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Reign of Valor

by Stan Phillips

202 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #02-0730; ISBN 1-55395-016-X; US$20.00, C$22.86, EUR16.50, £11.50

Appearing in the condition of some ninety years ago, the mission silently waited for the movie crew to be drawn to the actual place and time where history was about to take place.

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about the book      about the author      sample excerpt      catalogue info

About the Book Fate lends a hand in getting Martin, a ragged and dirty old man in to speak with Ralph Langley, a New York City literary agent. The story that Martin will share is meant to convince his host to help him write a book. His work is about a 1928 silent movie crew that arrives at a proposed movie location in a secluded part of southern Texas. He goes on to tell that shortly after their arrival, they find that the year is longer 1928, but 1836 instead. They had been drawn to the actual place and time where the battle was to take place. The mission fort had waited patiently for their arrival, appearing in the same condition that it had been in was some ninety years before. It waited for someone to record and declare the valor of all the brave men that were about to die. For some reason along the annals of time, the life to death struggle of the men of the Alamo had not been properly recorded. At least, that is what Martin said. He said that as of 1928, the siege of the Alamo was a little known sentence in the history books. As strange as it might sound, what Martin was saying was true. Just because we know so much about the Alamo today doesn't necessarily mean that it was always so. Knowledge as we know it can be altered within the moment that it takes to bat an eye, without us even being aware of the change. In truth, entire volumes of books can be written or rewritten within the appearance and the disappearance of a mere glitter of light. With the heroics of the men of the Alamo now safely recorded for all to cherish, the task had been completed. However, that knowledge had not been brought about by the efforts of the movie crew. But, if they were not responsible for proclaiming the valor, who was? Before he would dare to commit his name to Martin's work, Langley sets off in search of answers to certain very troubling questions. In the southern part of Texas, he learns that the task had been completed through the actions of one man, That man was Ben Talbot. Talbot is rumored to have been the last courier to leave the Alamo before it fell. He was then captured with Fannin's command. But, through divine intervention he escaped the murders at Goliad. Eventually he joins Sam Houston's army and fights to help Texas win her Independence at San Jacinto. After Texas became a Republic, it was Talbot that proclaimed the acts of the many men and women that helped to make Texas free. He believed that it was his destiny and duty to write about the brave souls that gave their all. Through all his writings he never once bothered to mention his own contributions. But, who was Ben Talbot?

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About the Author Stanley Gene Phillips, Jr. was born in Glen Cove, Long Island, New York on November 9th, 1953. While growing up he attended some thirty schools within the United States and Canada. "Growing up, as well as attending school for me was not a very pleasant experience. No sooner had I begun to become a part of some surroundings, we were off to some other locale. Yet, I do count myself blessed for all that moving about as I learned to quickly adapt to new surroundings and circumstances. However, my adapting did not come with the price of my beliefs or ideals." Stan is forever mindful of the sacrifices that others have made for his freedom. His stories have as much to do with history as they do with the safeguarding of the memories and deeds of the heroes who made that history. Sadly, he believes that all too many of today's writers are altering history. "In today's society it's easy to change or remove a line of fact to make a tale fit some new philosophy. This new phenomenon is a sad, if not damning commentary of our time. Instead, in looking back at some event in history I would ask that we take off those twenty-first century glasses to truly experience what took place." In writing Reign of Valor he hopes that the reader will be inspired by the inner-strength of the men and women that struck out to start a new nation.

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Sample Excerpt

Chapter 1: Another Time

His name was Martin. He looked to be at least eighty years old.

Upon seeing him just sitting across from me in my office, I had to do a double take. Then as the realization finally sat in that I wasn't alone, my anger flashed. "How did you get in? What are you doing here?" I asked demandingly, in a manner not conducive or caring for a reply.

He answered simply to see me.

I shot back, "Why?"

His reply nearly knocked me off my chair. The words he chose for a reply were odd and delivered quite confidently, if not downright bold. He sat there and calmly said that I was the man that could help him, or otherwise he wouldn't be in my office.

My name is Ralph Langley. I'm a New York City literary agent.

Supposedly, on that morning of February 6th, 1978, I might have been easily counted amongst the many sane minds of this world. Yet, with the coming of that afternoon my conception of what was reality and what was fantasy would be changed forever.

With the coming of that afternoon the strange realm from my youth was gradually being reintroduced to me. After so many years I had finally come full circle to realize that my daydreams of youth were more than just play.

For all concerned it might have been better if I had never come into work that day. Instead, I should have immediately set off on a much-needed vacation and then my meeting with Martin may have never taken place.

The original plan was for all play and no work for two solid weeks. I would accept no phone calls, or telegrams. To insure my freedom, Ruth, my secretary was sworn to secrecy not to divulge my whereabouts.

That morning, there were only a few odds and ends to be taken care of at the office and my business slate would have been clear for two solid weeks. With a little luck and no interruptions I might have started my vacation shortly past two.

Frankly stated, luck had nothing to do with my vacation, with me, or for that matter the stranger's sudden appearance. Evidently, my guest was somehow special and he had been directed to enlist me in his quest. There was no recourse open to me. You could have called me a prisoner in my own office.

Gazing upon the old man, I could not quiet the feeling of urgency that continued to build within me. For some purpose, fate had played its hand in leading him to my office. As I knew that our paths had never crossed before, I felt certain that my life would never be the same again.

I could have easily had him tossed from my office. But, I felt a strange tugging at my very soul to listen to whatever reason brought him to me.

I began to wonder if I truly had a choice of whether or not to come in to work that morning. Truthfully, I shouldn't have even bothered to come in. The little that had to be done could have easily been taken care of by Ruth my normally vigilant secretary.

When I say normally vigilant secretary, I mean that besides that morning Ruth never let me down.

The order for that day was to tell everyone that asked for me that I was off on my vacation. Absolutely no one was to know that I was in the office.

I should have been alone and I believed that I was. I only got up from my chair to turn away for a brief moment. When I turned back there he was seated across from me. Where he came from, or how he happened to gain entrance to my office is anyone's guess.

Ruth was at a loss for words to explain our visitor's sudden appearance. She kept insisting that no one had entered the outer office. She even swore that she hadn't gotten up from her desk.

Yet, there he was. He was a sorrowful, if not an eerie sight to behold. The hairs of his whiskers and the hairs on his head were pure white. Each strand was short, thick and bristled nearly sticking straight out from the curvature of the skin to sparsely cover the scalp and face. The clothes that he wore were old, tattered and dirty. But, it was his eyes that spoke of his true predicament. Within those eyes there was a strange mix of emotions present that swirled madly in all directions, from anguish to a kind of amazement, if not enjoyment and awe.

For some unearthly reason I had consented to listen and become involved with this man's tale. My willingness was spurred on by what was written in his eyes; as well as for the lengths that fate itself had gone to set up our meeting.

For it was certain that no one dressed as Martin was should have been allowed past the revolving doors without shortly thereafter being escorted back out by the security guards stationed downstairs in the lobby. Even if by chance he had somehow slipped past the guards, there should have been no way possible for him to get past Marge the lobby receptionist without an appointment.

Then, of course, there was Ruth my secretary. She emphatically swore that no one got past her.

Yet, there was Martin seated across from me in a cushy black leather armchair. The reason why I did not have him immediately removed from my office as well as from the building was inconceivable for any other time except for that morning.

My story, although special to me, has no real place in these writings. Besides the research for the purpose of verifying certain accounts and relaying the findings, my part in this story is minimal. It is the old man and his tale that is the real story.

Listening to him, at first, I wondered if the entire matter wasn't just an old man's babbling. But, as he continued speaking, I could not escape the strange mixture of awesome anguish and wonderment etched within his eyes. To hear him tell of his youth, spending endless hours on some western ruins caused my imagination to soar. I might have gone on listening for hours; but suddenly I began to believe that the man's mind had slipped. In fact, what he began to share soon caused me to turn away in utter disbelief.

All right...Anyone can understand how a young boy can dream of a battle that took place long before he was born. Every human being that has ever lived had to have experienced some sort of fantasy one time in his or her life.

Listening to him tell his tale, his words even enabled me to reach back and recall my very own boyhood play dreams. I began to feel the actual excitement of playing make-believe on the very spot where heroes fought and died. I was a boy again playing on the very spot that he spoke about.

Then for him, a man that was actually in his late fifties, to tell me that he had been a part of a battle that took place before he was even born shook me back to reality. As if some spell had been broken, or a veil had been lifted from off my eyes, I became little more than a spoiled brat and ordered him from my office.

Immediately, I began to shrug off the tales as little more than nonsense from an illiterate and crazed grubby old man.

Once more, alone in my office, I attempted to turn my attention back to a more serious endeavor. There were still a few small bits of work that had to be attended to and I had wasted far too much time on Martin.

My scheduled flight out of La Guardia was set for four o'clock. It was already nearly noon. I knew that I had to hurry if I wanted to make my flight.

Regardless of the fact that I was anxious to start my vacation, a beckoning spirit that would not leave me alone to concentrate on my work was nevertheless nudging me.

Even though Martin was no longer in my office, the thought of his still face and tormented eyes haunted me. The more that I thought of him the more I wondered why I hadn't noticed his emotionless expression while he had been in my office. Then recalling the awesome confusion that I had witnessed swirling madly in what were otherwise lifeless eyes I began to believe that his hard facial features had been hidden from me by the overpowering effects of his eyes.

As for his eyes, I could see them in my mind as well. They were just staring, not flinching the least tiny bit. Recalling that they were actually colorless and heavily clouded did not help to calm my frayed nerves.

The old man was lost in a stupor, trapped in some sort of a daydream. His face was stone cold and as hard as any sculptor's work. It seemed only to exist as a host for the eyes, which then they might serve as a doorway to another world.

The thought of his lifeless eyes, turning dark and piercing, stuck fast within my mind. To picture him, suddenly turning to look at me as if I had just entered the room caused shivers to rise and race throughout my entire body and soul.

No work could be done. As if compelled to give in, I stepped into the outer office. Just as my mind's eye had envisioned him doing, he turned my way. An icy-gleam showed within his eyes as if he was readying the words to say.

Time holds many secrets, but those existing can unlock the answers to time if they are willing to surrender the current acceptable reality.

It would appear that Martin had made a conscious choice and he suffered greatly for that decision. Of course there is always a price for being different. Normally the tradeoff becomes more rewarding by the level of belief that is displayed. In Martin's case the cost was too great.

When Martin resumed sharing his tale, he led me on a strange path. As I continued to stare at him, utterly captivated, I was being moved by the tears he shed as he recalled friends and moments gone by. He was also succeeding in convincing me that his story was somehow true.

In his own words, he explained, "Every moment, no matter how great or mundane remains forever at the exact point where it takes place." Like pages in a book, he explained, "Moments in time are collected one on another. When finished, they are simply turned back and laid upon the last." Furthermore, he went on to ask, "When a moment passes, have you ever wondered where the moment goes? Is it lost forever...or, does it still exist as a record, proof of our existence and deeds?"

Martin's withered face and discolored hair weren't caused by age alone. His shaking fear ridden hands were not those of a weak man. What he knew and what he was about to share had taken a great toll on his life.

Few will ever understand how and why Martin was ever allowed in the building. Yet, to me, what was even more incredible was the fact that he found his way into my office. For the sake of my sanity and everyone else's that reads this account, the question has to be asked whether or not it would have been better if he had been barred from ever entering the building.

Ever since that day every bit of information that he shared with me has been proven to be true; at least to me. However, allow me to change my original view of who actually is the owner of this tale.

Although it is true that Martin brought the truth to light, the tale is not his alone. This story is a vital part of us all. This story is an explanation for the strange feelings of long departed loved ones being felt at our side. This story is also a legacy of all the lives that ever were; many of them heroes that have been and are still a part of this world.

Martin's story began on that very date in 1928. Or, should I say that the saga was about to be presented nearly one hundred years after the event actually took place.

In the southern part of Texas just outside the then small town of San Antonio, the once planned movie location waited for the arrival of Hollywood's last remaining silent movie crew.

Only moments before the fort appeared partly lost amongst the dust and rubble. Now, appearing in the same condition that it had been in some ninety years before, it silently waited.

The film location that was intended for the crew's use had become a link to the past. For fate's purpose the set was to act as a doorway for the movie crew to be unwittingly drawn to the actual place and time where history was about to occur.

A few hundred yards away, Martin and his mother were also about to become acquainted with the very same phenomenon that was to shake the movie crew's world. The date was February 6th, 1928.

February 6th, 1928

With the coming of the new dawn, Esther could hardly have been ready to deal with the events of the new day. The playground that had served as a playmate for her son now intended to include her in its madness.

The day began as any other day. Esther was already up long before sunrise. She figured that the daily chores, as usual, would take most of the day to complete.

Life on a small dirt farm was never easy. For Esther, life without a man around to share the day-to-day living as well as the chores had become unbearable. Yet, each day she gladly gave all her strength just to hold onto the farm for her son.

In fact, Martin was Esther's sole reason for existing. Through the love that she held for her son, strength was granted to carry her through each day. At the end of each day what remained of that strength belonged to him.

With Martin having never gone to school, Esther first made certain that he had some learning. Her personal tool by choice was the Holy Bible. With the use of the stories from the Bible she taught him how to read and gave him reasons to respect that which is good. She believed that anyone could live to the fullest just by following what is written in the good book. By her teaching these important lessons Esther felt certain that no matter where he would eventually end up he would always have a guide to follow.

Even though Esther knew that learning was important, she understood that there was still one more vital element necessary in raising a healthy and mentally sound child. She realized that she also had to provide loving childhood memories for Martin that would hopefully last him a lifetime.

She knew and understood how and why times of laughter and play together with her son were keys to a more rounded existence. Often she would read to him a tale or two from the 'Arabian Nights', which was Martin's favorite book. On rare occasions, they might even travel some thirty miles to the nearest town to take in a silent movie.

That night would be no exception. Not even their meager earnings or the long hard hours of chores she would have to endure that day could ever dampen her spirits. That day just happened to be Martin's birthday.

With anticipation of the coming evening, Esther flowed through her chores as if she was moving on some heavenly cloud. Even the cruel, harsh-chilled wind that rose from time to time couldn't bother her that day. Her entire being was captivated by the thoughts of the coming evening's celebration.

But, as it often is with human nature, while hanging clothes on the line to dry, Esther began to doubt the merits of the gift she had gotten him. Her expression suddenly turned sad as she wondered if a trip to town might not be more to Martin's liking.

Her thoughts shifted drastically as she wondered what Martin's father would have chosen for his son's gift. Even though she tried to give Martin everything that she could, Esther also realized that a growing boy needed a male influence. What's more, she truly believed that a father for her son might also bring an end to his dreaming.

"Oh, another man," she whispered, idealizing. "What I wouldn't give for another man."

Luther, Esther's husband, wasn't much to look at and he surely wasn't anyone's prize. Twenty years her senior, he always drank to excess and somehow found ways to squander what little money she managed to save.

Then, one day he was gone. He had vanished without a trace and without as much as a goodbye or an explanation for his leaving.

Some say that he had been seen in Dallas, but Esther knew differently. She recalled the dreams that he never dared when sober to share, tales of lost cities of gold that no one except him could find.

If only she could have her Luther back, she'd count herself blessed. Gold or no gold, she would be thankful just to have him back.

Sadly, she recalled that he was not a bad man. He simply couldn't handle not being able to give her what he felt she deserved. Then when Martin was known to be on the way, Luther's emotions became uncontrollable. With each passing day he slipped further away from Esther until he was gone.

With it closing in on ten years, she was finally beginning to give up hope of him ever returning from some city of gold. What was far more damaging to Esther than her giving up on her husband was the fact that she was also giving up on herself. As little as some dreams might still exist, they do so that life will have hope.

The truth was, Esther wasn't particularly pretty. Even in her teens she was never the type to catch a young man's fancy. Yet, it's said there's someone for everyone in this world. Quite frankly, Esther felt that her someone was gone forever.

Even though, Esther was only in her early thirties she had resigned herself to merely keeping the farm and raising Martin. She held little hope and seldom if ever dreamed of the day when she would meet another man and fall in love.

The facts were quite evident to Esther. She was awkward in both her actions and her manners toward everyone except Martin. Even when younger, whether it was through shyness or the lack of social graces, she allowed few the opportunity to get close to her.

That morning, Esther had become so enthralled in her daydreaming that she was unaware she had entered a dream state.

The sky above was suddenly clear. Where large puffy clouds once rolled quickly across the tall Texas sky, only the clear blue could be seen.

The breeze suddenly stopped. In the brief moment that followed the sun's rays warmed the calm air more than Esther could have normally thought possible in such a short span of time.

Snapping out of the daydream she had only coarse words to offer herself. "What's wrong with you girl...Wake up. Stop daydreaming!" Still, she thought how wonderful it would be to turn and see her husband standing behind her.

Esther too could dream, if she allowed herself the chance. What better time could there ever be to allow the mind to wander than when alone and doing some mundane chore?

Before she knew it, she could almost sense some presence standing right behind her. Esther's eyes slowly closed as she could sense him reaching out to embrace her. She smiled broadly as if she could actually feel the touch of ten long and slender fingers being tenderly pressed about her hips. Aided by what she considered as only the sun's rays, the touch suddenly became all too real.

Thankfully, reason suddenly took hold awakening her from the trance-like spell that she had fallen under. As fright swelled within her, a warm sickening tingling wave began to race through her body. What she first believed to be only her mind and the sun playing silly games was in reality someone or something standing right behind her. Unwilling or unable to turn to view the visitor, Esther slowly began to draw away from the touch. Trembling, crying in fear, her voice quivered as she called out, "Martin..."

Martin, cleaning a stall within the barn suspected nothing when he first heard his mother call out his name. It was not until he ran out into the yard that he came to grips with her plight. Instantly, he stopped dead his tracks. His eyes stretched open wide as he stared at the figure behind his mother.

Seeing Martin come out of the barn, Esther's main concern became the welfare of her son. "Martin," she said, nervously, demanding his full attention with a low but firm tone. "Go to the house..."

Martin at first ignored his mother's wishes. Sensing no danger, the young child was instead intrigued by what he saw. When his gaze finally fell upon his mother the young boy didn't know what to think.

The fear that racked his mother's face quickly began to chase the thrill out of the little boy. What remained was only an emptiness that soon caused him to make a hasty retreat toward the house.

With her son nearing safety Esther began running as well. Halfway to the house the two met. Grasping hands, together, they hurriedly climbed onto the rickety old porch. They would waste little precious time in bothering to close the screen door behind them. The main door was their biggest concern and it was slammed shut and bolted securely shortly after they crossed the threshold.

For a time, sounds echoed into the yard as hysteria rose from within the small house. Windows were shut with a bang and locked with a crack; and shades were abruptly drawn down tightly with a loud rip and another crack.

"Martin, go to your room and hide," ordered Esther. "And, don't come out until I tell you to!"

"But, mom," Martin cried, pleading.

"Don't argue with me," screeched Esther. "Just do it!"

Martin, angry, scampered into the bedroom and quickly slammed the door shut behind him.

"And, don't let me catch you down at that place again," she warned, as the tears began to fall once more. "Do you hear me?" Not knowing what she should do and fearing the worst her tears fell uncontrollably.

The next few seconds passed slowly and nothing happened. Esther didn't know what to think. She was certain that someone or something had touched her. Where was he now? Outside, there was only silence. She had to find out what if anyone or anything remained outside the house. Moving carefully and as quietly as possible, Esther crept over to the side of a front window. Her muscles tightened, making her body shake as she slowly reached out her right hand to gently draw back one corner of the shade.

Peering out through the small crack Esther was able to see one lone rider mounted on a horse. If she was not imagining, she believed that the man on horseback was staring back at her through the very same opening.

Gently laying back the corner of the shade, Esther slowly removed her trembling hand. Turning, once again unable to control her tears, she leaned back against the wall and gradually slipped down to the floor.

Outside, for the moment, both rider and steed remained utterly motionless. Together, they made an ominous sight to behold.

The rider with his still countenance, void of all emotion, stared blankly toward the house. His eyes, gray, clouded, were as if actually viewing this scene from somewhere beyond this world.

The horse, a palomino, was calm and content. As if knowingly poised for some appointed time he waited to be spurred along time's natural course, which he and his master were destined to follow.

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Catalogue Information

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