Marshall Ramsey

In honor of Pearl Harbor Day, I’m reprinting this story from  my book “Fried Chicken & Wine.” May the day that’ll live in infamy never be forgotten. 

A light mist shrouded Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.  The normally bright blue water was more of a dull gray, matching the U.S. Navy ships that slipped in and out of its protected waters.  A black Lincoln Towncar slowly pulled up to the battleship and stopped.  The driver got out, walked around to the passenger side rear door and opened it. A shaky foot emerged.

Capt. John Franklin, U.S. Navy (Ret.), slowly got out of the car and looked up at the mighty ship.  His eyes immediately began to water as tears and memories flooded forth.  The driver popped the trunk, got out a walker and helped the old man to his feet.  The driver paused, saluted and waited by the car.  Capt. Franklin slowly made his way to the gangplank.

As he pushed the walker up the walkway he noticed a strange thing beginning to happen: His legs were getting stronger.  About halfway up, he threw the walker aside, “I hated the dam’ thing anyway,” the old sailor growled.  He paused, looking up at the mighty guns and the colorful flags.  The fog swirled around the superstructure and the steel guns.  He continued on his journey.

He got to the top and took a deep breath. The smell of fresh paint, oil and wood tickled his senses, unleashing memories he had not thought about in 70 years.  He stuck out his chest and said, “Capt. Franklin reporting for duty. Permission to come aboard?”  The faceless officer said, “Permission granted, sir.”

Captain John Franklin walked to aft of the ship and approached a 5-inch gun. He put his hand on the warm steel, climbed a ladder and sat inside the turret.  He was now manning his position on the U.S.S. Arizona. He had rejoined those shipmates who had perished 70 years ago while he was ashore on leave.  Smiling, he waved at the driver on the dock below.  The driver saluted back and drove away.

The captain was home.  He looked out at the shore and everything looked just as it had early on the morning of December 7, 1941.  Suddenly the sun broke through the mist at Pearl Harbor. And when the sunbeam hit the ghost battleship, it disappeared.

At that moment, alarms went off in room BB39 of the Naval hospital. “We’re losing him!” the nurse screamed.  A team of nurses and doctors scrambled like ants and tried to save him but with no luck.  Captain John Franklin, U.S. Navy (Ret.), survivor of the day that will live in infamy, faded into history.

His high-paying job just evaporated one day.  He sat in the corner office, hopelessly begging for a career that would never come back.  Soon afterwards, all the trappings of his wealth went with it.  Once the house and cars were gone, his wife and kids followed right behind.  In his mid-40’s and exhausted, a man once in the the peak of his career had now become the Aluminum Can Man.

Something inside him just snapped.

The Aluminum Can Man had forgotten a simple truth: He was not in control. God was and the Good Lord now was sending him on another journey.  Never a man for organized religion, the Aluminum Can Man seldom darkened the door of a church except for a free meal. He had no community. He didn’t break bread with his fellow man. While the past was now a faded and torn memory, it still burned inside him like an old scar.  His wife had said the Aluminum Can Man had not done enough to help her through the tough times.  After two years of working three jobs to keep his old lifestyle going, the Aluminum Can Man became an emotional island that one day just sank beneath the sea.

He just simply snapped.  He started repeating himself and then just stopped talking altogether.  His wife was gone soon afterwards.  She wanted to be with her family for support.  The Aluminum Can Man could not handle the stress any longer.  And as she and the kids drove off, the last ounce of fight drained out of him.

So he started collecting cans.  He roamed the city looking for aluminum bits of treasure.

Once a gang of teenagers beat him up, robbing him of his wallet and the remaining photo of his family. He lost vision in his right eye and three of his teeth. A wild beard covered the new scar on his right cheek. Even if his wife had cared for someone other than herself, she would not have recognized him.  The once-handsome executive looked like the vagrant he had become.

The Aluminum Can Man sat alone at a table in the soup kitchen. He hoped there would be enough food for him to have a hot Christmas Eve meal. The other men in room chatted and laughed but not the can man. Blurry memories of watching his children open packages haunted him, scratching at his heart like a rabid bobcat. He could almost hear his children’s voices as they cried out with joy. The Aluminum Can Man opened his mouth to scream but nothing would come out.  He suddenly stood up and walked out the door into the cold, dark snowy night. He was determined to end it all tonight. His career had vanished. His wife had abandoned him. The world did not need him in it. It was time for him to die.

Snow stung his face above his beard as he stumbled through the drifts of snow.  Yellow lights from windows tried to cut through the weather but it was in compete vain.  The Aluminum Can Man noticed the Christmas Trees in the window.  To him, this was just another night.  And Christmas was just another day. Because the birth of Jesus meant nothing to him.

The Aluminum Can Man paused and moved forward. He would die tonight. And no one could stop him. He headed toward the train tracks so he could walk in front of a freight train.

But before he could get there, he came upon a car wreck. An SUV had slid on an ice patch and spun into a power pole.  Both passengers were on the ground with a male unconscious and bleeding profusely from a sizable head wound. The can man ran over to him and tried to speak to the man, but no noise came out.  He took off his rags and wrapped the man’s head.  Over on the other side of the car was a woman screaming to the top of her lungs.

She appeared uninjured — but was pregnant and in labor.  The Aluminum Can Man ran over to her and tried to speak. Once again, nothing would come out. “I’m having my baby!” The lady screamed.

The Aluminum Can Man tried to calm the woman the best as he could. He made some gestures and conveyed to the woman that he was there to help.  And within 15 minutes, another small cry joined his mother’s.  The Aluminum Can Man gently placed three pieces of scrap metal as presents at the feet of the child, much like the Wise Men had done so many years ago. In the process of bringing a new life into the world, the can man forgot that he was on his way to end his own.  He had found purpose. And he realize the Good Lord had led him to this very spot.

As the ambulance loaded the passengers from the SUV, a paramedic wrapped a blanket around the Aluminum Can Man.  “Merry Christmas my friend. You do good work.” The paramedic smiled and patted the can man on the back.

The Aluminum Can Man, unable to speak for so long, opened his mouth and said the first two words he had said in months: “Merry Christmas.”

And as he did, the parting clouds revealed a bright star.

It was Christmas morning, and thanks to the birth of a child, the Aluminum Can Man had hope once again.