“Steel,
Sergeant, United States Army, 3-44-44-33.”
I sat
with my back against the concrete wall behind my family’s car port; my arms
stretched out and held by imaginary chains. Hid from the world, and more
importantly from my mother thanks to the large tree that blocked the kitchen
window from the backyard, I underwent torturous interrogations. Only three days
prior my grizzled World War II persona had been captured following a disastrous trampoline drop behind enemy lines, and now, locked in a dark room deep within
a Nazi POW camp, I was paying the price.
“Uuse
zee metal pipe. This time akross zee face.”
A
uniformed guard wearing the dual lightning bolt patch of the SS obeyed the
order. He walked slowly to a nearby table, picked up an old copper pipe from an
array of tools, needles, and knifes and then, facing me again, raised his arm
to attack.
I smiled
and laughed, “Ha! You think I’ve never been beaten before? Never tortured?”
Down came
the copper pipe striking me flush against the cheek. Pain seared from loosened
teeth and a lightly fractured jaw, but I only laughed again and raised an
eyebrow to the Gestapo officer performing the interrogation. “Where’d you find
this guy, the flag corps?”