This true story has its beginnings in the kitchen of an old farmhouse. The year - 1942. A twelve-year-old inquisitive boy is busy questioning his Grandmother.

"Grandma, who is this person coming to visit," I asked, "Do we know him?"

"No, Josh, he's in the Army near here completing his training. He's married to my sister's girl, Pauline. It's too far for him to go home, so we invited him to come visit us whenever he has time off from his training with the Army."

"He's supposed to be here sometime today. Maybe you'd like to watch for him. He should be coming up over that hill from Highway 22 very soon now."

I kept a close watch on the gravel road leading up to our farm and a few hours later, I spotted him. At first, I could only see his military cap, and then as the figure in the distance gradually got up to the top of the hill, I could see the Army uniform.

"Grandma," I asked, with all the excitement of a twelve-year-old boy.

"Can I run down and meet him and walk back with him?"

"Sure," she laughed. "Go ahead. Just don't talk him to death before he gets here."

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than I was running bare-footed down the gravel road toward the young man that would shape my life—in such a good way.

"Hi, I'm Josh!" I said as I drew close to him.

The soldier looked at me, and then laughing at my twelve-year-old enthusiastic greeting, he put his arm around my shoulders.

"Hi! I'm Skinner!" he said, smiling down at me.

"Is that really your name?" I asked, in a disbelieving tone of voice.

"Well, that's what everybody back home calls me," he verified.

Right away, I took to him like a long lost relative.

Well, that was Skinner!

He appeared so happy to be with us; and since there was nothing about Skinner not to like, we took to him instantly.

During wartime, you sometimes form almost overnight friendships. From the very first day he arrived, he fit right in. When a guy in uniform came home, he assumed almost God-like status—especially in the eyes of the children.

For several weekends, he managed to come visit our farm from the military base where he was completing basic training.

He was so much fun to be with, and from the first day, he really didn't have a choice. He had a new best friend whether he wanted one or not—me.

One weekend while he was visiting us we all went to Burlington to the yearly country Carnival called, 'Old Settlers.'

When he wanted to go on some of the rides and he invited me to come along, I was embarrassed. I finally had to confess that I didn't have any money.

"That's okay, Josh," he laughed, "Aren't you my best buddy?"

"I sure am, Skinner," I replied.

He laughed.

"I have some money," he insisted. "Let's spend it. I don't know how many more weekends I'll be able to come visit before they ship me out. Let's just have fun."

A couple weekends later when he arrived for the weekend he was so quiet, and didn't seem like he wanted to talk.

"You mad about something, Skinner?" I finally asked, searching my memory for what I might have done wrong.

"No, I just have a lot on my mind," he said, with a little half-hearted laugh.

"Hey! Go ask your Grandmother if you and I can walk down to Burlington for some Ice Cream. "He said. Suddenly the old Skinner was back!

"Grandma, is it okay if I go to Burlington with Skinner to buy Ice Cream?"

"Yes, you can go with him if you want," she said. "By the way, did Skinner tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"This weekend will be his last visit with us. He's being shipped out this coming Monday."

When we started walking to town, he seemed to be aware of what had just happened.

"Did your Grandma tell you, Josh? That I'm shipping out next Monday."

"Yeah, she told me," I said sadly. "I sure wish you didn't have to go."

"So do I, Josh, but I'll be back one of these days. You gonna still be my best buddy?" he asked, trying to lighten the moment.

"You know it!" I said with the sincerity that only a twelve-year-old boy could muster. "When you come home from the Army, will you be coming back to see us?"

"Sure I will!" he promised.

Once in Burlington we entered the cool Ice Cream Parlor. All the other patrons were looking at Skinner in his Army uniform. "Aw, heck, Josh," he laughed, "let's celebrate and have us a malted."

While it was great having a Malted Milk, what was even better was the way everyone in the Ice Cream Parlor seem to like Skinner. Being proud is a special feeling when you're at that young age.

"Josh," Skinner finally said, "I have one more thing I want to do before we walk home from Burlington."

On our way out of town, he stopped in and bought a very expensive bottle of Bourbon. A short time later walking along, we came to a gravel road leading up into a wooded area.

"Let's walk a little ways up this road, Josh."

"Sure, Skinner, where... we going?" I asked, starting to get quite curious.

"Okay," he said," This is far enough. Let's check this little grove of trees here. I want to find a spot to hide this bottle."

A bit later, he found an old tree surrounded by thick brush. Getting closer, we could see the tree had a hollow spot at its base.

While I held the brush back, Skinner dug out some of the old leaves and hid the bottle in the little hollow spot. Once we put the dried leaves back in, there was no indication anyone had ever been there.

"Josh," he said, "You have to promise me you will never tell anyone where you and I hid this bottle, Okay?"

"I promise. I won't tell anyone."

"Good!" he said, "When I come back to visit your Grandparents, you and I will come back and pick up this bottle. You won't tell anyone where we hid it—right?" making me promise all over again.

"I told you I wouldn't," I said.

My Grandfather followed the war, and kept current on all the war news. He had a little map that he stuck pins in to mark in what Theater of War each of our relatives were stationed. I remember Skinner's pin was blue.

After Skinner left, life went on—the seasons flashed by. That autumn, in the month of September 1942, we received word that Skinner's Army Division had been literally wiped out by the enemy's forces. Many of the men had been killed; the rest of the guys had been captured and sent to a prison camp.