The Journal

20 years after finding Walter's Journal, Mike finally gets his answers. Walter sits down with Mike and Andrew and tells them exactly what happened on that summer day in 1922. Mike also meets the man he saw in the car on the day he interviewed Walter.

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  • 13 Min Read

Mike gets his answers

I finally convinced Walter to let Andrew and I in. As we were making our way to the kitchen, a tall black man walked around the corner. It was the same man that I saw sitting in the car the other day as I was leaving.

The man said, “Who was at the door Walt…er I mean Hank?”

Walter said, “It’s ok John, he knows who I am. Mike, this is John Chandler. John, this is Mike Jennings and I’m sorry… this is?” As he motioned to Andrew.

I jumped in, “Oh, I’m sorry, Walter. John this is Andrew Watson my boyfriend.”

They looked at each other. I continued, “I assume you guys have a similar relationship.”

Walter shook his head and sighed, “Well Mike, so far I am 0 for 2 in trying to get anything past you. And yes, you are right, John and I have been together since 1932.”

I smiled, “Wow, that is incredible maybe before we leave, you guys can give Andrew and I some pointers.”

Walter sat down, “So you still haven’t told me where you found that journal.”

I sat next to Walter, “Oh right, sorry. I found it in the shed behind your old house.”

John poured us all a cup of coffee.

Walter once again shook his head, “Damn, the shed. I thought that journal was burned in the house. I forgot to check the shed. So, Mike, what do you want? My permission to add that journal to the article?”

I shook my head, “No Walter, that was never my intention. I found this journal in 1972, when I was 14 years old. This journal was why I started to write; it led me to the newspaper in Westburg, it led me to start working at that paper. Your journal is why I chose to go to college for journalism, it’s why I have been looking for Walter and Ellis for the past 20 years.”

Walter looked down. He said, “I’m sorry Mike. It’s just that after 60 years of hearing about the worst of people, I always suspect everyone has an ulterior motive.”

I nodded, “I understand, Walter. But you can trust me when I tell you that I will never write about anything in your journal without your approval. Here is the article I wrote about you from our interview, please read it and if you want me to change anything in there, you can just tell me.”

Walter glanced at the article and then back to me. He asked, “Ok, then what it is that you want to know?”

I took a deep breath, “I was hoping you would fill in the gaps. That is, everything after July of 1922. After our talk yesterday, I found out what happened after 1932. But your last entry was so abrupt, I imagined every possible scenario. I didn’t know if you were even still alive. Today, when I came in here and I saw John walk around the corner, I wanted to believe that he might be Ellis.”

Walter eyes suddenly looked sad, “Sorry Mike, he is actually John.”

I fought back my own tears, “I know Walter, but would you be willing to tell me what happened that day in 1922?”

Walter took a deep breath, “Just remember Mike, real life doesn’t aways have a fairy tale ending. I may have done some things that day that I am not proud of. I just hope that your image of me won’t be shattered if I tell you everything.”

I nodded, “Walter, I understand. But I think that I have gotten to know a lot about you in the last few days, I know you are a good man. I don’t think anything you tell me will change my opinion of you.”

Walter took another deep breath, “Ok, you asked for it.”

Walter’s Confession

He began his story:

Ellis and I went for a swim after we had made love in the shed. It was just before dark, and we were getting out of the water and getting dressed. We were talking and laughing and didn’t hear the group of guys coming toward us. There were four of them, one grabbed Ellis while another started to hit him.

I tried to run to stop them when the other two grabbed me. Ellis was already bloody as one held him and the other just kept hitting him, over and over. I yelled and tried to get away to help Ellis. I had my arms held behind my back by one of the other guys and then another started to hit me.

Everything went black.

When I woke up, I was lying about 20 feet from the pond, and it was dark. I felt around and couldn’t find Ellis, I called his name, but he didn’t answer. I found my way back to the shed and passed out again.

I woke the next morning tasting blood and felt sore from the beating. I ran down to the pond to see if Ellis was still there. I heard voices as I was nearing the pond, so I hid behind the trees to see who was there. It was that bastard, Sheriff Tucker and a couple of his deputies.

I moved in a little closer and saw them standing over Ellis. He was face down in the water, my heart sank. They turned him over and I saw his face; he was so badly beaten that I didn’t even recognize him.

I heard the sheriff say, “Well looks like another accidental drowning to me boys, throw him in the back of my truck, I’ll drop him at his folk’s place on my way back to town.”

Walter paused to compose himself.

I couldn’t believe what I had just heard. I said, “Damn Walter, I have always been afraid that is what happened.”

Walter nodded and continued:

Well, that is exactly what the sheriff did, he pulled into Ellis’s yard as his parents came out the door of their house. The sheriff opened the tailgate of his truck and said, “I think this is your boy, he had an accident and drowned at the pond.”

He just pulled Ellis out of the truck and dropped him on the front yard and drove away.

Walter paused again and took a deep breath.

I looked to Andrew. Andrew sighed, “Jesus Christ, what an ass.”

Walter took another breath as he started to tear up:

I went back to the shed; I made that last entry in that journal. I had already decided to run away from that disgusting town that night. I realized it was Sunday, and I was hoping that my old man was still passed out drunk.

Sadly, he wasn’t. The sheriff had stopped by earlier and told him about me and Ellis messing around in the pond. Apparently someone had seen us and told the sheriff. The old man jumped out of his chair as soon as I came in the door. He was already halfway through a new bottle; he started to cuss at me as he came toward me. I had grabbed the two by four that I used to lock myself in the shed before I walked to the house. As soon as he was close enough, I swung the board and hit him square across his face.

I saw John grabbing Walter’s hand as he put his other arm around his shoulder. Andrew also took my hand as we just sat and stared at Walter. All four of us had tears running down our faces.

Once again, Walter took a few seconds to gather his thoughts:

Well, I still don’t know what came over me. I just kept swinging that board until I noticed that my old man wasn’t moving. My adrenaline was still flowing and without thinking I looked around the house and grabbed a few more things. I saw the cash from the old man’s paycheck on the counter and stuffed it in my pocket. I looked around the house and decided that no one should ever live here again. I broke all the kerosene lamps we had and threw a match as I walked out the door. I started to walk into the trees when I saw a truck heading toward the pond. I made my way to the pond and saw the two guys from the truck jump into the pond. As they came out of the water to use the rope swing, I saw who they were. One was the sheriff’s son, the other was his tag along best friend. They were the two sons of a bitches that beat Ellis the night before.

My blood started to boil again; I picked up a solid tree branch and walked toward the pond. The friend came out of the water just as I walked from behind a tree. One whack and he was out cold. When the sheriff’s kid saw what happened he swam to the shore.

Before he could get out of the water, I swung the branch three or four times, connecting each time. I kept swinging until he lay face down in the water. I left him there just as he had done to Ellis the night before. I walked into trees and threw up until my throat was sore from dry heaving.

I ran back to the house; the flames were starting to come out of the windows. I hopped into my old man’s Model T and drove away, not even sure where I was headed. I found myself at the cemetery that was on the hill overlooking Westburg. I pulled the truck behind some tress and walked to my mother’s grave. Once again I sat there and bawled my eyes out.

I could see the house was now fully engulfed in flames and the volunteer fire department had just arrived. There wasn’t much they could do, I guess they just made sure the fire didn’t spread.

I waited until just before nightfall and started to drive toward Jackson. I stopped at a diner to get something to eat. After I finished eating, I heard a couple guys talking about trying to find someone to work as a farmhand. For the next six years I worked odd jobs until I made it to Jackson. Once I was in Jackson, I got a job at a print shop. I got to know the guy from the newspaper when he picked up the printing we did for them. He told me there was an opening at the paper for a copy boy, so I started working at the paper. One of the reporters took a liking to me after I showed him some of the stories I had written. He helped me work my way up until they made me a reporter, I met John on the first story that I covered.”

We all sat in silence for a few minutes.

I finally broke the silence, “My God Walter.”

He turned to me as he wiped his tears away, “Do you still think I’m a good guy?”

I said, “Of course I do. I think I am even more impressed now. Did the sheriff ever suspect you of setting the fire or killing his son?”

Walter nodded, “I think he might have, but he never really did a proper investigation. Just like always. I kept checking the papers, all the articles just said the fire was caused by my old man being drunk and knocking over a lamp. Everyone knew he was an alcoholic, so it was believable.

He passed his son’s death off as an accidental drowning, just as he had done with all the other kids who died at the pond. Most people in town knew that his son and his buddies were beating up the black kids and drowning them. Most figured the sheriff was putting them up to it. He had to keep the story the same for his own kid.

Old Man Thornhill finally had enough of the sheriff killing all of his worker’s kids and got the state to investigate and made him leave town. The last I heard he got a job in a prison and was killed by a couple of the inmates.”

Andrew shook his head, “Bastard deserved it”

We were all thinking the same thing.

I asked, “So were you worried about the law coming after you? Is that why you went by the name of Hank Walters?”

He nodded “I guess so. When I started writing articles, I knew my name would appear in the paper. If there was anyone looking into the case, I would be easy to find.”

I rubbed my face, “I don’t know what to say Walter.”

John stood up. “I think I could use some more coffee. Would anyone else like some?”

Walter said, “No, I think I need a shot of whisky, bring that and four glasses please.”

John looked to Andrew and me, I nodded, “Yes, I think I could use a shot of whiskey too.”

We each drank a couple shots as we asked Walter a few more questions. We were all feeling emotionally drained from hearing Walter’s tale.

I finally said, “Walter, I want to thank you for telling us about all this. I know it wasn’t easy.”

He said, “You’re welcome. To tell you the truth, I actually feel relieved. I told you things today that I have never told anyone else.”

John said, “That’s true. He had told me about Ellis and that he had been killed but he never went into this much detail.”

Walter said, “I’m sorry John. I think I was trying to forget about that part of my life. When I saw that journal, all those memories came back stronger than ever.”

I picked up the journal, “Here Walter, I want you to have this back.” I handed him the journal.

He smiled, “Thank you, Mike.”

I said, “Andrew, I think we have taken enough of these kind gentlemen’s time. Mom is expecting us for supper.”

Andrew agreed, “Walter it was very nice meeting you, you too John.”

From that time on, we stopped in to see Walter and John every month when we were visiting mom. We enjoyed the stories they told and how they teased each other, and how much they still cared for each other.

As we left after one of our visits, I said, “That is what I hope we are like in 40 years, Andrew.”

Andrew chuckled, “I don’t know Mike, that’s a long time to put up with someone like you.” Andrew gave me wink.

I shook my head, “Oh, I see, you want to start it now, huh?”

Paying Walter One Last Visit

About a year after I first met Walter, John called me at work.

He said, “Mike, Walter has developed pneumonia and wants to see you. The doctor says it doesn’t look too good; he may have only a couple days left.”

I took a deep breath and said, “We will be there the first thing in the morning John, thanks for calling.”

Andrew and I paid one last visit to Walter. A week later we were back in Jackson for his funeral. After the funeral John had a few of their friends over to his house for drinks.

He pulled me aside, “Mike, can I see you for a minute?”

I smiled, “Sure John, what can I do for you?”

We went into Walter’s den; John handed me an envelope.

He said, “Walter wanted me to give you this after his funeral.”

I opened it up. The envelope contained the journal, and Walter had written on all the blank pages. There was also a note inside the cover.

 

Mike,

I decided there were too many empty pages, so I finished the story for you. Sorry that the last part of the story is not nearly as exciting as the first. It is mostly just about a boring reporter and his boring boyfriend just living a boring life.

Now that I am gone, I wanted to give you permission to tell my story if you would like. If there was anyone in this world that I want to write about me, it would be the first man that read the first story that I ever wrote.

Here’s hoping that you have the same long and boring life that I had.

Your Friend,

Walter

 

Andrew drove home so that I could read the new entries in Walter’s journal. He was right, it was mostly about the everyday life of a newspaper reporter. He and John did do a lot traveling and seemed to have some amazing adventures. Walter’s life was anything but boring, Andrew and I are definitely going to start traveling more.

As soon as Andrew and I got home after Walter’s funeral, I sat down at my computer and started to type:

 

Walter’s Journal

 May 15, 1922

Miss Fillmore gave me this notebook a few weeks ago, she said that she thought that I was really good at writing and should start recording my thoughts in a journal. I told her that I didn’t know what to write about, but she just said to write whatever I felt, it didn’t matter what it was. She said that she knew I was having a hard time since my ma had passed away last fall, maybe that would be a good place to start. I guess that is as good a place as any. I’m not sure how good of a writer I really am, but here goes.

I am Walter Hankins; I just turned 14 years old in March and finished the 8th grade last week. I live here in Westburg, Tennessee…

 

The End.


Thank you all for reading, I hope you enjoyed "The Journal". I do have a start on my next story, but with some personal commitments keeping me busy right now, it will be a while before I start posting it. I will be taking a short break from writing, but I will be reading all your stories and leaving comments as always. I truly appreciate all of you and your support. I hope you all enjoy the rest of your summer.

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