Harold Q. Thomas

Men lost all sorts of things in wars. Some lost legs, arms, toes, eyes, hands and others lost less tangible things, like sanity and integrity. But Captain Harold Q. Thomas lost his hair. It really was impossible to be certain when he began shedding as it were, but there it was. When he left his fiancé at the train station in Delaware he definitely had thick mouse colored hair and when he returned (one of the last soldiers to return to the states after world war II) he was entirely bald.

Harold Quincy Thomas became a Captain through one of his greatest talents, his utter un-remarkabilty; he was mild in manner and looks and had a trimmed mustache. These qualities had served him well all his life. His politeness had gotten him a decent paying (if not intellectually stimulating) job as paperboy when he was just barely fifteen years old. By the time he was twenty-three he was assistant Editor for the very same paper. It was fussy, tedious work and that suited him perfectly because a well-done job was his delight and joy, the more cumbersome the details the better. Harold worked patiently, fastidiously, saving every penny he could and bought a house at twenty-seven years old. Now he was sure that his happiness was complete, he had a nice comfortable home, and a nice comfortable job, and nice comfortable parents who were in good health. And this was almost true.

Harold Q. Thomas turned thirty in 1940, he had everything he could ever desire, except for one thing. Sally O’Keefe the daughter of Daniel O’Keefe (Harold’s boss) was sweet in that round, frank, friendly kind of way. Harold fell in love with her the moment he saw her. Sally was exactly what he could wish, quick to laugh, and practical in everything. She could not resist his quiet, determined love. They courted for one year and the night before he left on a train Harold Q. Thomas asked Sally O’Keefe to be his wife. She accepted exactly as they both knew she would and Harold put a ring on her finger, kissed her bravely and then left for war.

In the army he was called things like “dependable” “amiable” “respectable” he was liked by commanders and soldiers alike and soon was ranked Captain and everyone thought it was an excellent choice. He wrote Sally every night. He wrote his parents every night. He rented his house to the widow of one of his soldier friends who had passed away in the first months of fighting, but never charged her a cent. He fought bravely and with dogged determination never feeling anything but patriotism and love for his country.

The war ended, like all wars do with the winners pretending it was inevitable and the losers…well, no one cared about them. And Harold Q. Thomas went home to Delaware, his mild mannered state.

On the train he self-consciously smoothed what he had left of his hair and hoped that Sally had no qualms about marrying a bald man. He ate a bologna sandwich that he purchased from the cart and coffee with no milk. Harold crossed his legs, smoothed the crumbs from his jacket and waited to be home.

Sally was waiting for him. He knew she would be. She looked beautiful and happy to see him and Harold swept her up in his arms and kissed her a much more passionate kiss then he ever had before he left.

They walked to her car arm in arm talking of all the things too sweet and intimate to be fully communicated by letter. Sally drove and he sat listening to her engaging ramblings about their wedding. Finally he asked her the question he could no longer contain.

“Sally darling, do I look different to you?” She looked over surprised studying him curiously, then smiled in an infectious way.

“You look like my Harold, dear. The man I love.”

He smiled back. The kindness of his wife was truly miraculous.

The months that followed proved to be happy ones. Harold moved back into his home (the upstairs was still to be rented out to the widow), settled back into work and married the woman he loved. They honeymooned in New York spending long evenings talking or sitting in companionable silence. Harold took to wearing hats.

On the Christmas Eve of 1947 Mr. and Mrs. Thomas visited the older Mr. and Mrs. Thomas for a family dinner. It was in celebration of more then just Christmas of course, the end of the war, the marriage of Harold and Sally, and the expected arrival of an addition to the Thomas family. It was the pleasantest sort of evening when all the company loves each other and the food is good and the snow is quietly floating past the window. Harold made a toast.

“I would like to make a toast, to this growing family,” he gave his wife a special smile. “And to the peace that is now in our home land.”

“Here, here!” Everyone responded politely and with real feeling.

“Even if I did lose my hair in the process.” Harold laughed a little self-consciously (this was the first time he had actually mentioned his glaring baldness out loud). His family looked at him quizzically.

“Did you have hair before the war, dear?” His wife asked curiously. Harold was rendered speechless, he mumbled some sort of reply resulting in neither denial nor conformation. A little pinker in the face than before Harold picked up his fork. “Merry Christmas, everyone.”

Rachel May Thomas was born to Harold and Sally Thomas in the June of 1948. She never saw her father wearing a hat.