Of course, WWII ended on August 15, 1945, but Phil was entering a long, difficult year of recovery and rehabilitation at Lawson General Army Hospital, a specialty hospital for amputees, after having lost his leg and almost his life on April 8, 1945, just one month before the war ended in Europe.

When Phil received his new prosthetic wooden leg on September 7, 1945, he could not believe what the artificial limb did for his soul and spirit. Although most of his lower right leg was man-made, the prosthesis allowed him to feel like a man again, not like a cripple. No longer did he have to use crutches or a wheelchair. No longer was the right leg of his pants pinned up. No longer did people outside the hospital stare at him and quickly look away. No longer did he feel like an outcast—an amputee. His attitude and self-image improved dramatically.

More importantly, his traumatic memories seemed to be dissolving. He wasn’t having the terrible nightmares that had plagued him since his leg was taken out by a dumdum bullet in Germany. Certain aromas no longer triggered harrowing visions and recollections. The horrible smells of war tattooed into his nostrils were finally dispersing. He could inhale the aromatic scents of roses and wisteria in the hospital gardens and find them bringing both joy and hope. He could even differentiate the various fragrances worn by the girls.

And then he saw her for the first time at the Methodist church near Lawson in Dunwoody—a tall, willowy, remarkably attractive brunette standing in the foyer. She even approached him to introduce herself.

“My name’s Mary Katherine,” she said, in an almost sultry voice.

That was all the encouragement Phil needed. He waited a couple of days and then called her. With a tender, “Yes, absolutely, yes!” she accepted his offer to a dinner date at the fine dining room of one of Atlanta’s fanciest hotels, the Winecoff.[1]

That night, he looked spiffy in his dress uniform, and she was resplendent in a shimmering black evening dress with a lovely drape front and a gathered band running from shoulder to shoulder across the neckline, leaving a small peephole opening. The romantic restaurant had live music and a small dance floor. Between courses, she asked, “Phil, are you a dancer?”

“I used to be. I loved to dance. But now….” He looked down.

As the band began to play “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square,” Mary Katherine stood and took his hand. “It’s a slow one. What say we get you back in the saddle, soldier?”

Phil took a deep breath, let it out, and stood up. This was the most nervous he’d felt since the war. She led him to the dance floor and took him into her arms. Matching the leisurely cadence of the number, they slowly began to dance.

Mary Katherine sang along with the soloist but changed the lyrics, singing, “This special time, the night we dined, there is magic around in the air. There’s a twosome dining at the Winecoff, and a soldier dancing on a dare.”

She giggled, and he melted against her as her perfume drifted over him. They hummed the rest of the song together. Suddenly, the band struck up Glenn Miller’s up-tempo hit, “In the Mood.” He took her hand to go back to their table, but she pulled him back.

“It’s too fast,” Phil complained, feeling his face blush. “I feel like a scarecrow.”

Her smile radiated, and she gave him a gentle tug. “Let’s give it a go. I won’t let go of you! Come on!” She laughed as the singer began and exclaimed, “Don’t keep me waiting, soldier! I’m in the mood!”

They started slowly, and Phil was astounded at how well his artificial leg worked, even though it had to be evident to everyone that he was wearing a prosthetic limb.

“I can dance!” he cried.

“My heart is skipping!” she answered as several couples joined them. Others watching from their tables applauded and cheered them on.

When the dance number was over, they returned to their table. Phil was radiant—and a bit bushed. As he settled back into his chair, an older couple stopped by their table.

“Please forgive us for interrupting,” the dapper gentleman said, “but I want to thank you for your service and your sacrifice, Sir. Your bill is taken care of.” Before Phil could object—or even thank him—the couple turned and left.

Their glorious evening together hit a crescendo when Mary Katherine shared that not only did she love horses, but her family had a second home on a horse farm just north of the city. Her parents, she said, had joined a group of horse and hunting enthusiasts to help the Fulton County Commissioners construct a stable and polo field in one of the city parks. When Mary Kath- erine invited him to come riding with her, how could he say no?

That night, as she pulled up at Lawson to drop him off, she gave him a gentle kiss on his cheek. Pulling away, she whispered, “Is this a dream, or is it real?”

That’s exactly what Phil was thinking.[2]

~~~~~

[1] The Winecoff Hotel (now the Ellis Hotel) opened in 1913, and at fifteen stories, was one of the tallest buildings in Atlanta. The hotel was touted in advertisements and on its stationery as “absolutely fireproof,” but on December 7, 1946, the Winecoff suffered the deadliest hotel fire in United States history at the time, killing 119 hotel occupants, including the hotel’s original owners.

[2] Larimore, At First Light, 282-284.

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