The Old Liberators

by Robert Hedin

Of all the people in the mornings at the mall,
It’s the old liberators I like best,
Those veterans of the Bulge, Anzio, or Monte Cassino
I see lost in Automotive or back in Home Repair,
Bored among the paints and power tools.
Or the really old ones, the ones who are going fast,
Who keep dozing off in the little orchards
Of shade under the distant skylights.
All around, from one bright rack to another,
Their wives stride big as generals,
Their handbags bulging like ripe fruit.
They are almost all gone now,
And with them they are taking the flak
And fire storms, the names of the old bombing runs.
Each day a little more of their memory goes out,
Darkens the way a house darkens,
Its rooms quietly filling with evening,
Until nothing but the wind lifts the lace curtains,
The wind bearing through the empty rooms
The rich far off scent of gardens
Where just now, this morning,
Light is falling on the wild philodendrons.

Snowstorms and newspaper delivery — on horseback

Two hot topics in the news lately: first, talk of the United States Postal Service cutting back on delivery, and, second, in case you haven't heard yet —we had record snowfalls in our area. These two things bring to mind a story my father told about his days as editor and publisher of a small weekly newspaper in McLean, Virginia, the McLean Providence Journal.

It was a February 1958 snowstorm that dropped 14" of snow on Northern Virginia. The storm resulted in massive snowdrifts, whiteout conditions, and high winds. Transportation was paralyzed, and power was lost for a week.

The newspaper was printed at a country print shop near Oakton, Virginia. Even after Dad was able to reach the shop through the snow from the newspaper office in McLean, there was no electricity to turn the press. The print shop foreman, Earl Mutersbaugh, loaded the metal forms into his car and took them to the print shop at the Manassas Messenger, a distance of thirteen miles. The flat sheets were returned, having been printed, to Oakton, finally ready for folding and mailing. Then the second snowstorm descended.

Just when it looked as though some $2000 worth of advertising was going to be lost forever, two young women trotted up the road on horseback. After they were told about the delivery problem, they asked if they could help. Eagerly, the print shop people loaded the papers into their saddle bags. The two brave horsewomen headed off into the blinding snow toward the Oakton Post Office several miles away, saving the day.


My father, Bill Elvin, at his desk in the newspaper office.