government clerks: "That's your problem."
Two bus rides covering a hundred miles took me to Muncie. It was 11 p.m. I shouldered a duffle bag containing all my worldly possessions and started walking to an uncle's house a mile away. For a number of blocks I walked north along Walnut Street, the main drag, and was surprised by the amount of traffic at that time of night.
Did someone stop and say, "Need a lift, soldier?" Yeah, sure.
Did a pretty dame come rushing up to plant a passionate kiss on my parched lips? In your dreams.
Weary to the bone, I arrived at Uncle Paul's dark house. After banging on the door for several minutes, a light came on. A cousin opened the door and said, "Oh, it's you."
Remember this the next time somebody mentions brass bands and parades.


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