From the Author: In writing San Mario Island, I have created the protagonist Frank Henderson by reversing my own first and middle names. The big problem is I seem to have created a real hero out of Frank Henderson... certainly not a title attributable to Henderson Frank Ponder.
Furthermore, because the story is comprised of both truth and fiction, I feel obligated to…, as my grandfather would have said... “Separate the beef from the bologna.”
You probably already know that there is no such place as San Mario Island. In addition, to my knowledge, there is not a yacht called the Southern Comfort. The scar faced man and his companion Bubba, the waitress, and all other characters mentioned in the episode at St. Thomas Island are fictional. Moreover, to tell the truth, my name was never found in the Will of my old friend Mario Sisconi. Of course, his real name was not Mario Sisconi.
Nonetheless, the man did exist. Actually, most of the characters in the book are taken from real people. However, I have been very careful to disguise them all, especially Mario Sisconi. I have substituted names, places, events, and the time when some events occurred.
Also, other characters and events were created from new cloth. For example, the lady of ill repute Madame Le Mere, the three girls at the bordello, the boy Je Pele, and the Germans featured in the Paris episode were all figments of my imagination. Only the British officer known as André mentioned in connection with that event was real. Moreover, I met that man in Namur Belgian... not Paris France.
Furthermore, neither Frank Henderson nor I held the muzzle of a burp gun pressed into the cavity of a German officer’s mouth that day in Paris. In fact by the time I got to Paris France, most of the Germans were already back across the Rhine.
When our little outfit, the 117th Army Operations Team, landed in Le Havre, France, there was not a German in sight. We went straightaway to Namur Belgium where the powers that be decided there was no longer any need for our breed. Consequently, the 117th was as they say in the army, decommissioned. Most of the guys were assigned to first army line units, and a few of us were sent on special assignments here and there. My luck was a stint with the Covanich Group, a ragtag remnant of the Mihailovich Underground in Yugoslavia. The British officer mentioned above went with me, or to be more correct, I with him. We stopped in Paris for a couple of days, and André who had worked with the French Underground during the occupation was the most popular fellow in town. Referred to by the locals as “Papa de Guerre“, there was no doubt in my mind that the old man was truly the first hero I had ever known.
As you probably know, the little war between the Cetniks and the Communist Partisans in Yugoslavia continued long after the big war was over. However, you might not know that dear ole Uncle Sam continued to support the Mihailovich Group long after Mr. Tito was installed as the head knocker in that country.
I personally came out after only four and a half months; but ole, Papa never came back. He was murdered six days after the German’s surrendered by members of a diehard S. S. unit under the command of Major Heinrich Peeler, former assistant director of the German Schutzstaffel. (See chapter 15).
Peeler ostensibly was attempting to make his way to Ragoosa Bay... hoping to find passage down the Adriatic to Spain where he could enjoy political asylum under the Spanish/German treaty of thirty-nine. From there, he would go to Argentina as many other ranking German officers did and escape the wrath of the newly formed War Crimes Commission.
He made it to Spain easy enough... and he never had to face the judges at Nuremberg; but he was never to see Argentina. He went to Heaven instead... if that is where sadist who murder old women and little children go.
Although the main story line of this book is fictional, I have used events from my own experiences during the war in writing it. That was necessary for two reasons. First, I am not an accomplished fiction writer, and I desperately needed material to fill space in all those pages. In addition, the man Mario Sisconi was of that era, and the story is really about him.
In writing about these events, except for the episode in Paris France, the yacht, and the ordeal at the island, I have tried to keep as close to the truth as possible. However, as you know, sometimes memories from our past tend to become distorted. It is human nature to embellish the telling of experiences that occurred when we were living in that wonderful state called youth. And, now that I am a doddering old man, I realize that the big brave men with whom I served, and I, were just that... Youth.
HENDERSON FRANK PONDER
