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Elliot W. Locklin Captain, USAF

Beyond the Call



July 4, Heartland, America. Eunice Locklin visited her son with day-after-day repetition, a practice now into its fourth decade. And while she cherished each visit, today's visit was precious. You see, this day was not only symbolic for the nation, it was symbolic for Eunice as well: Elliot W. Locklin, the only child of Roger and Eunice Locklin, was born on the Fourth of July.
Eunice woke as she always had, just at that moment when night must gather its shadows and begin retreat before the colorful array of dawn's advance. She crawled from bed with movement reflecting her age and arthritic condition and struggled into her bathrobe. Then, after a minute-long pause to will purpose to surmount infirmity, she retrieved the flag from a corner of her bedroom and shuffled to the wooden porch hugging her four-room farmhouse. A cool zephyr played at the hem of her robe as she unfurled the flag and placed its staff into the cast-iron socket atop the porch railing. From alongside the now-fluttering flag, her view included the Little League ballpark, maintained by the town's VFW members; a meandering creek, lined with cottonwoods; and beyond all, a verdant knoll sprinkled with indiscernible objects now blinking before the day's first splash of sunshine. Eunice forced her gaze from the knoll to the symbol waving at her side. She caressed the stars and stripes as she thought of the box in the second bedroom. A flag and a box. Payment for ultimate sacrifice. These days, she thought, too many folks believed freedom was free. How wrong. How very wrong.

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At half-past two, with an apple pie cooling on the kitchen counter, Eunice left her farmhouse and began the mile-long trek to the distant knoll. A crow perched high in a cottonwood cawed at kids in cutoff jeans as they played in the creek. In their annual meeting at the Little League Park, the Reapers were leading the Huskers seven to two. And at Liberty Park, members of the Lions Club were preparing the annual fireworks display. Eunice trudged on. Patches of cumulus held station beneath the sky's cobalt crown and heat waves shimmered from the asphalt drive as she entered the wrought-iron gate surrounding the knoll and made her way to the site of her daily pilgrimage.
Elliot W. Locklin Captain, USAF July 4, 1937 September 2, 1967
Eunice settled alongside the polished marker and traced her fingertips over the deeply-etched lettering. "The Reapers are whipping the Huskers, Elliot. Seven to two, I think. And after our visit yesterday, I picked up some baking apples . . . . "


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Bob Burdick -- Bio and Archives

Bob Burdick is the author of The Margaret Ellen, Tread Not on Me, and Stories Along The Way, a short-story collection that won the Royal Palm Book Award.


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