A week earlier, Phil’s mother told him she had arranged what she hoped would be an extra special Christmas surprise for him—dinner at the Peabody Hotel on Friday, December 21, with a special friend from the past[1]

She refused to tell him who it was—no hints whatsoever, adding to the mystery by saying, “Oh, and be sure to wear yo ur full-dress uniform.”

His mother told him he should have a seat at the lobby bar, and his friend would meet him there for a drink at about half-past five.

~~~~~

Phil decided to drive to town early.[2] He entered the enormous two-story lobby of Memphis’ best hotel—where Presidents Andrew Johnson and William McKinley had once stayed.

He smiled as he recognized the magnificent black travertine marble fountain populated by the world-famous “Peabody Ducks,” always five mallards—one drake and four hens.

Since it was five o’clock, the Duckmaster was rounding up the mallards for their return trip to their “Duck Palace.”

The excited kids around the fountain brought back fond memories of his ninth birthday party.

After the ducks departed on the traditional red carpet, Phil made his way to the hotel bar, where he ordered a scotch on the rocks.

As he sorted through his thoughts, it struck him he had much in his past to be thankful for. A feeling of gratitude swept over him. Lost in a cacophony of warm memories, he twirled the ice cubes with one finger.

His concentration broke when a strikingly long-legged woman scooted onto the barstool immediately to his right. His eyes moved up her beautiful evening gown, cut low in the front, which magnificently displayed the young lady’s beauty. He noticed the absence of jewelry on her ring finger.

She was looking slightly to the right as if searching for someone. Phil wondered for an instant if she might be looking for her date. When she turned to face him, he felt the blood drain from his face.

His jaw slightly opened as he gasped.[3]

~~~~~

[1] Larimore, At First Light, 293.

[2] By this time, Phil was feeling comfortable driving an automatic car, using his left leg for accelerating and braking.

[3] Larimore, At First Light, 293-294.

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