[Downthestretch55]

Andrew: The Imaginary Soldier Marching on the Historic Road to Battle

I've traveled many historic roads. One leads along the southern edge of Lake Champlain through a place called Whitehall. It was on this road that General Burgoyne marched his British troops down in September of 1777 to their anticipated victory against the insurgents. The Battle of Saratoga, which in reality was the battle of Stillwater (10 miles south), resulted in Burgoyne's surrender to General Gates at Saratoga in October. Maybe history textbooks should be revised to tell about the "surrender at Saratoga" and the "Battle of Stillwater". Too costly, methinks.
And I grew up near the River Road, that hugs the eastern shore of the Hackensack River, where Continentals marched past von Stueben's house at New Bridge to reinforce Washington's forces as he chased the British from Philadelphia, and his General Lee caught up with them at a place in Freehold.
When he was outflanked and retreated, Washington sent him to the rear and lead the forces himself, attacking twice during those hot June days, to bring the turning point so necessary in 1778. No matter that there was no clear victor in the Battle of Monmouth, and that both sides lost as many men to heatstroke as from the fighting. We gained a legendary lady that showed great courage when she replaced her husband who had fallen, putting down her water jugs and manning the cannon in his stead. But her name really wasn't Molly Pitcher, heck, let's not rewrite the legend.
So then there was Andrew one day, marching up and down the historic ridge road near North Settlement, a spur of the famous Susquehannah Turnpike that linked Catskill to Utica for the westward moving pioneers.
Andrew lived with his aged mother in a run down house that lacked indoor plumbing. He and his mom lived far from the prying eyes, scrutiny, and flapping lips of townfolk. Their nearest neighbors were a half mile away in either direction. Their isolation might have been for a reason.
Andrew was mentally retarded.
Oh, there were kids that would drive past him and hurl insults from their bicycle seats, though I don't think Andrew gave them much notice.
Andrew liked to march. He could always be seen, through hot summer sun, or cold winter snow, marching up county route 10 to the corner, then back down to the Sutton Hollow. Andrew always carried a stick. He frequently chewed its end with greenish-yellow teeth, but he'd hold it at "present arms" for any passing car that would slow down on the vacant road so he could go to the side.
One day, my friend gave Andrew some records and an old record player that he'd picked up at a flea market. All of the 45's were German marching music,
patriotic parade tunes. Andrew seemed to love his "chermin mar muse", as he marched back and forth near the blasting sounds coming from the porch of his ramshackled fortress. Back and forth, back and forth, present arms, march again, chew a bit. Onward to the battle of his imagination, to the victory he'd never know, nor a surrender sufferred...marching on the historic
road. Marching. Marching. Marching. Imagining. Marching....