"So you lost an
eye in the war," she said. "So did Fred
Jones," I said. "So did Lucrezia
and Maria," she said. "Who are they?" I
said. "My cook," she
said, "and the woman who let you in."
"Did you win a lot
of medals in the war?" she said. Actually, I hadn't
done too badly. I had a Bronze
Star with a Cluster, and a Purple Heart for my wound, and a Presidential Unit Citation, a Soldier's Medal, a Good Conduct Badge, and a European-African-Middle Eastern Campaign
Ribbon with seven Battle Stars. I was proudest of
my Soldier's Medal, which is usually awarded to a soldier
who has saved the life of another soldier in situations not necessarily
related to combat. In 1941, I was giving a course in camouflage
techniques to officer candidates at Fort Benning, Georgia. I saw a
barracks on fire, and I gave the alarm, and then went in twice, without
regard for my own safety, and carried out two unconscious enlisted men. They were the only
two people in there, and nobody was supposed to be in there. They had
been drinking, and had accidentally started the fire themselves, for
which they were given two years of hard labor-plus loss of all pay and
dishonorable discharges. About my medals:
all I said to Marilee was that I guessed I had received my share.