Morty is a World War II kid living at Nugent’s Corner. He loves candy, soda pop, and ice cream. He can be sad, happy, afraid, and brave. During summer vacation he picks strawberries, raspberries and beans to earn money. All year he collects old scrap metal, rubber inner tubes, and tinfoil from cigarette packages and chewing gum to help the war effort. He knows how to identify airplanes and stands duty in a watchtower. That’s Morty, a typical kid that things happen to, and decisions have to be made.
“B-17,” exclaimed Edna.
“P-39,” shouted Morty.
Every boy in the audience roared with laughter. In front of a room crowded with schoolmates, Morty had just made an embarrassing mistake about identifying an airplane silhouette.
To increase his embarrassment, Wilson and David threw spitballs at him. Those obnoxiously wet projectiles struck his right ear and head, going unnoticed by Master Sergeant Crosman, who at the moment was rolling his eyes upward to the ceiling in an apparent attempt to remain calm and patient with the group of unruly children he had been ordered to train.
“Remember, Morty, a B-17 is a four engine bomber, while a P-39 is a single engine fighter plane. Now, look closely at the airplane silhouette and tell me how many engines you see.”
Morty squinted and tried to concentrate. All eyes were upon him. He looked at the sea of snickering faces and knew the boys were mocking him, hoping he would fail. His cousin Wilson and the bully David were usually mean to him. They thought he was a failure to start with—a hopeless case, as Wilson called him.
Not for Edna though. Brown-skinned and brown-eyed, she was the most beautiful girl in the whole world. Oh, how he loved her, so much so that when he had to talk to her at school, he didn’t know what to say. He always blushed and looked at his shoes.
“Count the engines, Morty. How many are there?” coaxed Master Sergeant Crosman.
Morty was so frightened he was certain he was going to have a bowel movement. He started to count aloud, which was another mistake.
“Uh, one, two, three…I see three, Sir,” he whispered, just loud enough for everybody to hear.
This time, the whole audience laughed and Morty tried to crawl under his chair, but there wasn’t enough room so he had to remain where he was at and take the taunts, the barbs, the unkind remarks from his fellow humans. Or were they human? Maybe they were the monstrous enemy to be stamped out like some disease. He felt tears coming to his eyes and he wished he was home listening to his beloved Atwater Kent Radio.
“Everybody makes mistakes,” Sergeant Crosman commented loudly above the teasing and laughing. “We made a terrible one at Pearl Harbor when we failed to identify the Japanese planes until they were bombing us.”
He squinted menacingly at the mess of kids in front of him before calmly saying, “Now, if any of you are perfect you may continue teasing Morty. If you are not perfect, then remain quiet.”
Silence reigned immediately, and for a full minute.
“Thank you. How many engines do you see, Morty?”
“Four,” Morty whispered.
“Great. Now, what is a war plane with four engines?”
“A bomber,” Morty shouted triumphantly.
“Right, Morty. Class is dismissed for the night. I will see you all in three days. In the meantime, memorize the airplane silhouettes you’re taking home.”
