Cooper Anderson

1940’s Era Indie Blog

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Praying To A Ghost |1943 | Parker&Cooper

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parker-stephens40‌:

Parker didn’t smile. He didn’t even fake a smile. Something was wrong and it seemed only fitting that bad things would happen after 1am. His eyes danced around Cooper looking for any sign of possible injury, yet he seemed healthy. It wasn’t a late-night fight.

Hearing the ‘no’ hit him hard in his chest. He felt empty, like he had just thrown up after a big meal. Or was passing a virus. His body went cold and the hairs on his arms stood to attention. He took a step back and felt the side of the unit press into the soft fold of his back. He winced slightly but he couldn’t tell if it was from the pain of the unit, or the news.

Cooper had to go. He had to leave him. Parker looked away, anywhere except Cooper’s dumb face. His mind seemed to fill with images of guns, helmets, shouts, screams and he was back in the nightmare he had just woken from. Only, this was real. Cooper was going to war to fight for the world and Parker was losing his only world.

Parker opened his eyes for a moment and felt the warm tears on his eyes once more. Christ, he was such a pansy. He brushed his eyes with the back of his hand and gave a hollow laugh. “Damn allergies…” He lied.

The words didn’t come, they didn’t form, and they certainly didn’t shape themselves in any form to provide comfort or warmth on this cold August night. Parker just stood there, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He finally hung his head in defeat and looked around the room. “Don’t go…” He croaked, an invisible hand around his throat. “We can do something, stop this… You don’t have to go you can…” He stopped as he burst into tears and buried his face in his arms.

Parker sobbed into his arms, his face feeling hot, flustered and damp with tears. His voice hitched and whined with each sob. He finally lifted his head, his voice merely a quiet whimper, his eyes red and puffy with torment. “Don’t go…” He mustered.

Cooper felt himself shatter when he heard his friend sob. He hadn’t expected Parker to shed tears for him. Everyone treated recruitment like a noble thing, shouldn’t his friend be proud of him? Sending him off with a cheer and smile?

“I don’t have a choice,” he said quietly, barely above his breath. It was that true opinion cracking under the persona of pride he was trying to hold.

Standing up, Cooper went over to his friend and embraced him tightly. He didn’t have words, as much as he opened his mouth to speak, all words failed him. Instead the slightly older boy held onto him tightly. Parker had become his world, he was family, he was his life and it felt wrong to leave him, but he had to.

“It’ll be what, a few months then I’ll be back?” he smiled at him, holding his friend tightly to his chest. “I’ll turn up and Hitler will take one look at me before he starts running in the opposite direction,” he said lightly, trying to ease the situation.

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Through The Mist | Dec 1943 | Jacob&Cooper

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jacobtibbet‌:

Jacob remembered clearly the day he had signed up. Just as he remembered the day he had received the letter. He had been so proud, ready to fight. It didn’t take long for him to release that war was more than pride and honor, it was more than fighting for what’s right. He’d seen so much death and blood, he’d often wonder if he’d ever feel clean again and not only because of all the mud he found himself covered in more often than not. It wasn’t the first time he lost men. It wouldn’t be the last. But today had hit him harder. Most of them had been so young. As young as he was when he’d first joined. It felt like a lifetime ago. He wasn’t sure how long he had spent staring at the mud after the last of his men was found among the dead. He’d nodded at the soldier who informed him and stood staring at the mud as if the answers he needed were hiding somewhere in there. How much more death could he carry on his shoulders before he couldn’t get up anymore? He hadn’t noticed the man approaching him. It would be a surprise to anyone who knew him. He rarely ever let himself get so distracted. He saw the offered hand and reached to shake it before he finally looked at the man and gave a nod “Sergeant Tibbet. The Bloody 1st. Nice to meet you too Sergeant.” he stated before looking around “Have you been informed? My men are gone.” he stated as he crossed his arms behind his back. He gave a nod about the rest before looking away again “We will need all the rest we can get.”

“I wish it were under better circumstances,” he nodded softly.

Looking back up at him after taking a careful glance over his men, the young man nodded once more in response. “I am, it is why we’re here,” he informed before lowering his head slightly. “Though I am sorry to hear that.”

Brown eyes scanned his men as they settled in the trench, his eyes drifting to the passage that led to the very front trench. It did frighten him. The idea that death laid beyond those walls. He was only twenty-four, he was still a clueless teenager in some respects, doing is best in a bad situation.

“Sleep seems the best answer,” he agreed before sitting back against the wall where it seemed to be the driest. He didn’t expect to sleep, he hadn’t slept much since he’d left the security of America. This world frightened him. It sent him into a frenzy of a racing earth and raspy breath. Something he didn’t understand.

“We move out at 2300 hours, they said it would be better in the night,” he murmured softly before staring up at the deep, black sky. 

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Through The Mist | Dec 1943 | Jacob&Cooper

War was painted like a righteous thing to sign up for and though he had the jitters when first scribbling his name on that paper, the look of pride on his father’s face was something Cooper had never seen before. It seemed humorous to him that the only time his father had ever shown any pride was when Cooper was signing his life away and walk into hell itself.

France wasn’t what the movies pictured it to be. It wasn’t the quaint little beach towns and things you’d expect on postcards. It was mud and sandbags, bodies and blood. Cooper hadn’t quite believed his eyes when he was sent out to the front line. After miles of walking through bombed-out villages and watching the grass turn to mud, he couldn’t help but feel the next sight wouldn’t be much worse. That was until he saw the bodies coming back on stretchers, the dead that outweighed the injured. The only sound he seemed to hear over the noises of war was the squelch from his boots in the mud. The closer he made his way into the miles and miles of trenches, he stopped looking down, ignoring what he was standing on for fear it was anything but the crunch of rocks and mud.

Finding a man who seemed a lot dirtier than him, as if he’d been in the trenches longer. He braced himself for a strong introduction. He was the Sergeant of these men and he had to be brave, no matter how he felt on the inside.

“Sergeant Anderson, the 108th. Sergeant Tibbet, nice to meet you, I only wish it was under better circumstances,” he offered him his hand to shake before he fixed the strap to his backpack. “We’re heading over once the Spitfires have made their rounds. We need to get to the compound and make a push.”

He’d served plenty already on the coast of France though this was his first time getting to the front line. Now they were needed at the front line, not enough soldiers and a need to make a move on the enemy. Cooper knew he didn’t have much choice, he had to follow orders or be shot for cowardice or treason.

“We make the push tonight, four hours, under the cover of darkness, so settle down, get some food, steady your nerves. We need level heads tonight.” 

@jacobtibbet

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Praying To A Ghost |1943 | Parker&Cooper

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parker-stephens40‌:

Parker turned towards the clock on the wall and then back to Cooper. “Well, you see that there big hand? It’s pointing at the number twelve and that little hand is pointing at the four. Which makes it four o’clock in the morning. So, good morning sunshine.” He sipped his tea, letting the warm liquid comfort him. At least he was safe.

He couldn’t help himself as his eyes drifted down to his belt buckle and then forced himself to look elsewhere. It was automatic. Like turning when you hear a loud bang or when you hear your name called in the street.

Parker drank more of his tea, why would he need a night out? Granted, things hadn’t been looking good but why now? Maybe everything was getting to Cooper, maybe he just needed to feel normal again, even at the cost of liquor. It was times like that he would take a long walk and try to find something new.

God was a funny concept. Sure, he had grown up Protestant, but that didn’t mean he believed in what he was taught. Parker believed in an after-life and he believed in something bigger than himself. Whether that was an old guy with a beard, a genie in a bottle or something else, there was something in the universe pulling strings so that everything would happen for a reason. Which begged the question, what had the universe done this time?

He stood to one side and watched Cooper walk into the kitchen. Something was wrong. He hummed worryingly as he followed him into their small kitchen. His eyes sticking to Cooper like glue. “Cooper… Just say it.” He finally mustered as he watched Cooper pour himself a drink. Parker closed his eyes preparing for the worst. Please… Please just say he had gotten into some stupid fight, or that he had pissed on a building and got caught…

Parker watched him remove the paper, his eyes glued to it, fixated. He bit the bottom of his lip and watched as he placed it on the table. He took a step towards it and then stopped, seeing the fine typed letters through the paper by the dim light of the building. His eyes glanced over to Cooper and he took a step back.

“…Your mom?” He finally said after a minute of silence, the last drop of hope seeping its way out of his mouth. This wasn’t real. He was still dreaming. His eyes stung from the tears he was repressing.

He smirked softly at the other man’s humour. “Glad to see you can tell the time Parks, I’m very proud of you,” he teased lightly in response. Though the smile quickly faltered as he couldn’t have it last, there was too much hanging over him.

Hearing his friend snap slightly, Cooper felt his chest tighten and his pulse quicken. Keep it together, Coop. He could never explain why his body would send itself into a panic, like a trip wire had gone off and he lost control of his functions. Registering that he was holding his breath, he tightened his grip on the mug of tea before slowly breathing in. You got this, just be clear and concise.

The older boy watched his friend glance at the letter but not read it, though he figured anyone would recognise the ink of a type writer, the emblem of the US Army at the top and the signature at the bottom. He imagined thousands of these letters had been sent out, the only difference being his name at the top.

“No. Though I have spoken to her today, after work. I handed my notice in,” he said clearly as he sighed softly and drew in a shaky breath. “Basic training starts next week and then I go over to France by the end of the month. They’re desperate for men, they called my name and I have to go.”

Sipping his tea, he kept his eyes fixed to the table before daring to glance at his best friend. “I wanted to let you know,” he murmured softly.

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Praying To A Ghost |1943 | Parker&Cooper

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parker-stephens40‌:

Two days ago, Parker turned 23 years old. It wasn’t the best birthday he had ever had, for one thing he’d dropped his corn dog off the pier and another, some asshole called him out on his way back from his evening walk. Calling him a ‘Nancy-boy.’ Usually, he didn’t let words bother him, there was a war going and there were far worse things happening. Yet, these words stung. He wasn’t a-one of those, but he knew he didn’t feel the same about women as he felt about men. There was nobody else that knew that thought of his, the one that lingered in the back of his mind on every date he went on. The thought that crept up on him as he slept.

He woke up in a cold sweat, his forehead glistening and his body warm. The pillow was damp and resonating heat. His chest rose and fell with every deep breath he took. He checked the time and sighed falling back into his bed.

Parker swung his feet over the edge of the bed and slipped into his comfy slippers. He made his way into the kitchen and put the copper kettle over the stove. His eyes glanced outside at the dark streets of New York and inhaled sharply. It was late and he could tell by the lack of sound coming from Cooper’s room, he was out there somewhere.

Cooper, where were you? Parker hated it when he would go out late at night. The streets aren’t safe. What if, God forbid, there was an attack? Sure, it wasn’t the most likely, but what if a bomb dropped right on his stupid head? What if he was jumped in an alleyway? What would he do without him?

The kettle whistled calling his attention back to the stove which he switched off and poured himself a hot cup of tea. Parker sat at the table, cupping the warm mug in his hand, the heat was welcoming, and his heart rate was settling. He closed his eyes and cast his mind back to the dream.

Parker and Cooper in a small bunker, somewhere off in the countryside. Bombs raining down all over them. The distant bangs and the screams of pain. His eyes closed tighter. He remembered opening the shelter door and looking out into hell itself. Dirt spraying everywhere. The screams getting louder, the fire. He turned around and looked at Cooper, who wasn’t Cooper anymore. Instead, he was a skeleton. An outstretched hand made of bones and burnt flesh reaching towards him.

He slammed his fist on the table and ran his hands through his hair. How much longer was this going to go on? Tears fell from his eyes as he slowly as he sobbed silently. Parker wiped his damp eyes and looked up as he heard a window slide open. He pulled the draw strings around his dressing gown.

Parker stood in the doorway; his hands folded across his chest as he watched Cooper climb in like some common criminal. His fingers felt tight around his arms. He had been drinking. He sniffed and brushed his nose with the back of his hand.

“Morning Swigger. Been on the drink?” He asked, knowing full well the answer. He knew that smell too well. Parker moved over to his jacket, picking it up and placing it somewhere to dry. He came back in and made his way over to his shoes, straightening them up. Parker hated mess. Even if it wasn’t his.

When his shirt came off, Parker shook his head, a small smile on his lips. Cooper really just didn’t care sometimes. But then, why should he? The two had been friends since they were knee high. He picked up his cup and warmed his house. “There’s a hot pot in the kitchen if you want something warm inside of you. You look cold, Cooper.” He said, leaning against the wall.

Brown eyes shot up and fixed on the other man, he watched him for a moment before a small smirk crept on his face. “Morning? It’s not that late is it?” he asked as he looked back to the window at the city which still laid in darkness. 

“A little,” he mused. Hell he’d tried to drink himself to death though he was that buzzed on paranoia and anxiety, it felt like he’d been sipping cola all night. 

Pulling at the drawers, he took out a plain white t-shirt and slipped it over his head. “I’m just-” he started while unfastening his belt. He couldn’t think of an excuse, couldn’t think of why he’d spent his whole paycheck on nothing but liquor and the company of his thoughts. “...I wanted a night out,” he finished.

He watched as Parker tidied up after him. He had told him countless of times he didn’t have to. Cooper would’ve done it in the morning. He was tidy, he kept things clean but right now he wanted his bed and sleep, things could wait. Though he kept his thoughts to himself and let him go about his business.

“Yeah, it started raining, the heavens opened when I was walking back. It’s almost like God’s crying. That’s if there is a God..” he muttered the last part. 

Taking his trousers off, he put them on the side and found a pair of pyjama bottoms under his pillow. “Thanks, I’ll get that then head to bed,” he murmured before walking through to the kitchen. Cooper quiet walked to the stove, made himself a cup of tea and then sat down at the rickety wooden table they shared.

He carefully sipped the hot liquid, not flinching at how it burnt his tongue, his mind was elsewhere. Without a word he took a piece of folded paper he’d had slotted in the wood of the chair. “I got a letter...” he placed it on the table in front of him and let Parker take it at his wish. Cooper often got letters from his mother though this wasn’t one of those and the cold, emotionless look on his face was not the usual bright eyed, smiley one that came with news from his mother.

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Praying To A Ghost |1943 | Parker&Cooper

August was supposed to be a fun month. It felt like the heart of summer, Central Park was the place to be, ice cream was a treat and baseball season was in full swing. Though this August would be unlike any other he’d experienced.

4 am, pouring rain and all he could think about was the letter he received two days ago. He’d told his mother that afternoon then gone out and spent his week’s wages in the local bar. Whiskey shot after whiskey shot until he’d bled his wallet dry. He hadn’t wanted to go home. He hadn’t wanted to go back and tell Parker about being called up to fight. He didn’t want to dwell on the lingering thoughts in the back of his mind, that he didn’t want to go, that he might not come back. He was supposed to focus on the good right? Was he a coward?

Everyone went with smiling faces. They were all excited and proud to be chosen, so why didn’t he feel that way? He was being an idiot surely? One thing Cooper knew was that he couldn’t let anyone think he was a coward. He’d fake it till he made it. Focus on the energy of everyone around him. Basic training started next week and that was it, he’d be shipped over to France to fight the good fight, with a weapon he’d only shot with his Grandfather. 

“I’m in over my head,” he muttered to himself, hands in his pockets as he slowly took the walk home. The city was in a dim out. The lights stayed off or low to confuse overhead planes. Thankfully they didn’t live too close to the docks or harbour; there’d been a bombing there not too long ago. 

Walking up the fire escape, he went to hid bedroom window and slid it up quietly. He hadn’t wanted to go in through the front door, risk bumping into his flat mate and best friend. He wanted to skulk in through the window, collapse on his bed and wallow in self-pity. Just one more night, one more night before he threw on the act for everyone else. It wasn’t uncommon for Cooper to come in late so maybe Parker would’ve made the usual suspect that he was out “schmoozing some poor girl with his handsome face” as his friend had often called it.

Climbing through the window, the brown liquor hadn’t quite killed the hyper-awareness he was teeming with so he didn’t feel drunk. Sliding the window shut, he jumped when he recognised a silhouette in the doorway.

“Jerk. Nearly gave me a heart attack lurking in the dark,” he muttered at his friend before throwing his soaked jacket onto the back of the desk chair. Ruffling his hand through the black locks that were plastered to his head, he shuddered slightly as a chill ran through his spine.Peeling his shirt off, he threw it at the laundry basket before kicking his shoes into the far corner of the room.  

“Didn’t mean to wake you, m’sorry.” 

@parker-stephens40

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If there’s a God, why’d he make me? All of these flaws, is all that I see.

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Cooper James Anderson

Born: 18th January 1919. Age: 24 years old. Hometown: Boston, Massachusetts.  Current Residence: New York City. Occupation: Junior Mechanic.

Personality Traits Hyperactive - Anxious - Cheeky - Daring - Obnoxious - Humorous - Caring - Loving - Talented - Sensitive - Hotheaded - Courageous - Strong Willed 

                                             Likes and Interests Music - Cycling - Mechanics - Baseball - Coney Island - Outdoors - Movies                                            Dislikes and Phobias Claustrophobia - Spiders - Loud Arguing - Feeling of loss - Helplessness 

Born in a small town just out of Boston, Cooper James Anderson was lucky enough to have been raised in a middle class family. Pamela (a novelist) and Richard (a lawyer) were a young couple to settle down after the impact of the first world war. His father had been one of the lucky ones to return after a short few months in France before the First World War ended. Within a year of the war coming to an end, the couple welcomed their only son in the cold of January.

The two had struggled to conceive a child before the war so a cheeky smile and a bouncy attitude was well-loved and his mother quickly doted to everything the boy could ask for. Cooper grew up with his mother at home to raise him while his father worked. Days consisted of reading, writing and music. With piano lessons from the age of three and a record player quietly sounding in the back, Cooper quickly fell in love with all things musical. Throughout his life, no matter what, playing the piano and singing are something Cooper has kept with him.

Unfortunately for Cooper, though he had an close and loving relationship with his mother, his father and he had never clicked. His mother often said he’d never come back from the war properly, that he was cold and distant. The only contact Cooper ever seemed to get from his father was the slap of a hand on the back of his head when he’d done something wrong. His father wasn’t often there to celebrate his achievements but he was always there to reprimand him.

School was difficult, Cooper attended public school and his personality and attitude didn’t often reflect his social status. A lack of attention to class due to his hyperactive nature would lead to bullying and conflicts with his teachers. As much as he tried, Cooper did his best to focus in school and came out with relatively high grades though no aspirations for a future. The only thing Cooper had taken any interest in besides music had been the times he’d help his father fix up the car on weekends. He’d become quite good with his hands, often maintaining his grandfather’s old motorbike as well as his bicycle. 

Not wanting to pursue further education (much to his father’s disappointment), Cooper moved to New York at the age of eighteen with childhood friend Parker Stephens. Cooper managed to get a job as a intern at a mechanic shop in Brooklyn and after a year was made a Junior Mechanic. Though it is far from living in the comfort of home, the small two bed apartment in lower Manhattan is enough for the Anderson boy. Independence and friendship is what remains important in his life as the country recovered from the Great War.

At the age of twenty, it was announced that another war had broken out with Germany. Britain was taking a stand against them and he couldn’t help worry about what was happening overseas. In 1940 men were encouraged to register for the draft and with his father by his side, he walked into the town hall in his hometown, Boston, and signed his life away on that piece of paper. 

It hung over his head for a few months but thankfully with no news of being called up, he carried on with his regular 9-5 job, living for the weekends.

In 1943 America officially joined the war and it wasn’t long until a fit, young man like Cooper was being drafted into the war efforts. Truth be told, he’d been afraid of going overseas. He saw the way his father acted, the person his mother claimed he had changed into due to the war. He didn’t want to be his father.

Receiving the letter, he kept it to himself for a day or two before making the phone call to his mother. She’d been less than pleased about the news though his father was proud that his son would be contributing. The propaganda had gotten inside Cooper’s head too and though he had those small worries about coming home a changed man, the war efforts required him more. He wanted to go overseas and do his part. He just hoped that he would return home.

During The War Drafted / Soldier / Sergeant / Speciality: Sniper 108th Infantry Regiment of the New York Army National Guard  Shipped to France on the 12th August 1943

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