Freedom Medal

By Richard Briddick II

A World War Two-era medal and one of the rearest vintage automobiles, found in a barn in rural Michigan, are catalysts for a young man's journey of discovery.

• Language: English
• Publisher: richard briddick
• Release date: Feb 6, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524208011

Book preview

Dedicated, as always,

To my Mom and Dad.

A special shout out to my friends at

the Shelby Twp. Writer’s Group of Michigan.

1. Lost and Found

Yo—Ricky, Jon called as he came back into the barn.

I jabbed my pocketknife at the edge of the object to try and prize it out from where it was jammed into the headlight frame. Yeah?

Come on, dude. Let’s go. I just found out my parents are staying here tonight. Where the hell are you?

Over here. I craned my head to look at him over the hood.

He moved toward me through the space between the car and the old farm equipment. What’re you doing?

There’s something stuck in here.

Stuck in where?

In the headlight bezel.

What is it?

I’ll know that when I get it out.

Well, hurry up. I want to call Jane. Tell her we got the house to ourselves all night. He leaned in to see what I was working on. Don’t scratch the car. He laughed at his own joke—the old rusted and broken down car that looked beyond repair.

I was afraid I’d break the tip off the knife as I wrenched harder.

It looks like some kind of coin, Jon said as more of it started to appear.

I thought it too big to be a coin. I don’t know, man.

How the hell did you see that?

I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t taken the boards off that window.

That window’s always been boarded up. He shielded his eyes from the sunlight slanting in.

Yeah, I know. I pressed and noticed some movement. Come on, push on the headlight.

Like this?

No, the other way.

That’ll only push it in farther, he protested.

No, it’ll make the opening wider.

Who puts a headlight in the middle of the grille anyway?

That’s just the way Tucker’s were. And it’s not technically the grille.

You’re positive it’s not a Studebaker?

A hundred percent. This headlight confirms it. I told you—as soon as I pulled the tarp off I knew. Even in the dark.

Grandpa always said it was a Studebaker, dude.

I know. But it’s not a Studebaker, I said.

Are you sure? He looked up and searched back and forth across the hood.

"Absolutely. You ever see that movie, Tucker?"

No. His grip loosened. I wonder why he told everyone it was a Studebaker.

I don’t know. Just him being the mean old guy he was, I guess. Come on, push harder. It’s coming.

Don’t stab me.

I’ll try not to, I teased.

It is a coin, he said, as the headlight turned, widening the space.

It’s too big for a coin. I think it’s some kind of medallion. Keep pushing. I continued to work it out with my fingers. I’ve almost got it.

And then it was in my hand. I held it up to our inspection turning it in the light. I rubbed at the corrosion and made out a figure on one side, but the other side was too eaten away.

Let me see it.

Hang on, I told him. I rubbed some spit on the side with the figure.

You can keep it now.

Hang on man. I can almost read something. I rubbed some more. It says...F—R—E—E ...Freedom.

"Freedom? Just, Freedom?

Yeah, here.

He squinted at it. Who’s the chick with the weird hair?

I don’t think it’s hair. I think it’s a helmet and feathers. And I don’t know if it’s a woman. It could be a man—it’s hard to tell. But it looks like they’re wearing a helmet with a bird on top. I’d bet it’s an eagle.

What’s on the back?

Can’t tell. It’s almost totally eaten away. Galvanic corrosion probably.

What’s that?

When two different metals are touching and they corrode each other.

Dude, do you know everything?

I don’t know what this medallion is.

He continued to examine it. "Why didn’t the other side get all galvonicked up?"

Probably because it was up against the glass of the headlight.

What’s this bump on the edge? He handed it back to me.

It could just be more corrosion. A piece of the steel from the car fused to the... I bounced the medallion in my palm. Probably bronze. Or maybe it’s where a chain or clasp, or something was attached.

I wonder if it was my grandpa’s.

Maybe your mom and dad will know. You got any hot sauce?

Hot sauce?

Yeah. My dad used to rub it on old coins me and my brother found when we were kids. Made them shiny as hell.

He looked toward the house. I don’t think there’ll be any hot sauce here. About the only thing that’s left is furniture. I doubt if my grandparents ever had any hot sauce in their fridge anyway.

No, I don’t remember your grandfather losing any medals. Jon’s mom handed it back to him. She was more interested in getting the house in order for the estate sale. Ask your father. Maybe he’ll remember, she said, hurrying out of the room.

But Jon’s dad didn’t know either. You found this where? In the barn?

Jammed in the headlight frame of the old Tucker, I answered.

The middle headlight, Jon emphasized.

Jon’s dad narrowed his eyes as he searched from me to Jon and back. Old—Tucker? In the barn? You mean the old car? That’s a Studebaker.

I’m pretty sure it’s a Tucker. I knew it was.

He looked skeptical. What makes you think it’s a Tucker?

Well, the middle headlight. Where we found the medallion.

His eyes were still squinted as he looked at me. Middle headlight, eh? Either way, that’s a weird place for something like this

You think it’s Grandpa’s? From the war, maybe?

I don’t know Jon. All of your grandfather’s Korean War medals are in display cases. If this was his, I think he’d have it in with them. Or, if he lost one, there’d be a space missing.

What about the car? I asked. Was it ever driven?

Jon shook his head and looked to his father for confirmation.

No, Mr. Hicks said. Well, not by Jon’s grandparents at least. All I know is that they moved in here when Jon’s mom was a toddler, in the 60’s. He turned to Jon. Grandpa always said the car was here when he bought the house. Of course Grandma said he was lying. She always wanted the whole barn gone.

Who owned the house before they did? I asked.

I don’t know, Ricky. I’m pretty sure the old couple before them died right in this house too.

Just like Grandma and Grandpa? Jon’s face screwed up as his dad nodded. Remind me not to live here.

I’m going to have to check this car out, Jon’s dad said, handing him back the medallion. Why don’t you guys take this down to the library? Maybe one of the people there might know what it is.

We could probably find out just as much information on the internet, I told him.

Yeah, I suppose that’s true, he said.

We can find out more about the car on there too.

He nodded, thinking. Then he brought himself back to the moment. Did you guys finish bringing them boxes in from the barn?

Yeah dad. Mom already went through them. And then we carried them back to the barn.

Okay. Good. I have to see if she needs any help. You guys sticking around?

No, we’re taking off, Jon answered, motioning quickly to me to get out of there before his parents could find us more work.

Alright. We’ll see you tomorrow. His dad started to walk away.

Jon looked at me and raised his eyebrows. Yep. Tomorrow.

See you later, Mr. Hicks.

Alright Ricky. Tell your mom and dad hello for me.

Come on dude, Jon said low.

Aren’t you going to say goodbye to your mom?

Come on, he said again, practically running to my car.

I had to listen to him talk with Jane the whole way to his house.

I forced a word in edge-wise. Hey—give me the medallion.

What? Hang on, Jane. He patted his pants before grabbing at his shirt pocket. He flipped it to me and went on jabbering until we neared his house.

Alright, I’ll see you later, he said into his phone. Come on over any time. The sooner the better. I’ll come pick you up if you want.

I let him off at the end of the driveway, where he leaned in the passenger window. Later dude. He looked down onto the seat. What are you going to do with the coin?

Don’t know, I said.

Well, you found it.

I nodded.

If it ends up being my grandpa’s you gotta give it back.

Of course.

And if you find it’s worth anything, you gotta split it with me.

Alright. But if that car is what I’m sure it is, it’s worth a lot of money.

His brow rose at the prospect.

"Split that with me?" I asked.

He laughed. I don’t think so. Later.

Later.

medals with the word freedom on it...

I entered it into the search engine and scanned through the results.

...Presidential Medal of Freedom ...

click

That’s not it.

...Medal of Freedom...

click

There you are. That didn’t take long.

I held the medallion in front of me comparing it with the images on the screen. The front was exact. The profile image was wearing an ornate helmet, with an eagle atop, trailing ribbons. It didn’t say whether the image was male or female, but ‘Lady Liberty’ came to mind.

The photo of the back showed a Liberty Bell with the words United States of America circled around the edge. I tried to spy out the same image on my medal, but it was no use. The back was gone to the corrosion. The nib at the top was a remnant of a catch where the medal was attached to a red ribbon with white pinstripes.

At first I thought the write-up was too short for what the medal was. Given out to civilians for ‘a meritorious act or service which has aided the United States in the prosecution of a war against an enemy or enemies...’ But then the words ‘...for which an award of another United States medal or decoration is considered inappropriate’. That didn’t sound very rousing.

I inspected the medallion as I stared at the images on the screen and found them both flat and uninspiring. I rubbed the medal between my fingers, trying to evoke any energy it might have, but it was dull and lifeless. It didn’t help that it was so plain and boring. Even its weight made it feel clunky, neither uniquely light nor heavy enough for special consideration. It felt strange how quickly the excitement of my find had turned to indifference.

I went back to the information on the Presidential Medal of Freedom, a beautiful white and blue star with smaller stars and golden eagle decorations. I read that it became the replacement for the original Medal of Freedom in 1963. I could see why.

I flipped the medal through my fingers while reading and it slipped from my hand. I tried to snatch it as it rolled down my leg, but missed and knocked it harder with a dull thud onto the carpeted floor, followed by a scraping sound.

Where the hell’d it go?

I pushed the chair farther away and peered into the dark void under the desk.

On my hands and knees I finally found the medallion, stuck between the bass module and side of the desk, with just its side edge barely showing. Déjà vu struck with immediacy as I was reminded of where I’d found the medal in the rusted old car. I poked at it to roll it out of its newest hiding spot.

Hmm, I pondered, my interest renewed.

I banged my head as I crawled out to sit again at the computer. I winced and rubbed at the bump while returning to the section on my medal, scrolling down to see a link directing to recipients. I clicked the link and braced myself for the long list which I read should number over 20,000. But I only counted...64 names. That’s all?

A search around the ’net yielded 35 more names on a World War II medal winner’s site. Most of them were Dutch and some of the names were on both lists. That was it? Less than a hundred names out of 20,000? The medallion just wasn’t screaming out from its obscurity. A quick read through the bio’s of the recipients showed most of them had died, almost all outside the U.S. None of them in Michigan. I laid the medal next to the computer and leaned back in the chair.

The screensaver popped up at its cycle and I stared at the old picture of Dale and me as kids in the back seat of mom and dad’s car. Dale in a Detroit Tigers cap, me leaning to get closer to him, both of us holding Hot Wheels cars. I listened for the television in the living room.

Mom and dad were next to each other on the couch and I sat away from them on the recliner. I glanced from the TV to see my parents’ eyes vacant. They weren’t really paying attention.

Did you find out anything about that medal? dad asked.

There were a few articles.

Well, that’s something. Anything interesting?

Sort of. But nothing I could use to find the owner. It’s called a Medal of Freedom. They were given out after World War Two.

Mom looked to me. Really?

Yeah. Up until nineteen-sixty-three.

The year your father was born.

I hadn’t thought about that. Yeah, I guess so.

Jon’s parents don’t know anything about it? dad asked.

Nope. Mr. Hicks suggested I take it to the library.

You said they were given out after World War Two? Maybe you should take it to the VFW.

Maybe. But it wasn’t really a military award, though. It was given out for helping the United States in time of war, but most of the people who were awarded it were civilians. And most of them weren’t US citizens. There were a lot of Dutch, Belgians and French. There were some British and Canadians, too.

"That seems more than sort of interesting, dad offered. Especially where you found it—in some old car in a barn. Maybe you can try the Historical Society."

Mom sat up straighter. What about that teacher in High School you liked so much? The one you introduced us to at your graduation commencements—the skinny man with the beard.

Mr. Helhowski.

Wasn’t his name Richard, too?

Yeah, it was.

Maybe he could help.

I shrugged. Maybe.

You should keep trying, dear.

The sign read they were only open until four, but the automatic door opened, so I went in.

The hands of the large clock on the wall of the big entrance room were at 4:20—same as my cell phone. The room was cold and dull, the wallpaper ugly with an old fashioned pale blue pattern of paisley’s that reminded me of the funeral home from long ago. I shivered as the vision of my brother in his casket forced its way into my mind. I shook the image away and stepped to the counter, waiting quietly until one of the women came to me. She smiled brightly, unalarmed that I was there after closing.

Can I help you?

I settled the myriad of thoughts in my mind. I heard the VFW Post is here?

Her head tilted slightly as she searched my eyes. Well, not really. This is an activity center for the senior citizens. The veterans group holds their meetings here, but only on the first Wednesday of every month.

Oh. I was unsure how to continue.

Are you looking for someone in particular?

I don’t know. I showed her the medallion. I found this old medal and I thought one of them might know something about it.

Her attitude was blasé as she held it, turning it over and back again. It looks like an old school medal, or something.

They were given out by the government to people after World War Two.

Her eyebrows rose. I could tell it was from surprise more than interest. Well, the older Vet’s don’t come to many of the meetings any more. It’s mostly the guys from Vietnam and the war in Iraq. Well—the first war in Iraq.

You say they meet on Wednesday?

"The first Wednesday of the month. They just had their meeting last week. She handed the medal to me. I know they have a web site. You can get names and numbers from there."

Okay, thank you.

She returned to her duties and I started away with the cold, lifeless room dredging thoughts of the past again. I hurried through the foyer and out into the bright sunlight.

It was strange walking into my High School. I dismissed the thought that it looked different after five years. None of the women in the office looked familiar, but I didn’t think I was ever in here more than a few times.

Can I help you? a girl behind the counter asked.

I’m not sure, I said. She was obviously a student. Or a future student, maybe, prepping for the new school year. What was she...fifteen? I’m looking to get in touch with Mr. Helhowski.

She stared vacuously and I looked past her to the closest of the older women. Did I remember her?

Her arms were full with a stack of files and she inspected me. "Do I remember you? Class of...2000?"

2002.

She nodded. Mr. Helhowski isn’t at the school anymore.

I figured the teachers would still be out for the summer, I replied. I was wondering if you could contact him for me. I found an old medallion and I’d like his help finding out some information on it.

She shook her head. No. Mr. Helhowski is no longer a member of the faculty, she clarified. He moved to Florida last year after the school year.

Oh. Florida? Is he teaching down there?

Her brow pinched. No. He retired. Lucky him, she added. The teachers won’t be back until two weeks before the new semester. If you leave me your name and number, I’ll be glad to pass the information on to another of the Social Studies department.

I danced on restless feet while my brain processed the fact that I could just leave. No. No thanks. I might try the library instead.

That’s fine. She looked happy to see me away, flashing a professional smile. Good luck with whatever you’re looking for.

Thank you.

I left the office and stood for a moment looking down the hallways. Odd feelings coursed through me for the second day in a row on my quest with the medal. Unlike the Senior Center though, this place was familiar. Or at least it used to be. I supposed I was graduated out of the club, replaced by those younger ones who had the right to claim it as their own. Alumni had always conjured up thoughts of old people whose era had passed. I walked out, wondering if I’d ever come again.

How may I help you, young man?

Her name badge read Martha Gleason.

I haven’t been in here since elementary school, I said, looking around the Public Library.

She peered at me over her glasses. Right.

Do you know anything about this? I held out the medallion. I’m trying to track down the owner.

That’s a Medal of Freedom, Martha said, recognizing the bronze disc immediately.

Wow. I should have come here first.

Where did you get this? How did it get so corroded?

The answer’s the same, actually. I found it lodged into the headlight frame of an old car.

Her brow furrowed. Really.

I nodded.

I’ve never actually held one of these, she said. I remember reading about the ceremonies in the papers when I was a teenager in Junior High. Her puzzled look increased.

So, what do you think? I asked.

She squinted at the medal, turning it over. These were a pretty big honor. I don’t recall anyone from around here being awarded one.

There wasn’t much information on the internet, I said. If you want the truth, I kind of felt like it was no big deal. Most of the write up’s on the recipients were very short, and they were mostly from out of the country. A whole lot of them were Dutch. And...

What?

I don’t know. The medal itself. It’s so plain. It almost looks like a joke. If it was such a big deal, why’d they make it look like a giant arcade token?

A lot of the medals back then were like this. It was a simpler time. The war was just over, and everyone was tired. I’m sure it was made to be understated on purpose. She pointed to the medallion. "Freedom. That’s what this medal was all about. Freedom was the most important thing. Not how flashy the medal was. Or in this case, how unflashy it was."

Well, the medal that replaced it is a million times better than this.

The Presidential Medal of Freedom? Yes, but that was a different time too. People were allowed to be a bit flashier during the Kennedy administration. I can’t imagine how something like this could get into such a strange place. Where’s this car at?

In a barn at my buddy Jon’s grandparents place. They lived out off Highway 57, near Middleton.

How long has it been there? They stopped passing these medals out in the early 60’s.

Nineteen sixty-three.

"You have studied this."

Just what was on the internet.

Of course. She continued to stare from the medal back to me. Your friends’ grandparents don’t know anything about it?

I don’t know. But they’re both dead now. Jon’s grandma died last month and the grandfather just over a week ago.

That happens a lot.

I shrugged.

And nobody knows anything about it?

No. You’re the first person I’ve met even knows what it is.

A look of pride slipped onto her face. And what about the car? You said you found this where—in the headlight frame?

Yep. Jammed into the middle headlight of a Tucker.

A Tucker?

Yes, ma’am.

"A Tucker—car? In a barn, in Middleton?

All rusted out. My buddies’ grandpa had it covered up for years. Wouldn’t let anyone see it. He told everyone it was a Studebaker.

Skepticism and curiosity competed in her stare. Well, Tucker ’48’s are extremely rare. To have one in a barn around here—rusting out? That’s pretty incredible. I’m betting it is a Studebaker.

I shook my head again. "Nope. I found the medal in the middle headlight. I guarantee you it’s a Tucker."

Her eyes flashed. Why would your friend’s grandfather tell everyone it was a Studebaker?

I don’t know. That’s a mystery of its own I guess.

A mystery wrapped in a mystery.

I stared at her.

Anyway, she said. Let me ask some people at City Hall to see if they can help, see if there’s any record of a Medal of Freedom winner around here. Can I keep the medal for a few days?

Yeah, sure. But is it worth anything?

What do you mean?

Well, it’s from my friend Jon’s grandpa and grandma’s house. He wanted me to find out if it’s worth anything.

I think it’s worth more than money to the person missing it.

A reward then, maybe?

We’ll see. Let me see what I can find. She stopped me as I started to walk away. An identification number from that car might help.

Alright. I’ll get it.

We nodded our goodbyes.

So, the coin’s not worth anything, huh? Jon ran his hand along the gap between the hood and the car’s front end.

I wiped the windshield to try and see through to the top of the dashboard. I don’t know. Maybe a reward. Who knows?

A reward? And you let her keep it?

You think the she’s gonna steal the medal?

You never know.

"No, I know, Jon. The librarian’s not going to rip us off. She’s probably a grandma. Or a great-grandma even. Besides, I told you—maybe a reward. We have to find out whose it is, first."

He shrugged. How’s the VIN number going to help?

Maybe the person who owned the car before your grandpa owned the medal too.

Do you know where the number is?

I scanned once more along the bottom of the windshield. It’s not on the dashboard, like newer cars.

Maybe it’s on the inside of the door. But they won’t open, he said, as I started to grab for the handle.

I looked at him and tried anyway, pulling hard. He was right.

I told you. I tried them already.

Did you find a latch for the hood?

No, there’s nothing.

I reached in through the driver’s window to a small panel under the dash. Try working the hood up and down while I pull on these levers.

Alright, go ahead. Hey, it moved a little.

Tell me when. I yanked on each handle in turn.

There—that one.

Okay, pull.

I am pulling.

Well, push then. And pull.

Dude. I am pushing and pulling.

Well?

It’s coming. Okay, it’s open. Let me slip my fingers under...alright, he cheered as the long hood popped up a few inches. Damn. It’s stuck.

Don’t let go. I rushed to help. Alright, lift.

The old rusted metal groaned against our persistence until finally we had it as far open as we dared. It hung crooked on the corroded hinges.

The engine’s gone, Jon said.

There never was an engine up here. It must be in the back.

Really? He was surprised. Like he should have known.

Yeah, look. There’s no hoses or tubes. This is the trunk.

Dude—a headlight in the middle of the grille, and the trunk in the front. What a weird car.

I scanned around the open compartment until I saw an information plate on the upper panel to the left. Check it out, I said going around Jon.

What? he said.

Right here. I rubbed at the plate.

Is that it?

I don’t know. Just make sure the hood doesn’t fall onto my head.

It lurched under his increased pressure and I backed away.

Go ahead, he teased. I got it.

I leaned in and started at the plaque’s rust and grime again. "Here it is. Number...1...0...4-2. 1042—is that all?"

It’s an old car.

Yeah, but still. Just four numbers? I wondered if it was the manufacturer’s number and not the official VIN. Maybe there’s another number under the back lid.

I doubt if that one’s going to be any easier, Jon said.

I agreed, but after another small struggle we had it open and stared at another empty compartment.

"Jeez,