By Morris Rote-Rosen
Silence on Factory street on the morning of August 21 ... Sullivan M. Fringi, another of Granville's Gold Stars, has come home ... Friends and neighbors stand around whispering ... The thick gray fog, like a pall of gloom, descends on the village to obscure the morning sun ... Members of the Veterans of Foreign Wars and of the American Legion arrive to pay a soldier's farewell to a former comrade ... Flags and rifles are stacked against the house and on the lawn ... A click his heard as a member of the firing squad checks his rifle bolt.
Ladies, members of the veterans auxiliary organizations, stand on the sidewalk in silence ... The Gold Star flag which hung in the window of the Fringi home, no longer there ... In its place is the flag draped casket on the inside ... Mrs. Stephen Zayachek and Mrs. Anthony Szymanski, neighbors from across the street, stand on their veranda, with heads bowed ... There is a rustle inside the house and the door is flung open ... The red and white stripes of the flag come to view ... "Attention!" comes from the commander of the veterans detail ... Sullivan Fringi has come home.
The church bell rings intermittently ... The fog is now lifting as the white-helmeted, uniformed, firing squad leads the cortege ... Corporal John Boland, who accompanied the remains, wears a black band over his left arm ... From inside the church come the opening strains of the funeral service ... As the casket is wheeled down the center aisle near the sanctuary ... Scattered in the pews are World War I veterans: Ardino Secci, Nicholas Fragnoli, Carmen Furlo, Joe Consoli ... Veterans outside the church are passing the time instructing little Louis di Statio in the infantry manual of arms.
The closing of stores brings people out to the sidewalk curb ... Main street is in absolute silence ... As men take off their hats in salute to the passing colors ... A gray-haired man, clicks his heels, throws out his chest, raises his chin, and snaps to a salute ... A middle-aged woman slowly crowds her way to the sidewalk curb to have a better glimpse of the procession. She falters and her arm is gripped by a woman companion. A Gold Star mother? ... A little girl pulls on her mother's skirt, stands on her toes and whispers in mother's ear ... The mother nods her head ... From behind the express truck, Harold Douglas, American Legionnaire, comes to salute.
"Hut, hut, three four", are heard above the shuffling steps of the marching veterans as they keep in perfect cadence ... The bank clock strikes the half-hour as the cortege crosses the village square ... At the cemetery, floral tributes, tied in the national colors, are banked around the grave under the canopy ... Two grave markers lie on the ground ... One of the American Legion, the other of the Veterans of Foreign Wars ... The son has come to join his father ... Just then the post colors of the VFW disclose the name of the veteran after whom the post is named ... Sullivan M. Fringi.
Laura Fringi, the mother, who has given encouragement and expressed sympathy to other Gold Star mothers until now, is mourning her own dead ... Her son died for his country on the soil which gave birth to his father and mother - Italy ... The sun is now beating down on those fathered at the grave as the words of the committal prayer are heard distinctly .. Accompanied by a singing bird perched high on a tree in the nearby woods ... While a white butterfly comes to rest, its wings fluttering, on the ride pole of the canopy containing the flag-draped casket.
At the sharp command of Herman Trop, rifles click ... The loud volleys echo and re-echo in the distant hills ... Followed by the notes of "Taps" from the adjoining woods where the bugler has stationed himself for that purpose ... Corporal Boland and Commander Bennie di Nucci step to the head and the foot of the casket ... The flag is gently lifted and folded triangularly as Corporal Boland presents it to the mother, steps back and salutes ... White handkerchiefs are slowly lifted out and tears wiped away ... Sullivan M. Fringi has come home!
We have attended many funerals of veterans in Granville. For Civil War, Spanish-American War, World War I and World War II veterans and the feeling is always the same at the sound of "Taps". A tug at the heart-strings, a lump in the throat and at times a tear-dimmed eye. We are not over sentimental. Death comes to all of us sooner or later. But no one can understand the meaning of "Taps" except one who has served his country. "Taps" is not only a farewell to a dead comrade. It is sounded at 11 o'clock at night on every army post or camp. And many a soldier closes his eyes in peaceful sleep with the last fading note of "Taps".
In peace, or in war, soldiers thousands of miles from home are brought face to face in their thoughts with their parents and loved ones when they listen to the notes of "Taps". When they lie in their tents or bunks and listen to these notes fade out in the stillness of the night they are at rest. The notes bring peace and hope for a new and happier day, for the return to their homes and families and to be reunited with those they love. The next time you hear "Taps" sounded, note the expression on the face of a veteran. It tells more than can be written in words.
Wasn't that Ray Allen who drove across the village square and shouted: "Hello, Morris, how are you?" ... Grandma and Grandpa Lichtig doing a polka, while walking down the street. All because their daughter presented them with a granddaughter. Lena is running around in circles, mumbles incoherently and Sam prances like a colt just being broken to harness. Note his strut when he comes walking down the street ... It is good to see Mr. Edward Issler out on the street after a summer's illness. Mrs. Issler and Helen are old summer visitors to Granville and Lake St. Catherine.
And then there are the two Mrs. Millers - Mrs. Theodore and Mrs. William - and Mr. and Mrs. Willis Pratt, who are still visiting the lake as they have for more than half a century. One can go back to the days of the Lake St. Catherine hotel and find among the registered guests the Millers and the Pratts. They are the survivors of a generation which developed Lake St. Catherine to what it is today. The Millers and the Pratts came to the lake when summer visitors were met at the local depot with horse and wagon and driven to the hotel. And some will recall the New Year day dances at the lake hotel when guests were driven there on sleighing parties.
Melvin Blossom, the maharaja of Blossom's Corners is back home after a 3,000 mile trip to the middle west, having made the trip with Hazel and with their son Frank and wife. "Mel" reports an interesting time, going as far west as Elkhart, Indiana. He got homesick when the Green Mts. faded out of sight and he hurried back to the old Vermont homestead. He was impressed with the Amish people he saw in Indiana, but he shakes his head and wonders what makes them tick. "They are queer folk", says Mel, "but they are honest as the day is long."
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