Alby - Payback

Payback’s a Bitch

Jenny came into the room to check Alby’s access line. She wanted to be sure he wasn’t having any blockage due to the treatment’s length. After a few computer control adjustments and some repositioning she was satisfied that all was well.

“Do you ever take a break?” Mom asked. “You haven’t stopped running around since we got here this morning.”

“Not really. We’re always under-staffed and overworked. I guess it’s the same story in every profession.”

“Why don’t you just sit for a minute,” Mom suggested in her best Mommy Voice. “There’s no harm in taking a breath.”

No sooner had she sat down than Jenny’s Head Nurse happened by. “Jenny!” she called impatiently and with a chill in her voice. “The monitor in room five is beeping.”

“THAT’s why I don’t sit down!”?” Jenny asked, not expecting an answer but knowing that Alby might just have one anyway.

“Having a boss,” he said, “Is much like wearing a baby diaper. It’s always on your ass and usually full of shit. Let me explain it to you this way.”

Alby was drafted into General Patton’s Third Army and began his service as a censor in the Press Corps, Technician Third Grade, on November 23, 1943. He bunked with Ernest Hemingway and together they learned how to be fast and efficient at their jobs.

Many reporters came and went but there was one he never forgot. His name was William Burrows; he was a very tall and burly man, a talented writer, and his public persona was highly esteemed. He knew how to report the war with literary panache and integrated himself into the group.

William knew that the censors were very important in deciding what would be sent over the wire and by whom. Even though Alby wasn’t an officer, his superiors designated him as the one in charge of the press room and gave him complete authority within those walls.

William was very aggressive when it came to his work and toward that end, his attitude toward the soldiers was often arrogant and brusque as he barked out orders. One day in particular, William stepped over the invisible line between what Alby considered acceptable and abominable behavior.

Private Earl James was a young, black fellow from the southern United States and was in the press room working on some copy when William entered with his writing pad and attitude in hand.

“Boy!” William shouted. Earl didn’t answer so William yelled louder. “Boy! I’m talkin’ to you. Does being colored mean you’re deaf?”

Earl turned around and if it weren’t for the sound of the teletype machine, the silence would have been painful. All the soldiers present stood frozen.

“Are you speaking to me, Sir?” Earl asked, standing at attention.

“You bet I am. I’d like a bottle of scotch and you’re gonna find one for me.”

“Sir? I would have no idea how to acquire that, Sir.” Earl never lost his cool or spoke disrespectfully.

“Well, maybe you’d better go and figure it out, Boy. I’ll expect to see it in my tent after mess. Got it?”

“I’ve got it Sir, yes Sir.”

William threw what he’d written onto the table in front of Alby with the sole instruction of “Send this,” and when he left the room, he left behind his stink of arrogance and bigotry. Alby had no patience for it and felt personally insulted. He figured that if William could talk like that to a fine young guy like Earl, he would have no reservations about talking like that to anyone he thought was beneath him. Clearly, that included Alby and just about every other soldier in This-Man’s-Army.

“You know, we’ve got something that bastard wants and needs…” Alby said slyly.

“What is it? A new bottle of scotch?” Earl suggested.

“Better. We’ve got the sole access to the news wires. If his reports get to his newspaper on time, they get published. If they’re late, they don’t. I have a very funny feeling that today, his reports are going to be very, very late.”

Earl expressed concern. “This doesn’t help me find the bottle of scotch for him. And I’ll be the one he points a finger at. That could be very bad for me.”

“In this room I make the decisions so if anyone is getting blamed, it’s going to be me. And as for the scotch, he’s going to be so mad about missing a deadline that he won’t even think about it. Trust me,” Alby said to Earl.

The pile of edited reports dwindled and because William’s had been moved to the bottom of the pile, it was the only one left at day’s end. “Gee, we didn’t get to Mr. Smith’s article. Shame on us,” Alby said sarcastically. “Guess we might as well go to mess now. Nothing more we can do about it today. Too bad, huh?”

William was eating with the platoon’s commanding officer when Alby made his way over to their table. After a salute and a request to speak, Alby gave William the bad news. “Mr. Burrows, Sir, I’m sorry but there was an unusually heavy number of reports today and we were unable to censor and send yours to your paper.” Alby stood at ease, hands clasped behind his back, trying to restrain his desire to punch William in The Left Labanza.

William stood up, outraged. “I’ve never missed a deadline in all my years of reporting. Damn you,” he yelled. Alby didn’t move and wished, for that minute, that he was as tall and broad as William was because he was scared shitless.

The commanding officer rose from his seat to diffuse the situation. “William, we get mighty swamped here, what with all the columns that come through daily. I’m sure your editors will understand.”

Recognition crossed William’s face. “Bullshit. This was purposeful. What’s the matter, Private? You don’t like the way I spoke to the nigger?” William turned toward Alby. Even though he came only up to William’s chest at full height, he refused to back down.

“No Sir, I don’t like it. But that’s beside the point. You are accusing me of conscious negligence and I take issue with that, Sir.”

The C.O. decided there was no room for diplomacy. “William, I am the commander of this unit and if one of my men says there was no time to complete the day’s work, I believe him and I suggest you do the same. I also suggest that you apologize to Private James.”

William was relentless. “I have nothing to apologize for. I asked the private to get me one bottle of scotch and now I’m being made to pay for that request.”

“William, you aren’t a soldier nor are you under my command so I can’t enforce an order. I can, however, strongly urge you to make your apologies and then move on to another press unit that might be better able to get your reports in on time. I think that’s fair, don’t you?”

The troops were all dumbstruck and a mixture of fear and pride was in the mess tent air. William still wore that haughty, holier-than-thou look on his face.

“I’m sorry for asking you to get me a bottle of scotch,” William turned to Earl but we all knew he wasn’t sorry at all and Earl was a real mensch.

“I accept your apology, Sir,” Earl replied and his gentlemanly manor further incensed William who ultimately stormed out. After gathering his things, William was driven off the base and taken to a nearby division leaving behind a collective sigh of relief. Shortly afterward Alby was called in to the C.O.’s office.

“Private, I don’t want to know if you intentionally pulled Mr. Burrows’s story and I don’t want any explanations from you. Sometimes there are uncanny coincidences and I’m sure that’s what happened today. Mr. Burrows was rude and inappropriate and his article coincidentally didn’t make it to the wire. That’s all my report will show.”

“Sir, yes Sir,” Alby saluted and when he realized he wasn’t going to face any disciplinary actions, he kept his salute a few seconds longer than necessary. He felt like a million bucks.
Alby figured then that just because a person feels like he has more authority it doesn’t necessarily mean that he does and that the assumed authority also doesn’t make a person better-behaved. As long as you do the right thing and live accordingly, the only authority that really matters will smile on you every step of the way. Alby always said the best thing he learned that day was that when you do right by someone worth a grain of salt, he’ll do right by you; because it was Earl who later saved Alby’s life.

Earl, Sergeant Patrick Murphy and Alby were returning to base after an evening at a bar in Northern France. They did that a lot, going to bars in their down time. The ETO was a hell of a way to see the world, huh? Anyway, they had to walk through the woods in the dark which was not at all unusual for American soldiers but this night was anything but usual. The three of them were halfway to base when they came upon a Nazi soldier who had been separated from his unit and was hiding behind a group of trees. In keeping with the Rules of Engagement, Sergeant Murphy drew his weapon and demanded that the Nazi soldier come forward with his arms in the air. Earl and Alby pointed their rifles and Alby hoped his first place ranking in marksmanship wouldn’t be necessary. “Sir, you are now a prisoner of the United States Army,” Sergeant Murphy said.

The Nazi began speaking in German and since Alby was fluent in Yiddish, was able to decipher what the soldier was saying. “He’s calling us American pigs and says he’s not going anywhere with us.”

“I don’t want to tell him we’re press corps soldiers or he’ll know we’re ready to shit our pants,” Sergeant Murphy whispered.

“I’ll tell him we are taking him prisoner and won’t hurt him if he cooperates. When we get him back to camp, we’ll let the Colonel deal with it.” Alby was never as afraid in his whole life as he was at that moment. He was face-to-face with a person, to use that term loosely and allowing for a broad definition, who believed he was superior simply because he was an Aryan and Alby was a Jew.

Who would have imagined that the Yiddish he’d spoken at home with his parents was now being used to communicate with an SS member? Alby spoke the words they’d been trained to say. “We are soldiers in the United States Army. We’re not going to hurt you, but the rules of engagement demand that we take you back to our base and turn you over to our commander. We are not interested in fighting with you and I give you my word that you will be brought in unharmed if you cooperate.”

Alby reached over to try and take him by the arm. “Don’t touch me with your filthy Jew hands. You are lower than the rats in the garbage and you deserve to die,” the SS agent spit out in guttural German and faster than a blink he pulled out his weapon and aimed it directly at Alby’s head. As he went to squeeze the trigger, a gun was fired and the Nazi fell dead from a bullet into his chest.

When Alby looked up, he saw that Earl had fired his rifle, the first and last time he’d ever used his gun throughout the war. Earl reached down and took the Nazi’s pocketknife that had been dangling from his pocket.

“Here,” he offered it to Alby. “For you.”

Alby put the knife in his pocket and then leaned over and puked at the base of a tree. Sweat was pouring down the back of his neck while Murphy and Earl agreed that what just occurred would never be reported and that the three of us would just head back to base like nothing happened.

But so much happened. Alby looked into his enemy’s soulless eyes and saw only misplaced but very real revulsion. In contrast, Alby looked at his friend Earl and saw only his love and respect. The extremes that surrounded Alby made him shiver, and he didn’t stop for many days afterward.

“We are taught that when we do a good deed, we are repaid for it tenfold even though we might not always know it. But Alby knew it that day. Earl James saved Alby’s life, claiming that he did it because Alby saved his honor. They each did what they believed was right at that moment in time and that’s all people can ever do if we hope to live fairly and honestly.

“So don’t sweat it that your boss out there doesn’t know how to behave honorably toward you. You’re helping me to get better and for that, you will be repaid tenfold. And you can take THAT to the bank.”

Jenny left the room with tears in her eyes and I wondered if I could find Private Earl James; maybe he’d be able to save my father’s life one more time.