The Professor with Many Faces

Contents

A prologue

An ode to Taylor University and The Professor with Many Faces

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Epilogue

This book is dedicated to the legions of administrators, professors and staff members at Taylor University who, over the past many decades, have prepared leadership personnel for the nations of the world. These Spirit-filled leaders have a knowledge foundation strengthened with a Christian vision. Their God-directed service is based upon the teachings of Jesus Christ and the leading of the Holy Spirit.

The following people, among many others, have provided prayer, counsel, assistance and encouragement in preparing this manuscript. I am indebted to:

Eugene Habecker, president of Taylor University, for his

encouragement to pursue this writing.

My wife, Jane, Professor Emeritus in Education at Taylor University,

for her patience and understanding during the formation of this novel.

Her prayers and assistance were most helpful during the many months

required to write the manuscript.

Mildred S. Chapman, Professor Emeritus in Education at Taylor

University, who offered many valuable suggestions.

Robert C. Wolfe, Professor Emeritus in physics at Taylor University

who provided many knowledgeable insights.

And Betty Wedeles, the talented artist who conceived and created the cover design. She receives my acclamation and appreciation.

A prologue

It was seven years ago in 1937 that Sam, 11, and Howie, 10, fell through a log cabin floor on their grandfather’s farm. Frightening experiences awaited them as they explored a hidden tunnel under that cabin. Discovering a human skeleton holding a huge horseshoe, they noticed strange symbols forged on it. Attempting to find out the meaning of these markings led them into some scary times as they attempted to solve The Giant Horseshoe Mystery. Do you think a solution can be found? Read this novel and find out.

Two years later, in 1939, Sam and Howie were intrigued by an unoccupied house on the same farm. While investigating this dilapidated home they found under the stairs three pieces of metal with the letters X Y and Z formed on the ends. As they endeavored to determine the purpose of the tools they discovered a secret room and dark tunnel under the home. Trying to stay ahead of cold-hearted adversaries they followed the clues found in three alluring containers. Two underworld characters also were determined to find a solution to The X Y Z Mystery. You will have to read this mystery to find out who arrived at the solution first.

Then in 1942, while attempting to repair a red pick-up truck purchased from their grandfather, Sam and Howie discovered faded pieces of paper in the spare tire that resembled 50 and 100 dollar bills. When they tried to determine the origin of the bills they found their Uncle Freddy dead in his home. Following vague clues they had to elude the clutches of an evil dentist who is a wanted criminal. Two mystery characters, Moose and Squirrely, entered the scene to complicate matters. Sam and Howie had dangerous encounters with gangsters who worked in secret to produce the counterfeit money. Their attempts to solve this mystery will excite you as you try to solve The Red Pick-up Truck Mystery.

Now it is 1944. The United States and their Allies are at war. Sam, 18, and Howie, 17, are freshmen students at Taylor University, a small Christian college located in Upland, Indiana. As they pursue their studies, one of their instructors, Professor I. M. Wulf, who many students consider quite strange, uses disguises as he teaches his classes. Often he impersonates long-dead scientists to illustrate important concepts in chemistry.

When they happen to find coded messages during chemistry classes, Sam and Howie attempt to decipher the code and determine the intended communications.

Meanwhile two German P.O.W.s escape from a local stockade. These escapees together with two older non-conforming chemistry students add to the intrigue and suspense. Sam and Howie assist Sheriff Neverfine and Deputy Snooper in an attempt to solve this perplexing mystery that seems to know no boundaries.

Peter Guardless of the F.B.I. and Isaac Eyesee, of the U.S. Office of Strategic Services are called in when a local manufacturer of parachutes is marked for sabotage. A courier direct from the Fuehrer’s bunker in Berlin has delivered the orders for this subversion.

Spade Digger, the rather odd local mortician, seems to be involved in the sinister plot to destroy the Jumper Parachute Factory.

To add to Sam’s misery, Ginny Hammer, his true love, is accused of abetting Germany, the World War II enemy, causing turmoil and prejudice to arise in the community.

Will Sam and Howie be able to survive this onslaught of multiple hazards and challenges as they try to unmask The Professor with Many Faces? You’ll have to read on to find out.

An ode to Taylor University and

The Professor with Many Faces

At a small university called Taylor, located in a serene and rural setting,

I, the professor of chemistry, have caused considerable regretting.

Making a rigorous subject interesting was one of my innate traits,

My talent was to impersonate past scientists who were greats.

Using wigs and disguises I brought life to scientists long dead,

Their contributions to chemistry are what I most earnestly said.

But my intentions were not at all that honorable you see,

I had a hidden agenda that was all about me.

As I taught at Taylor, my unsavory past was kept well hidden,

I worried; would anyone discover who really did my bidden?

Shameful were my motives and my actions bore that out,

My loyalties, if known, would cause the faculty with scorn to shout.

Why do I have so many false faces for my students to see?

Perhaps it’s because I don’t want them to perceive the real me.

If I had followed my Taylor brethren and turned my eyes toward Him,

Jesus could have saved me long ago from my false life so dim.

I would never need a disguise again, my shameful past to hide,

Because He would give me a countenance in which I could abide.

But perhaps it’s not too late for me to seek His face,

Then I can discard all disguises and cease that useless race.

1

Sam was euphoric, smiling widely. Sitting close to him was his heart throb and best friend, Ginny Hammer. As he steered his shiny red pick up truck along County Road 221 he turned and focused on her pretty freckled face. He marveled at how their relationship had become more intense during their senior year. As they coasted slowly along toward Van Buren, the small town where he had graduated from high school the previous spring, his mind was concentrating on his sweetheart. For the past several months Ginny and Sam had been together almost every day. During the summer just passed Sam had been living the life that many of his friends only dreamed about. He had a steady girl friend who was pretty, popular with her classmates and, he hoped, very fond of him.

It was late August on a hot Saturday afternoon just two weeks before he was to start attending classes at Taylor University. Sam had picked up Ginny at her home located on the next gravel road a mile south of Sam’s family home, the HayBend Farm. He drove slowly, with Ginny sitting close, the few miles to Van Buren and parked his shiny red pickup truck in front of Hemmick’s Hardware Store. He was sure all passers-by could see how the recent wax job made the truck shine. After opening the passenger side door for Ginny, Sam checked his reflection in the truck’s shiny front fender and smoothed back his hair. They walked next door to Coan Paxton’s Emporium, located on the corner next to the hardware store at the intersection of Main and East Streets. Smiling at each other they made their way past the corn removers, dentures and hair tonics to the rear of the store.

Sam took Ginny’s hand and suggested, Let’s sit at that table in the back corner. We can have more privacy there.

The small, circular glass top on the table at the rear of the soda fountain area provided the ideal resting place for their four elbows and the strawberry milkshake that Sam always ordered from Coan Paxton, the proprietor. Sam was in a dreamy daze holding his chin in his hands and gazing into Ginny’s eyes. He could feel his pulse rate increasing. It was hard to believe that this very attractive girl sitting inches across the table from him was Ginny Hammer, his neighbor and enduring sweetheart. Their affinity for each other had thrived and strengthened over the past year.

Several of his classmates had tried to date Ginny over the years, but she turned them all down. Her eyes were on Sam. He was elated when she spurned Kenny Burley, a six foot-two classmate and star on the Van Buren Aces basketball team. Kenny scored more points in the last game of the season than Sam had collected all season. But Kenny and Sam were not friends. Sam considered Kenny a townie and a bully. He had beat up on Sam several times in the lower grades. When the townies would see a farm boy in Van Buren during the summer after graduation from the eighth grade, they would try to chase him down and give him a good strapping with their belts. They called this hazing good entertainment and a necessary introduction to the ninth grade. In the process the upperclassmen hoped to show the lowly freshmen who was boss at the high school.

Sam had known his heartthrob since the first grade. They had ridden on the same old, dusty, rickety, faded-yellow school buses for 12 years attending all grades together in the three-story, yellow brick schoolhouse, the dominant building on Main Street in Van Buren. Her parents had emigrated from Germany in the 1920’s. In fact, German was still the preferred language spoken at her farm home. Ginny had won Sam’s admiration and affection during his senior year in high school with her enthusiastic personality and constant attention. Now their eyes were riveted on each other as they talked about their future since graduation from high school.

Howie, his cousin from Ohio, had warned Sam two years ago that Ginny had her eyes fixed on him and would make him forget all about his plans to enroll at Taylor University. Now, in the dog days of a late August afternoon as Sam looked into Ginny’s deep-brown expressive eyes, his heart skipped a beat. He thought, Perhaps Howie was right. Maybe I should stay home on the farm and spend all my spare time with Ginny.

Coan delivered the large strawberry milkshake with two straws to their table with pride. He spouted, Here you are, Sam and Ginny, another made-to-order, super-dooper masterpiece with two dips of Meyer’s strawberry ice cream with whipped topping. He set the milkshake on the table with a flourish and a smile. Then with a slight bow he quickly retreated and disappeared back of a soda fountain counter topped with ornate polished wood.

As they sat across the small table from each other, their lips caressed the straws and their knees touched. Sam sighed. His heart was turning flip flops. He was certain he was falling in love.

Ginny leaned back and looked at her lover with tenderness. She pointed over at the large mirror attached to the wall in front of the soda fountain counter and said soothingly, Remember two years ago when Deputy Snooper smashed his patrol car through that brick wall?

I remember that incident very well. Sheriff Neverfine and Deputy Snooper were speeding toward Van Buren from opposite directions trying to trap the men who stole my red pickup truck. The sheriff was racing toward Van Buren from the south, and Deputy Snooper was barreling into town from the north. Howie and I had just finished fixing up my truck when those two escaped convicts, Sly and Slick, stole it from the tool shed on our farm.

But Coan did a remarkable job in restoring this soda fountain after it was demolished by Deputy Snooper.

Sam was getting more animated by the minute as he relived the exciting events of that day two years ago. He spouted, What excitement . . . when Sly and Slick stole my pickup truck and drove it into that abandoned barn south of town! There they cut up the seat looking for a string of black pearls that had been stolen from a museum in Mexico City, Mexico. They found a brown wrapped package and in their souped-up Ford raced into Van Buren with Sheriff Neverfine right on their tail.

The GrantNews ran a front page story telling how the gangsters tried to make a right hand turn here at this very intersection. They were going too fast to make the turn at this corner and rammed their Ford into Mr. Hemmick’s hardware store next door.

She looked proudly at Sam, took his hands, squeezed and continued, And you and Howie were riding in the sheriff’s car as he chased the bandits into Van Buren. Then when the two outlaws ran from Hemmick’s Hardware store into Clem’s Barber Shop, you and Howie helped Sheriff Neverfine arrest Sly and Slick. They both leaned back on chairs made with twisted wire frames, their eyes glued on each other.

But remember, a few days later Sly and Slick escaped from Deputy Snooper’s patrol car as he was transporting them from the county jail to FlatHill Prison at Dooville just down the road from our farm, and no one has seen them since.

Sam reached over and took Ginny’s hand. Squeezing gently and looking at her tanned smiling face highlighted with freckles, he became serious and added, Yeah, those were exciting times. But, Ginny, I brought you here today in my truck because I wanted to tell you the latest news.

He hesitated and squirmed about on the small chair trying to think of the best way to share the information with his sweetheart. Then he gazed directly into her eyes and announced,

Are you ready for this? I have been accepted at Taylor University. The fall semester begins in two weeks.

Ginny’s eyes widened and her eyebrows shot up as she blustered, Oh!

She was surprised. Her smile disappeared as she withdrew her hands from his. Her freckled face became taut below a wrinkled forehead. She tried not to show her disappointment. She had grown quite fond of Sam over the last several months and was hoping that they could be together often and develop a serious relationship. Now knowing that college classes would demand a lot of Sam’s time and energy, she knew he would have less time to shower her with the affection she desired.

Ginny sputtered, That . . . . that’s wonderful news. I’m proud of you. Only four members of our graduation class are going on to college.

Taking a brown paper napkin from the dispenser on the table, she dabbed at her eyes. Controlling her emotions she managed to look up at Sam. She dropped her chin and whispered, I hope we can continue to see each other since the university is only a few miles south down road 221.

Then her face brightened. She took Sam’s hands again and beamed, And, I, too, have exciting news for you—some information that will affect our relationship. Ginny stopped and looked at the ceiling as she thought about the most tactful words to tell her best friend about her exciting plans for the future.

Then looking at Sam squarely in the eyes she spouted, About a month after I graduated, Mr. Seldom Quik, the manager of NonStop Transportation Company, with headquarters in Marion, stopped by our home one evening. He offered me a job delivering small packages to destinations in Indiana and Illinois. The packages weigh 25 pounds or less so I’ll be able to handle them easily without straining my back.

She hesitated and squeezed both of Sam’s hands. I haven’t told you about this wonderful opportunity because I needed time to think about how the job would affect our lives. I’ll be away from home for days at a time. But since you will be spending much of your time on the Taylor campus studying chemistry and those other difficult subjects, I will accept Mr. Quik’s offer. He said I could come to work the first week in September. That’s only two weeks away.

Wow! That’s great, answered Sam, swallowing hard and feeling a little envious that Ginny would be earning money while he was spending down his savings at the university. He could feel the lump in his throat getting larger.

He continued, You are a conscientious worker and a careful, skilled driver. The Nonstop Transportation Company will have an excellent employee. Then he frowned and questioned, But you don’t own a truck or car. Will your dad let you use his car for the deliveries?

No, Mr. Quik will furnish me with a company car if I accept the job offer. He drove it out to our farm last week. I took it for a test drive into Marion and back. It’s a 1940 Ford station wagon, one of the last vehicles produced at the Ford factory before the United States entered this war. He was able to buy it from a friend of his, a used car and truck dealer who owns a sales lot south of Chicago. I think the name of the place is The Cow Shed or something like that.

That’s an interesting name for a used car sales lot. By the way, that model Ford wagon has a lot of power. You need to be very careful driving on the pothole-filled roads in Indiana and Illinois, cautioned Sam. He suddenly realized that his sweetheart, an attractive young woman, would be driving on unfamiliar roads to strange places at all hours of the day and night.

Becoming squeamish about Ginny’s plans, he was beginning to feel that he would be left out and not a part of her everyday life. His head was spinning. Sam silently asked himself, Would his innocent, attractive heart throb from the country be safe driving alone on alien roads making deliveries to unknown people in out-of-the-way towns and large hostile cities?

Sensing uneasiness, Ginny tried to reassure Sam. I have the driving skill to handle the Ford on country roads and in city traffic, she replied. Remember, you let me drive your red pick-up truck a lot over the last two years. And I have driven the tractors and trucks on our farm fields for years, in fact since I was eight years old.

I know you’re a good driver. But that Ford wagon has a dangerous top speed of over 90 miles per hour.

Don’t worry; the war-mandated speed limit is only 35 miles per hour.

Sam was wrestling with his feelings. Ginny would have a lot of freedom in the weeks ahead. She would meet many new persons, including some men her own age and older. That 1940 Ford would be taking his steady girlfriend many miles away from him. He was beginning to feel inadequate and perhaps just a bit jealous because her delivery job often would take her so far away.

Narrowing his eyes, he looked at her intensely and asked, Are you sure this job with the NonStop Transportation Company is the right employment for you? Don’t you think it will limit the time we can spend together?

Yes, I’m sure it will. But just remember, you are first in my life. This delivery job has second priority. I’ll be able to see you on some weekends. Yes, after talking with you today I feel good about accepting Mr. Quik’s offer.

I’ll worry about you, driving that fast powerful station wagon in all types of weather on strange roads.

Sam, you don’t need to be concerned. During the past year my confidence behind the wheel has increased. I’ll be able to deliver packages on time to people in these two states. Mr. Quik told me I may have to travel to large cities like Indianapolis and Chicago.

Wow! The very mention of Chicago brings back to me vivid memories of two years ago, some not so pleasant. He was remembering being kidnapped at his Uncle Freddy’s house by two men, Moose and Squirrely, taken to Chicago and held hostage in a seedy place called the Flea Gone Hotel. It all happened as he and Howie were trying to solve the red pickup truck mystery. He could imagine all sorts of problems and dangers that might confront Ginny in the days ahead, especially in large cities like Chicago. He shuddered.

Don’t worry about me, Sam. I’m perfectly able to handle this job and the Ford station wagon. And, we can still see each other when I’m not on the road. When I get the station wagon in a couple of weeks, I’ll give you a ride. You’ll see how good a driver I am.

Their enjoyable time together that August afternoon relishing the ice cream treat at the soda fountain in Coan Paxton’s Emporium made the time fly. The cuckoo clock on the wall behind the music box was announcing four o’clock. The red, blue and yellow flashing lights beamed out from the jukebox as Glen Miller’s orchestra serenaded them with the love song, In the Mood. As Sam and Ginny sucked on the two straws, loud slurping noises reminded them that the milkshake glass was almost empty. They looked into each others eyes with great affection. Ginny reached over and caressed Sam’s sun-tanned smiling face.

Then she became serious and asked, I just remembered, what about your cousin, Howie? You told him two years ago to start saving money so he could enroll with you at Taylor. Neither Howie nor I thought you were serious because he is a year younger than you. He’s only 17 and has another year of high school before he is eligible to go to any college.

During the last two years, Howie, who has a very perceptive mind, has completed his graduation requirements at Hillsboro High School by taking courses at night and during the summer months. He wrote a letter last week telling me he graduated a year early. In two weeks he will join me as a freshman at Taylor University. He’s coming in to Marion by train. I’m going to meet him at the Branson Street railroad station on the day before classes begin for the fall term.

That’s great news . . . . But, I don’t know. When you and Howie get together strange events soon follow. I remember the scrapes you two have been in over the past five or six years. What possible mystery will the two of you find on the campus at Taylor? I have a strong feeling that the university will never be the same.

Don’t worry. I’ve been told that nothing exciting ever happens on that campus. In fact, a lot of folks think Taylor is a quiet preachers’ college.

I’m sure you will find many students who are interested in other fields of study.

Sam smiled as he looked longingly into Ginny’s eyes. The late afternoon sunlight came through the front window and reflected off the large mirror back of the soda fountain onto her face. She was lovely with her freckled face, expressive giggle and dangling curled ringlets of reddish-brown hair.

As she slid her lithe body off the tall soda fountain chair he sighed as he thought to himself, I’m not sure the decision to enroll at Taylor was a wise one, especially if I lose the love of my life. Maybe I should have stayed at home on the farm and dated Ginny full time. Oh well, hopefully it’ll all work out to the best interests of both of us.

Sam picked up the check and reached into his rear pocket for his billfold. Then his attention was diverted toward the front of the store. He heard the screen door at the front of the Emporium slam shut with a loud bang. Looking through the sun beams coming in the front windows and illuminating numerous airborne dust particles, he could see Kenny Burley’s tall frame marching with heavy steps toward him. His face was covered with a confident smirk. He was opening and clenching his fists making the muscles in his arms bulge stretching the fabric in his blue denim shirt.

Kenny stopped and smiled broadly at Ginny, and then looked down at Sam with a smug superiority as he poked his forefinger in Sam’s chest. With a condescending air he taunted, Well, if it ain’t my favorite clodhopper; the farmer boy who always comes to town with cow dung on his shoes. In fact, I think I smell something very unpleasant right now. Tell me, Shorty, did you just happen to step in some cow pies before you drove into town and came to Coan’s soda fountain? I’ll bet the cows kissed you goodbye this morning before you left that stinkin’ dirt patch you call a farm.

Stepping back, Sam lifted his head to look up at Kenny’s scowling face. Hi, Kenny, he offered in a mocking voice. How’s my favorite back-alley polecat? Did the Van Buren feral cats rub against your pant legs with affection before you came out into the sunlight today?

Kenny’s face turned crimson. With his huge muscular arms he reached out and grabbed Sam’s shirt front, lifted him up and slammed him down with his back lying on the polished wood that made up the soda fountain counter-top. He seized the pepper shaker, unscrewed the lid and poured the contents over Sam’s face. Then, looking at Ginny, he smiled with satisfaction.

Sam felt the pain in his eyes immediately. He bolted up and fumbled for the metal napkin dispenser. Swinging it around he smashed Kenny hard in the face, flattening his nose. Flashing through his mind were the beatings and belt-strappings Kenny had laid upon him over the past years. Rolling off the counter he landed on his hands and knees looking at the floor. Straightening up, he brought his right fist up hard against Kenny’s lower jaw. A loud ‘clack’ was heard as Kenny’s teeth jammed together, his head snapping back. His mouth drooped open. A handful of white enameled objects dropped out and bounced about like marbles on the terrazzo floor. Kenny’s tall well-built torso slowly and gently folded together, slumping to a heap on the floor between two soda fountain stools. His eyes glazed over. His mouth gaped open revealing two bloody gums with sporadic teeth, like a white fence with pickets missing. Kenny was unconscious.

Coan Paxton rose up from behind the counter where he had ducked for protection. He reached for a full pitcher of water to pour on Kenny’s face. Ginny emptied another pitcher onto Sam’s red eyes. Sam gave his wallet to Ginny and she paid their bill. Holding onto Sam’s arm they struggled out to the red pick-up truck where she helped him onto the passenger seat.

When Ginny drove rapidly out of town and they were on their way home, Sam looked with bloodshot eyes at her and smiled, This has been a good day. The bully of Van Buren finally reaped his own harvest.

2

W ow; Look at that crowd waiting for the Indianapolis Flyer to arrive, Sam murmured to himself. There must be a lot of passengers on that train wanting to get off here at Marion.

He had arrived to pick up Howie at the Branson Street train station on the afternoon before classes were to begin on the Taylor campus. He stared through the windshield of his red pick-up truck at the large group of people milling about in the vicinity of the depot and freight loading platform. Some of the men were standing across the railroad tracks looking silently and expectantly down the rails. A few were actually ambling down the tracks stepping on the railroad ties.

His eyes widened when he noticed that several U.S. military personnel armed with M-1 rifles were standing at ease in formation on the platform in front of the station master’s office with the butt ends of their guns resting on the splintered wood surface. As he parked his truck, he could see another large group of people sauntering around impatiently scuffing their shoes in the gravel and cinders around the raised wooden platform as they waited for the Flyer to arrive.

What a crowd! Are all these folks expecting someone important today? Sam asked one of the men standing nearby who had his hands shoved down deep in the front pockets of his patched overalls. The farmer was gazing down the tracks under the brim of a sweat-soiled straw hat to see if the train was in sight. In his mouth he was nervously chewing on a piece of wheat straw.

Yeah, several wounded G. I.s are coming in on this train, the onlooker responded, taking his pocket watch out of the bib on his overalls to check the time. Glancing at Sam he added, They will probably be taken to the Veterans Hospital at the south end of town. Also, I’ve heard rumors that some captured high-level German officers are in one of the cars. If so, they will probably be taken under guard to the stockade at Camp Cramwell.

Sam quickly made his way to the station platform. Bounding up the six steps to the surface of the weathered wooden structure, he walked behind the soldiers standing in formation and nodded toward the station master who was alone and appeared to be working diligently in his tiny cluttered office. The lower portion of the window was open. Vertical steel bars were in place over the top portion, offering some protection for the skittish agent inside. Sam was always intrigued by the depot agent’s round sun-tanned face that was highlighted with very large eyes with yellowish pupils; his face had the appearance of two eggs fried sunny-side up resting on brown toast.

The agent was trying to appear busy as his bald head, topped with a bluish visor, bobbed up and down as he shuffled papers and counted money on his aged cluttered desk. Frequently, as if on cue, he pursed his yellow lips and spat a brownish stream of tobacco juice through a gap between two amber-colored front teeth toward a large discarded paint can that rested on the floor beside his desk that served as a cheap spittoon. The wood floor boards around the can were well preserved with tobacco juice. Roaches and ants made a wide detour, avoiding the area. The ticket agent’s right trouser leg always carried a yellow hue as evidence of his poor aim. A small blackboard with the times of arrival and departure for the Indianapolis Flyer marked crudely with white chalk hung to the right of the unwashed ticket window. A few travel advertisements were tacked to the surrounding wood.

Sam was leaning up against the gray weathered vertical siding that made up the station’s front wall when a shuffling movement to his left caught his attention. A heavily-bearded man in an over-sized Bagway Express uniform emerged from an open door at the side of the depot. Glancing furtively from side-to-side the stooped Bagway employee plodded along slowly pushing a green wooden cart mounted on an axle with high steel wheels stopping at the edge of the platform. Sam had seen the Bagway Express employee many times before as he rolled the cart away from the station platform toward the tracks to collect the passengers’ luggage from the baggage car.

Then the shrill resounding sound of a distant steam whistle floated through the humid afternoon air causing everyone to stop talking, stand on their toes and glance down the tracks toward the haunting sound. Sam looked at his pocket watch. Yep, right on time, he murmured. It was 2 o’clock on a hot afternoon in early September.

The huge, aged locomotive, commonly called The Indy Iron Horse, advanced slowly, steadily and noisily toward the crowd of hushed anxious people. The engineer, clad in his usual uniform of gray and white striped overalls and long-sleeved faded blue shirt, was leaning out the side window, his gloved hand forcefully gripping the brake lever. The giant-sized coal-burning engine loudly belched out huge puffs of acrid, foul-smelling smoke from the stack on top. Steam was hissing and puffing out from both sides of the engine.

Sam was mesmerized. He thought the front of the locomotive looked like a one-eyed monster bearing down on the muzzled crowd of expectant people. The engine with its large center-placed headlight, bell clanging on top, and steam blasting out in all directions reminded him of Cyclops, the one-eyed giant in Greek mythology he had read about in his literature class. The large metal cow catcher attached to the front gave the engine the appearance of a giant monster with huge teeth about to devour the waiting crowd.

The locomotive was pulling a coal car, a mail unit, one enclosed passenger car with two narrow vertical windows, three regular passenger cars and a red caboose. Pushing his gray and white striped cap back on his head the engineer brought the train, with brakes squealing, bell ringing and steam spitting out, slowly to a grinding screeching halt beside the platform. After a long wait a door to the first passenger car rumbled open along an overhead track. The crowd hushed and craned their necks, curious to see who would be exiting.

Three stern-faced U.S. Army officers stepped out with their right hands resting on holstered 45 caliber pistols. With grim demeanor they scanned the subdued crowd waiting at the depot, looked up and down the railroad tracks, and surveyed the platform and the ticket office. Then the captain in charge nodded toward the open door of the passenger car.

Two German officers emerged, handcuffed and shackled by chains at their ankles. They stared forward defiantly as they shuffled stiff-legged and straight-backed in precise military steps measured by the short length of their shackle chains. Moving as lifeless mannequins along the cinder surface in front of the platform they glanced cautiously and scornfully in all directions.

Following closely two additional United States military policemen, clasping repeating carbines across their chests, moved their eyes from side to side scanning the crowd closely, ready to respond if trouble occurred. Large letters, M.P., printed on arm bands, adorned the left upper sleeves of their khaki blouses. The armed soldiers standing in front of the ticket office were ordered to attention. They marched to the edge of the platform, down the steps and toward the German officers to be ready to surround and escort them to a nearby waiting military vehicle.

The crowd remained hushed. Shoes stopped shuffling in the gravel. Only a muffled murmur could be heard as everyone craned their necks to get a first-hand view of the loathed Germans who were despised by the local populace. These officers represented the hated enemy that was killing their beloved sons, fathers and neighbors on far-away fields of battle. Stretching up to his full height, Sam could see that both Germans were high-ranking officers; their black uniforms were decorated with numerous ribbons and medals. The infamous SS letters were stitched to the collars of their dress coats.

A man dressed in a business suit turned to Sam and declared, Look at that! Both of them are wearing the Iron Cross. That medal is one of most prestigious German decorations of this war. The coveted medal was attached to blue ribbons draped around their necks.

Standing next to Sam, a farmer in clean pressed overalls cried out, Great day, they’re generals in the Nazi Gestapo! Those dirty rotten scoundrels! His face became flushed with a red hue as he doubled up his fists and started to move forward. He stopped as he neared the armed soldiers who were now descending the steps off the platform.

Just as the U.S. Army soldiers began marching toward the two German officers to escort them away from the depot, the Bagway Express employee suddenly straightened up from his stooped and wearied position and with surprising agility stepped quickly away from the baggage cart. He spurted toward the Germans, ripped open his vest and pulled out a hidden German Luger hand gun. Taking quick but precise aim he opened fire at point blank range shooting both generals neatly in the forehead between the eyes.

Turning to his left, the Bagway employee shoved the Luger in his pants’ pocket and ran swiftly down the railroad tracks past the locomotive, mail car and first passenger car. He then dropped to the ground and rolled across the tracks under the second passenger car. Quickly regaining his feet he jumped across two more sets of railroad tracks and sprinted rapidly across a vacant lot with his coattail flying out behind. Rushing through an open rear door in a nearby warehouse that was used to store unclaimed baggage and freight, he disappeared from view.

The U.S. Army soldiers and military policemen were taken completely by surprise. Shocked by the sudden, unexpected gunfire they seemed to be paralyzed. Witnessing the Nazi generals falling backward and collapsing onto the cinders in front of the platform, they stood frozen in their tracks. The bodies of the generals now lay crumpled at the soldiers’ feet. In seconds a red liquid began to ooze from the two, neatly placed dime-sized holes that had been drilled between the officers’ eyes. Scarlet colored rivulets of blood crept across the ashen faces of the generals and dripped onto the shoes of the military policemen. Only then did the M.P.s and the army guards begin to realize what had happened.

The sergeant in command of the army personnel suddenly came to his senses, drew his pistol and yelled, After him, men. Don’t let the Bagway man escape!

Immediately, the army guards and the M. P.s spurted around the front of the locomotive in pursuit of the gunman. Charging across the railroad tracks the two military policemen slipped on the polished shiny rails, stumbled and fell forward to the cinder-covered ground, accidentally discharging their weapons. The bullet from one carbine smashed into the front of the locomotive exploding the large headlight. Another missile rang the bell on top of the engine, ricocheted off, and blasted through the glass ticket office window of the train station.

The station master dived for cover