Tony's Hand Grenade

My friend Tony is at the end of his life. As I said, it is likely that his wheaton terrier will become part of the stable of pets.

Tony was pals with "Unka Chollie", my girlfriend's father's big brother. Charlie worked in publishing, and Tony did printing and typesetting. They knew each other for many years, but ironically they never met during their service to our country. After all, their war was the big one.

Several years ago I worked on an oral history project, and I was able to interview both men in that context. This work is ongoing, and as such it has yet to be published. Charlie passed away, but Tony is still kicking at 94. He outlived his wife.

The last time I saw him at his home, he had suffered a severe decline in his health. I was upset when he told me that his wife had visited, and that she had been packing a bag for him to go with her. He told me the same stories he always tells about selling, which got us back on track in terms of positive discourse.

He started muttering under his breath about a "paperweight." It always gave him good luck when he was selling, Tony said. He was digging around, and both the dog and I thought a treat was forthcoming.

What a surprise, I was presented with a hand grenade. This is authentic US Army issue ordinance, circa 1943. After the war, the bottom was drilled and all explosives were removed, but the original pin is intact.

I explained that I could never accept such an important artifact. Tony told me to shut the fuck up. He said, "I tell you what is what." He started selling during the Great Depression, filling a wheelbarrow with fruit and pushing it through the streets of South Philadelphia. I have to respect that fact.

This grenade was all he had one night. He was out of bullets and alone in the jungle. He held it tightly as he heard the enemy soldiers conversing. He never had to use the weapon, and he kept it until the day he gave it to me.

I could never ask for a better lucky token. My success going forward is now ensured.