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Description
The wall at the end of the room was arrayed with a series of posters featuring the patriotic hero. In one, Proud Citizen was saluting while holding an American flag in his free hand. "Buy War Bonds", the caption read. In another poster the blue-clad patriot had his fist drawn back and was looking mighty peeved. "Pucker Up Adolf!", was the title.

Several cases held newspapers that featured Paragon's patriot in the headline:

                         "PROUD CITIZEN BATTLES DOCKLAND GANGS!"

                                     "CITIZEN SMASHES SPY RING"

                 "ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT FOILED BY PROUD CITIZEN"

                                    "HE'S COMING FOR YOU ADOLF!
                                  Proud Citizen Ships Out For Europe"

James cast his eye on one of the display cases that held a battered and rusting Thompson M1 submachine gun. The initials 'PC' had been carved into the worn wooden stock of the weapon.

One of the photographs on the wall showed Proud Citizen in a clearing with a forest in the distance. Snow covered the ground and the smoking hulks of several German trucks could be seen in the background. The hero was wearing an army issue overcoat and his Thompson M1 was slung over his shoulder. He was shaking hands with an American G.I. The breath of both men hung like fog in the air. James could never put his finger on it but he had always believed that there was some kind of connection between Proud Citizen and this soldier. It was something in the bearing of both men. Like they were both cut from the same bolt of cloth. The label below the picture read:

           "Proud Citizen and Private James Loring: 26 January 1945 Alsace France"

The next photograph bore a small plaque that read, "Berlin: July 1945". In it, a large crowd of people were standing in front of the shattered Brandenburg Gate. At the front of the group was Proud Citizen. He was wearing standard issue G.I. webbing over his costume that was patched in several places and stained with the mud of many long, hard miles. He looked bone-weary and his face had obviously not seen a razor in quite some time. However he still wore a smile. In one hand he held the corner of a large Nazi flag. Standing next to him, and holding the other corner of the flag, was PinUp Girl. She was beaming a smile that could have brought a regiment to its knees and was in the process of slicing the flag in half with one of her signature V-42 combat knives. The crowd that surrounded them was made up of both American and British soldiers. Many were grinning and looked jubilant. Others were more subdued, as if their happiness at a hard-won victory was tempered by the things that they had seen in the last year.

James rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he looked at the photograph. He had always wondered if there wasn't more to PinUp Girl's wartime exploits than just her involvement with the USO. Anyone with any knowledge of Paragon's black-haired bombshell knew that she was a fighter. Would someone like that really have been content seeing out the war singing and performing on stage? He couldn't say for sure but James firmly believed that there was more to PinUp Girl than the history books let on.

James moved on and found himself standing in front of a large, upright cabinet that was the centre of the display. Inside the cabinet, suffused in white light, was a reproduction of Proud Citizen's uniform. He marvelled at the thought that the hero had fought crime at home and battled his way across a continent at war wearing nothing more than cloth and leather. To James, the uniform was like a mythical suit of armour from the days of Camelot's glory.

Hanging on the wall in a frame above the case was an original American recruiting poster from the war years featuring Proud Citizen. It was a straightforward piece. The background was white and the majority of the poster was a depiction of the hero from the waist up. Proud's usual smile was gone, replaced by a look of grave concern. His right arm was raised and he was pointing straight at the viewer. Red, white and blue letters at the bottom of the poster spelled out a simple question.

                                             "Are you doing YOUR part?"

James sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the case. He gazed at the costume as he had once gazed at Proud Citizen's original uniform in the Smithsonian's National Museum of American History when he was just a boy.

He recalled all the stories about Proud Citizen that his Grandpa Tom had told him as a child. James had dearly loved the summers that he had spent with his mother and her parents on their ranch in Montana. Their warmth and simple human decency had been such a contrast to the stern and intimidating figure of his father. They were the ones that had instilled in him the values that had guided him his whole life. Tom Stone had stormed ashore at Omaha beach on D-Day 1944 and he would wile away the warm summer evenings telling James stories of the war and the costumed mystery men who had fought on the side of freedom. His grandfather's eyes had always shone when he spoke of Proud Citizen who he had met and fought beside on several occasions.

"He didn't have any powers you know, James", his grandfather had said. "He couldn't fly or bend steel in his hands or shoot lighting from his eyes or anything like that. He was an ordinary man. But there was no stopping him. No matter the odds. No matter the enemy. Proud Citizen overcame them all."

James mind wandered back to a hot July day when he was only ten. He had been helping his grandfather mend the fence that stood just behind their house. Grandpa Tom was spry for his age. The old man was seemingly composed entirely of denim and flannel. His face was wrinkled with age and weathered from many years work in the sun.

James' young face was thoughtful as he held a wooden beam in place and watched his grandfather bang in the last iron nail.

"Grandpa?", he said as the old man stood up and placed the hammer back in his tool-belt.

"Yes, Jamie?"

"Why do people do bad things?"

Grandpa Tom smiled and pushed the rim of his hat farther up his forehead with his thumb. The hair under his straw cowboy hat was as white as the snow on the slopes of Mount Jackson.

"Well that's certainly a dilly of a question, Jamie-Boy. Why do you ask?"

James imitated his grandfather by pushing up the tip of his baseball-cap.

"I just wonder sometimes. You talk about how Proud Citizen fought those Nazi guys. They were really bad. And sometimes when I'm at home I see stuff on the TV and in the newspapers. Stuff I know that Mom wouldn't want me to see. About some of the bad stuff that people do. I just can't help but wonder why they do it."

"Well, son" said Grandpa Tom, leaning against the fence-post and frowning a little. "Some folk do bad things 'cause they are misguided and don't know any better. With a little effort you can normally put them back on the straight and narrow path. Of course some might need a good solid kick in the britches to get 'em started on the way."
The old man's frown deepened into something almost resembling a scowl.

"But some, more and more it seems nowadays, are just plain mean", he said. "They hurt people cause they enjoy it. More'n anything they want to tear down all that's good and decent in this world."

Tom Stone looked down and shook his head. "A person like that has a great big black hole inside'a them where their soul oughta be."

James looked concerned. "How do you deal with THOSE kind of people, Grandpa?",

Tom looked into his grandson's innocent face. The frown transformed into a crooked smile as he chuckled and put his gnarled hand on the boy's shoulder.

"With two good fists and a belly fulla righteous fire, Jamie", he said.

The old man shaped-up like a boxer and feigned the throwing of a punch at James' head. The boy laughed and ducked under the slow moving blow. He then raised his own smaller fists and began to duck and weave in a manner that suggested a great deal of practice. James' grandfather had been teaching him how to box ever since he could remember and he loved his lessons.

Tom Stone laughed and dropped to one knee. He held both of his hands up, palms out, and James began to smack them with series of punches.

"Now, do you remember what to do when you encounter a bully, Jamie?", asked the old man.

James fired two sharp little jabs into his grandfather's calloused palm.

"Look him straight in the eye and stand my ground", he answered immediately.

"And do you ever stand idly by and watch while someone else gets bullied?"

"No SIR!"

"And if that bully wants to get rough?"

"I knock him on his keister!", cried James as he smacked the old man's hand with a straight right.

"Ouch!", said Tom as he grinned and shook his hand in mock injury. "Glory be!", he said. "You're turning into one mighty fine little scrapper, kiddo."

Grandpa Tom swept James into a bear-hug, then straightened up and took his grandson's hand.

"Now if this old nose isn't mistaken I do believe that your grandma's apple-pie is done", he said. "What say we get ourselves a slice."

"Apple-pie! Yay!", cheered James as he walked to the backdoor, hand-in-hand with his grandfather.

James' smiled as his mind was swept back to the present. He looked up at the skylight and saw the moon shining full and bright in the dark sky.

"What should I do, Grandpa?", he murmured.

James' found that his eyes were drawn once again to the poster that bore the words, "Are you doing YOUR part?". And this time the words seemed to be directed at him alone and the painted finger was pointed directly at his heart.
Long minutes passed as James gazed upon the stern visage of his childhood hero. Then, in a heartbeat, all traces of doubt and anguish disappeared from his face.

Some time later, James switched off the lights and left the little museum. Once more the room was bathed in the soft silver glow emanating from the skylights. The moonlight shone down on the exhibits, the posters, the photographs.....and on the large glass cabinet at the end of the room that now stood open and empty.

Description
The wall at the end of the room was arrayed with a series of posters featuring the patriotic hero. In one, Proud Citizen was saluting while holding an American flag in his free hand. "Buy War Bonds", the caption read. In another poster the blue-clad patriot had his fist drawn back and was looking mighty peeved. "Pucker Up Adolf!", was the title.

Several cases held newspapers that featured Paragon's patriot in the headline:

                         "PROUD CITIZEN BATTLES DOCKLAND GANGS!"

                                     "CITIZEN SMASHES SPY RING"

                 "ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT FOILED BY PROUD CITIZEN"

                                    "HE'S COMING FOR YOU ADOLF!
                                  Proud Citizen Ships Out For Europe"

James cast his eye on one of the display cases that held a battered and rusting Thompson M1 submachine gun. The initials 'PC' had been carved into the worn wooden stock of the weapon.

One of the photographs on the wall showed Proud Citizen in a clearing with a forest in the distance. Snow covered the ground and the smoking hulks of several German trucks could be seen in the background. The hero was wearing an army issue overcoat and his Thompson M1 was slung over his shoulder. He was shaking hands with an American G.I. The breath of both men hung like fog in the air. James could never put his finger on it but he had always believed that there was some kind of connection between Proud Citizen and this soldier. It was something in the bearing of both men. Like they were both cut from the same bolt of cloth. The label below the picture read:

           "Proud Citizen and Private James Loring: 26 January 1945 Alsace France"

The next photograph bore a small plaque that read, "Berlin: July 1945". In it, a large crowd of people were standing in front of the shattered Brandenburg Gate. At the front of the group was Proud Citizen. He was wearing standard issue G.I. webbing over his costume that was patched in several places and stained with the mud of many long, hard miles. He looked bone-weary and his face had obviously not seen a razor in quite some time. However he still wore a smile. In one hand he held the corner of a large Nazi flag. Standing next to him, and holding the other corner of the flag, was PinUp Girl. She was beaming a smile that could have brought a regiment to its knees and was in the process of slicing the flag in half with one of her signature V-42 combat knives. The crowd that surrounded them was made up of both American and British soldiers. Many were grinning and looked jubilant. Others were more subdued, as if their happiness at a hard-won victory was tempered by the things that they had seen in the last year.

James rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he looked at the photograph. He had always wondered if there wasn't more to PinUp Girl's wartime exploits than just her involvement with the USO. Anyone with any knowledge of Paragon's black-haired bombshell knew that she was a fighter. Would someone like that really have been content seeing out the war singing and performing on stage? He couldn't say for sure but James firmly believed that there was more to PinUp Girl than the history books let on.

James moved on and found himself standing in front of a large, upright cabinet that was the centre of the display. Inside the cabinet, suffused in white light, was a reproduction of Proud Citizen's uniform. He marvelled at the thought that the hero had fought crime at home and battled his way across a continent at war wearing nothing more than cloth and leather. To James, the uniform was like a mythical suit of armour from the days of Camelot's glory.

Hanging on the wall in a frame above the case was an original American recruiting poster from the war years featuring Proud Citizen. It was a straightforward piece. The background was white and the majority of the poster was a depiction of the hero from the waist up. Proud's usual smile was gone, replaced by a look of grave concern. His right arm was raised and he was pointing straight at the viewer. Red, white and blue letters at the bottom of the poster spelled out a simple question.

                                             "Are you doing YOUR part?"

James sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the case. He gazed at the costume as he had once gazed at Proud Citizen's original uniform in the Smithsonian's National Museum of American History when he was just a boy.

He recalled all the stories about Proud Citizen that his Grandpa Tom had told him as a child. James had dearly loved the summers that he had spent with his mother and her parents on their ranch in Montana. Their warmth and simple human decency had been such a contrast to the stern and intimidating figure of his father. They were the ones that had instilled in him the values that had guided him his whole life. Tom Stone had stormed ashore at Omaha beach on D-Day 1944 and he would wile away the warm summer evenings telling James stories of the war and the costumed mystery men who had fought on the side of freedom. His grandfather's eyes had always shone when he spoke of Proud Citizen who he had met and fought beside on several occasions.

"He didn't have any powers you know, James", his grandfather had said. "He couldn't fly or bend steel in his hands or shoot lighting from his eyes or anything like that. He was an ordinary man. But there was no stopping him. No matter the odds. No matter the enemy. Proud Citizen overcame them all."

James mind wandered back to a hot July day when he was only ten. He had been helping his grandfather mend the fence that stood just behind their house. Grandpa Tom was spry for his age. The old man was seemingly composed entirely of denim and flannel. His face was wrinkled with age and weathered from many years work in the sun.

James' young face was thoughtful as he held a wooden beam in place and watched his grandfather bang in the last iron nail.

"Grandpa?", he said as the old man stood up and placed the hammer back in his tool-belt.

"Yes, Jamie?"

"Why do people do bad things?"

Grandpa Tom smiled and pushed the rim of his hat farther up his forehead with his thumb. The hair under his straw cowboy hat was as white as the snow on the slopes of Mount Jackson.

"Well that's certainly a dilly of a question, Jamie-Boy. Why do you ask?"

James imitated his grandfather by pushing up the tip of his baseball-cap.

"I just wonder sometimes. You talk about how Proud Citizen fought those Nazi guys. They were really bad. And sometimes when I'm at home I see stuff on the TV and in the newspapers. Stuff I know that Mom wouldn't want me to see. About some of the bad stuff that people do. I just can't help but wonder why they do it."

"Well, son" said Grandpa Tom, leaning against the fence-post and frowning a little. "Some folk do bad things 'cause they are misguided and don't know any better. With a little effort you can normally put them back on the straight and narrow path. Of course some might need a good solid kick in the britches to get 'em started on the way."
The old man's frown deepened into something almost resembling a scowl.

"But some, more and more it seems nowadays, are just plain mean", he said. "They hurt people cause they enjoy it. More'n anything they want to tear down all that's good and decent in this world."

Tom Stone looked down and shook his head. "A person like that has a great big black hole inside'a them where their soul oughta be."

James looked concerned. "How do you deal with THOSE kind of people, Grandpa?",

Tom looked into his grandson's innocent face. The frown transformed into a crooked smile as he chuckled and put his gnarled hand on the boy's shoulder.

"With two good fists and a belly fulla righteous fire, Jamie", he said.

The old man shaped-up like a boxer and feigned the throwing of a punch at James' head. The boy laughed and ducked under the slow moving blow. He then raised his own smaller fists and began to duck and weave in a manner that suggested a great deal of practice. James' grandfather had been teaching him how to box ever since he could remember and he loved his lessons.

Tom Stone laughed and dropped to one knee. He held both of his hands up, palms out, and James began to smack them with series of punches.

"Now, do you remember what to do when you encounter a bully, Jamie?", asked the old man.

James fired two sharp little jabs into his grandfather's calloused palm.

"Look him straight in the eye and stand my ground", he answered immediately.

"And do you ever stand idly by and watch while someone else gets bullied?"

"No SIR!"

"And if that bully wants to get rough?"

"I knock him on his keister!", cried James as he smacked the old man's hand with a straight right.

"Ouch!", said Tom as he grinned and shook his hand in mock injury. "Glory be!", he said. "You're turning into one mighty fine little scrapper, kiddo."

Grandpa Tom swept James into a bear-hug, then straightened up and took his grandson's hand.

"Now if this old nose isn't mistaken I do believe that your grandma's apple-pie is done", he said. "What say we get ourselves a slice."

"Apple-pie! Yay!", cheered James as he walked to the backdoor, hand-in-hand with his grandfather.

James' smiled as his mind was swept back to the present. He looked up at the skylight and saw the moon shining full and bright in the dark sky.

"What should I do, Grandpa?", he murmured.

James' found that his eyes were drawn once again to the poster that bore the words, "Are you doing YOUR part?". And this time the words seemed to be directed at him alone and the painted finger was pointed directly at his heart.
Long minutes passed as James gazed upon the stern visage of his childhood hero. Then, in a heartbeat, all traces of doubt and anguish disappeared from his face.

Some time later, James switched off the lights and left the little museum. Once more the room was bathed in the soft silver glow emanating from the skylights. The moonlight shone down on the exhibits, the posters, the photographs.....and on the large glass cabinet at the end of the room that now stood open and empty.