My grandmother's oldest brother, Lewis, enlisted in WWI. Because he was a mechanic, he wound up a motorcycle courier. In December 1918, just after the war ended, he was headed up a hilly road in France when a farmtruck loaded with produce heading downhill lost its brakes. Lewis and his motorcycle were crushed.

This happened on a Monday. Lewis's mother, my great-grandmother Lena, was in the basement doing wash. She was heading upstairs with a basket of clean laundry when she suddenly screamed "Lewis is dead!" and dropped the clean sheets on the stairs.

My grandmother ran to her, and was told Lena had seen Lewis at the head of the stairs, waving goodbye.

The telegram came the next day.

This is the story as my grandmother told it to me.

My sister has the worn, 48-star flag that covered Lewis's coffin.

(c)1994 Marsha J. Valance ========================================