Karen Ross Epp

I am currently putting the finishing touches to my next book..."Corn Rose" a historical fiction.

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Synopsis

 Rose Calamia is a first generation Italian American working girl in a 1945 aircraft plant, when she meets Iowa farm boy, Jack Conner. Jack has recently been discharged from the Army and is still licking his wounds from, an all too familiar, war time casualty— a “Dear John” and divorce. When the two start dating and fall in love, Rose is totally unprepared for the life that awaits her in rural Iowa. Ever the sheltered daughter and sister in a family steeped in old world traditions, Rose is exposed to Jack’s world which is the polar opposite. Living with her in-laws for the first few months of marriage, Rose is homesick and unsure of her hasty decision to move back to the Midwest with her husband of three month. On top of all the other adjustments (no modern conveniences like electricity and indoor plumbing) Rose harbors a secret, her pregnancy. Her mother-in-law, Bess, is determined to sabotage Jack’s marriage to this skinny, foreigner and “city gal,” whose skin is dark and ways unlike any she’s familiar with. Rose’s determination to endure and love her husband is tested when she is called home for her mother’s funeral. Once back in warm and sunny California— Iowa, Jack, and its harsh people seem worlds away. Rose has to decide if what she wants is in Iowa with her husband or in the comfortable surroundings of California with family— and an old flame who awakens her heart in ways she thought were dead. Rose’s struggle, like so many women of her generation, is a tug-of-war between what is expected and what desires are left over for her in the ash-heap of duty and subservience. Rose’s final decision will test her character and surprise her harshest critiques.

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CORN ROSE

Prologue

Twenty-one year old Jack Conner took a long drag on his cigarette and then flicked it into the receding tide. He’d get a royal ass chewin’ if the Army brass caught him smokin’ out here on patrol. His rifle leaned against his shoulder like an old friend as he walked the stretch of Venice beach he’d been assigned. Like I’m gonna’ stop any fuckin’ Kraut sub, if they’re really out there! Everyone was on edge. The Germans had been blowing up ships along the coasts, and no one was to swim or even wade on the beaches these days. The salty air stung his nose as he inhaled the surf’s breeze. He took out another cigarette. I should quit, he thought, as he lit up again and looked around suspiciously for anyone who’d snitch. Mist and fog were rolling in— the sound of the surf was his only company tonight. Jack always dreamed of seeing the ocean, but this wasn’t what he had in mind. No, this is a far cry from lounging in the lazy California sun, watchin’ good-lookin’ dames walk by in their swimsuits. He’d ship out in a few days, probably to France, or Italy. Damn, how’d I git this far? His brother Carl was already in Europe, assigned to an Army Ordinance Unit. He’d been there for three years. Maybe they’d cross paths somewhere, but he doubted it. It was going to be hard on his mother, with both of them gone and in harm’s way. Jack had lost the sight in his right eye when he was seven— a freak accident. A school chum retaliated when Jack teased him about having a crush on his sister Betty. A hard-packed snowball with a rock in the center that bitterly cold January morning cost Jack dearly. His right eye had swollen until it bulged out of its socket. His mother did her best, but without adequate medical attention, his vision in that eye was lost. I shoulda beat the shit outta that little son of a bitch! Jack ground out his last cigarette in the sand. It still pissed him off to think about the accident. Even with the disability, the draft board chose not to believe his story and proclaimed him “fit for service.” So… here he was, two thousand miles from home, missing his young wife, on this quiet night, on this lonely beach, protecting his country.

                                                     Chapter 1

 Los Angeles, California, December 1945 Jack took an elbow in the ribs; Johnny Castro prodded him as the raven-haired beauty strolled slowly by. She walked with confidence and seemed oblivious to the stares of the line workers. They’d seen her walk by a lot lately, now that she’d moved up to work in the office. “What a rack!”came a (not so muffled) catcall from somewhere on the line as Rose passed. Jack gave them a, “Back off, assholes!” look. “I’ll betcha five bucks you don’t have the balls to ask her out!” Johnny knew Jack had been admiring the girl for quite some time, and he also knew how to stir things up. Johnny Castro was shorter than Jack, about five-ten, and much stockier. His wavy black hair, dark eyes, and gleaming white smile reflected his Mexican heritage and got him a lot of action. He was quite a ladies’ man in Jack’s opinion. But he was respectful when it came to women. Slapping his friend on the back, Jack replied, “You’re on, John.” Jack took a deep breath and then whistled. Rose, dressed in slacks and a snug sweater that flattered her generous breasts and slender hips, kept walking, lifting her chin a little higher. Johnny chided, “See, she won’t even look at ya… farm boy!” He knew how far to push his friend without getting a fist in his face. Jack was tall and lean, with rope-taut muscles— farm work had made him strong. He lacked the street smarts Johnny possessed, but he could take care of himself when times called for it. Raised in the Midwest (except for his mostly Scotch-Iris and German descended relatives and neighbors) Jack didn’t have a lot of exposure to Mexicans, or any other race. However, Johnny had proved to be a good friend. They had become close from the very first day Jack hired on. When he’d been discharged from the Army, and his marriage fell apart, Jack had to find work, fast. California was worlds apart from Iowa, and Johnny had helped him those first weeks on the job. His smooth-talking friend had gotten him out of some close calls. Guys who thought they could put one over on a “dumb plowboy” soon backed down when Johnny stood up for his friend. Jack had returned the favor when his size helped turn the tables on some wiseass thugs who tried to roll them for their paychecks. Rose had caught Jack’s eye from the very first time she strolled past his workstation, leaving the subtle scent of perfume in her wake. She wasn’t your typical pinup girl, with the all-American look— no— she was exotic, and he liked that about her. She was different from anyone he had ever been attracted to, and that intrigued him: like a forbidden fruit, he had to have a bite. She worked in material control at the plant and was just leaving the office with invoices for the day tucked under her arm. Her long hair, done up in a pompadour, a popular hairstyle of the 40’s, gleamed under the strong factory lights. She didn’t fancy herself beautiful, Corn Rose but she did take care of what she had: wavy black hair, smooth olive skin, and sparkling black eyes that reflected her Sicilian heritage. Her brothers often teased her about what they referred to as her “bird legs!” It was the one attribute she wasn’t proud of. From her periphery, she noticed the big guy, the one whose eyes were locked on her as if she were in his gun sites. Jack watched her stroll past. He tried to imagine what she looked like under all those clothes, how she smelled, and what her kisses would taste like. All the guys had noticed Rose. Her name often heard over the loud speaker—“Rose Calamia, report to office” or “Rose Calamia, report to material control!” Jack smiled to himself when on one occasion a coworker asked Rose, “Are those real?” referring to her ample bosoms. She just smiled, and said as she walked off, “What do you think?” She was naive, but she knew a wolf when she saw one. She’d learned a lot from having two brothers at home who exuded testosterone. Oh, the tall one was handsome, something about his eyes, blue, deep, and brooding. Who does he think he is— and that Mexican with him— he has some nerve. Well, they can look all they want. I don’t have time for either of them! She’d first noticed him, as one of the “new hires” who operated the drop hammer on the line. Word traveled fast in the plant. Rumor had it, he’d been in the Army, but was discharged for some kind of medical reason. Well, he appears healthy to me. He can look all he wants, I’m not about to give him the satisfaction of appearing interested. Anyway, Mama won’t let me date boys outside her circle of friends or the neighborhood. Jack watched as Rose closed the office door with her shapely hip, while managing the stack of papers in her hands. She thinks she’s bein’ all cool and highfalutin’. He sensed she was aware of him. I’ll give it another shot. Hell, what do I have to lose? To Johnny’s surprise, Jack pushed off the machine he’d been leaning on and walked toward Rose. That son of a bitch… he’s going to ask her out! The farmer has balls after all! Johnny watched, shaking his head and trying to control the smirk on his face. Man, this is gonna’ be good! She caught a glimpse of Jack. The tall, lean one was walking toward her, Oh no! He’s coming my way. What does he want? What will I say? He’s so…so tall! Oh, my God… get a hold of yourself! Sweat trickled down her back. She’d never felt so nervous, so vulnerable. The papers she carried almost slipped from her grasp. This is no time to show your clumsy side, Rose. Unlike some of her girlfriends, she wasn’t good at flirting and making small talk with men. She minded her business at work. Oh sure, other guys had made passes at her, but she just laughed it off—ignoring them. But this one was different. This one intrigued her and moved with purpose. Standing toe-to-toe with her, Jack blocked her way. “Hey, I’m Jack. Y’gotta a minute?” She looked up at him, wide-eyed. “I…uh… would you like to go out sometime?” What kind of a dumbass approach was that? Cool, Jack. REAL cool. She probably thinks you just dropped off a turnip truck. Well, this is it…I’m screwed, and she’s gonna’ slap me or Corn Rose somethin’. Jack looked back at Johnny. His smirk had turned into a full-fledged grin. Way to play into Romeo’s plan. I’m gonna’ kill that Mexican when I get out of here. Rose titled her head back a little more and looked up into Jack’s eyes. He’s like a California redwood, HUGE! She liked what she saw and without taking a breath, she blurted. “Oh, I’d like that… where… what time… I mean... Oh, I’ll have to think about it. Well sure, that’d be nice.” Am I losing my mind? Mama won’t approve, not to mention my brothers. They’ll kill this guy first, and ask questions later. Jack looked as dumbstruck as Rose did. “Did you say yes? I mean, really… that’s great! Where do you live? I guess I should ask your name. He knew her name all right, but thought it only polite to ask. Her mouth was dry and the words seemed to stick in her throat. “It’s Rose… Rose Calamia. I live uh…over on Avenue 34. Do you know the Five Points area?” “No… ‘fraid not.” Nodding his head towards his friend, he said. “But maybe my buddy Johnny knows. He’s from around here. Hey John, c’mere, wantcha’ to meet Rose.” Johnny looked at Jack. That crooked grin said it all. Well, big shot… pay up! If Johnny had to share his friend, it might as well be with Rose. She had always treated him with respect, yet guarded. She was a nice girl, and word got around that she wasn’t easy, she was special. He knew his place, and mixed dating didn’t sit well with Gringos or Wops. You could get yourself killed with a wrong look. Maybe things would be different someday, but for now, as his mother had said, “It’s the way things are, mijo.” Jack was smitten with Rose. They began dating and seeing each other on a regular basis; stealing glances and smiles at work, trying not to be too obvious, they were involved. Neither wanted to take the chance of losing their jobs since fraternizing with fellow employees was discouraged. Now that the war was winding down, a buck-ten an hour was a decent wage; soon jobs would be going to GIs coming home from Europe and the Pacific. Women, who’d been lured into the work force by patriotic duty and supporting their men over-seas, were told they would be going back to their kitchens when it was all over—back to being wives and mothers.

On November 15th the Sullivan Brother's Iowa Veterans Musuem was dedicated in Waterloo, Iowa. The musuem is a new addition to the Grout Musuem District. It is dedicated to the five Sullivan Brother's who were killed on board the USS Juneau during WWll. All were from Waterloo, Iowa. My brother Stan was picked to represent the Vietnam section of the musuem. Our family donated artifacts to be on permanent display at the museum. Several of Stan's photos, personal effects, and a clip from an 8mm movie can be viewed in a Huey helicopter display. We are honored and humbled to be part of this wonderful musuem.

 Stan's exhibit with artifacts

Sullivan Brother's Iowa Veterans Musuem, Waterloo, Iowa

Me with Roger Heineken, Vietnam Roundtable, Emporia, Kans Oct14,08             

Stan.. bottom-left with Charlie Co. Vietnam 1969

                        Author

                        Stan in country, 1969 

Welcome to my web page. I have written a very personal primary source book about my brother Sp4 Stanley D. Ross. This is my first book and it was something I thought about doing for a very long time. 

 With Love Stan: A Soldier's Letters From Vietnam To The World, is a story about my brother and a family trying to cope with the lose of a son, brother, and friend.

My book is a compilation of Stan's letters home to family and friends, recollections from friends he grew up with, the men who served with him in the 199th Light Infantry Brigade, Charlie Co, 2/3, and quotes from authors, Bernard Edelman,Dear America, Tim O'Brien, The Things They Carried, and Michael Lanning, The Only War We Had, who experienced the Vietnam conflict. With Love Stan: gives the reader a true picture of what a "grunts"  (Infantryman of the ground) life was like in the the rice paddies and jungle of southeast Asia.

Educators and students will find it a wonderful primary source for studying those turbulent years of our history, the 60s. Where slogans like, "Make Love Not War, America, Love It Or Leave It!" were anthems for the counter culture and silent majority.

I wrote With Love Stan as a tribute not only to my brother but all the brave men and women who fought and died in Vietnam. I have always felt it important to preserve the past by securing artifacts such as letters and photographs, which hold the key to who we are and where we've been.

I hope you'll read Stan's story and share it with others.

Member of the Kansas Authors Club Distrist #5

You can order my book online at www.authorhouse.com,  www.amazon.com, www.borders.com and by contacting me at krepp1@powwwer.net

Also check out the "Rail" http://therail.com/images/railicon.gif" ismap

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