"Everybody's a deamer. Everbody's a star."

Bonnie is the Post Mistress of the Main Knotts Island Post Office. I'm not aware of a branch office, but they call it the Main Knotts Island Post Office nonetheless.

Bonnie and I became friends shortly after I moved down from Washington, DC. She signed me up for my little post office box and explained how, when a larger package arrived, she'd put it into one of the two bigger package boxes, a key to which would be placed in my little box.

Simple pleasures.

It's the most enjoyment that I have derived from the mail process since I was in Vietnam when we watched the big red nylon bags of mail being tossed off helicopters.

Bonnie was excited the day that I came in several months ago and, with a resounding "thwmp," presented for delivery the first of my book manuscript edits to be sent to my editor Katie Hall in Seymour, Indiana.

"A book? Really? Goodness. How exciting."

"Well, almost sort of a book, Bonnie. It still has a long way to go," I responded.

Bonnie proceded to ask me about out the book, ("It's a memoir about my time in the Marine Corps between prep school and college,) how long I'd been working on it (five years.)

Another "goodness" from Bonnie.

I asked that it be sent by overnight mail. "Overnight is not overnight to anywhere either from Knotts Island or into Seymour, Jack" It will take two days. "

She said she'd keep a close eye out for Katie's return package.

Several weeks later, I found a key to the big box in my little post office box. Inside the big box was the returned manuscript. It was one in the morning.

Bonnie was nowhere in sight.

Several days later, I returned with the final draft. Bonnie made certain that it got right off to Seymour with the proper postage and packaging.

"Remember, Jack, overnight is not overnight."

"Right, Bonnie. Thanks."

"Goodluck."

Last week, Katie told me that the finished product was on its way back to Knotts Island by overnight mail. I waited the requisite two days, took a deep breath, and rode over to the Post Office.

I opened my box - the New Yorker, a cell phone bill, and a flyer from Circuit City.

No key.

As I was closing the box, Bonny's voice came from the void beyond.

"Jack? Is that you? Hey Jack. Wait a minute. I've been waiting for you. You have a package. It's from Seymour. It's from Ms. Hall. Is it your manuscript?"

It was.

I took it home, sat on my bed, opened the box, and began to slowly turn each of the 292 pages. A typo here - a missed comma there, but mostly nothing across page after black and white page where, on pervious iterations, Katie's grey pencil had splayed every manner of the editor's script, praise, and admonitions.

At the end of the third chapter came her first remark,

"Jack, I will endeavor not to gush at the end of every chapter, but this is pitch perfect. I am so proud of you."

Wow.

End of Chapter 4... "Great."

And so it continued with more "greats" and even smiley faces (Katie HATES smiley faces!)

Chapter 14..."Great, great, great."

"Excellent"

"Oh! How wonderful."

When she wrote the occasional, "good" followed only by a lowly period, I wondered if I had somehow failed.

"Seamless, fluid, cohesive, effortless, v.v. good."

"Your battle dialogue is some of the best in the book."

"Excellent, Jack. Classic wartime writing."

"Breaks my heart. You're profoundly talented."

"Awesome." Complete with enormous smiley face.

And finally, at the end, "you make me cry every time. Bravo!"

I am now frozen with such an enormous sense of accomplishment, that I literally cannot speak to it. So, I am trying to write.

When, as a child, I extolled in the manner above, my mother would be quick to say, "that's nice dear, but it would come so much nicer from someone else." Wise words.

When my children were young, however, I'd remind them of the importance of marking important moments, in whatever form they may manifest. Fleeting though they may be, they exist for us all if we can only recognize them.

So, I am here stopping and marking one of the great moments of my life. That God has guided my hand and permitted me to tell the untold story of the grand young sons of Charlie 1/4 is humbling beyond all imagination.

From so many of you over the past five years, I have received love and support, every ounce of which was required to keep me pushing myself to a place that I could hardly imagine.

The writing is complete.

Tomorrow, Katie and I will speak and the next phase will begin. This moment will have passed.

We are satisfied that the manuscript is an honest well-told accounting of those turbulent times and a group of boys who were swept up into them for better, worse, or reasons none of us will ever be able to adequately articulate.

It has been my great honor to have had the opportunity to try.

Thanks for the package, Bonny.

Thanks to you for visiting.

Jack