Memorial Day : They Never Said A Word

They Never Said a Word

An Old Message For This Memorial Day

Tom Brokaw wrote a book about the “Greatest Generation” and it received high acclaim and attention. He talked about it on a number of shows and there was a special reverence toward those who came through the days of the depression, hard times, and World War II. Those were a special time in history. A time when about 55,000,000 were killed in one form or another. Tom Brokaw never served in the military although his father was in the Army.

These service men came home and help build America’s industry and economy. They got married, had children, built businesses, and today are slowly passing from the scene leaving their children, grandchildren and great grandchildren with little information. I have known a few of these and know of others. They all, with a few exceptions, never talked about their experiences. My father went into the military in 1944 but the war ended before he went overseas and he never saw combat. He was in France and Germany during his stay.

My father was passed over by the draft board for a time because his twin brother was already in and my father had a dependent child. Fortunately, they both made it back safely. My Uncle James and Uncle Jimmy were in service and Uncle James was wounded in action. He told me, the only time I ever heard him mention it, that he was “lucky” because he was only wounded and not killed like a lot of his comrades. He received a Purple Heart.

My Dad’s twin was in the signal corps traveling with Patton. He mentioned two things about his service to me: On one occasion they set up a radio base in an abandoned farm. The soldiers found the stash of wine and he laughed at how they had a lot of trouble with some of the guys indulging in it too much. The other situation was not a laughing matter as he was involved with the follow up on The Massacre at the Ardeatine Caves, 24 March 1944. I looked up some information on the events for him some years back that took place in Italy when the Germans killed 335 civilians and left their bodies piled in the man-made caves.

The District manager for our largest supplier for many years served in the Army as a captain. He was the only person whom I ever heard making any “bragging” type comments. When asked about his military service, he would reply that “I was hired to kill Germans and I was good at it”. But, most veterans of combat that I have known rarely spoke of it, if at all.

When Gary Francis Powers was shot down by the Russians in his U2 Spy Plane, most Americans had never heard of a U2 and certainly never seen one. When I got home from school that was all over the front page of the paper and I could not wait to show this “secret” airplane to my dad when he came home from work. When I showed him the article his reply was, “I’ve been working on the U2 project for 8 years.” He had never mentioned it before and never mentioned it again.

A young man came to Atlanta to work for our main supplier. He had just come from serving in the Marine Corps.  While serving at Guantanamo Cuba, he often served on sentry duty. One evening a man cut his way through the fence and was making his way across the field. The young Marine called his CO and reported the infiltration and asked for instructions.

“Fire a warning shot over his head and see if he stops,” was the reply. So that is what he did but the man kept coming toward the base. He reported that to his CO. “Shoot him,” was the order.

So, that is what he did. He killed a man that he had never seen before. He was still struggling with that when he started calling on me. I don’t know if he ever got over it.

The pastor at our old church flew fighter-bombers in Vietnam and flew over 300+ missions. Not the usual resume for a preacher. One of my former customers never mentioned the fact that he flew F4’s in Vietnam. I learned it from his obituary. My neighbor across the street flew cargo and refueling planes. You would never think of him as a pilot today. Another fellow that I came in contact with, who raised peaches and dabbled in politics a lot over the years, flew with the Flying Tigers. Again, I learned that from his obituary. A lumber company and building supply owner flew B17’s and crash landed after his plane was all shot up. You would never know but you might question why he walked with a limp. Most just never said a word.  Why?

I think that most did not feel that blowing people up, killing the enemy, and watching their comrades die was anything to brag about. There was a reverence toward it all and they felt that their families would be better off not knowing some of the things they had seen and done. It was something they had been called on to do, they did it, and they wrestled with their demons for the rest of their lives while trying to put it behind them. There were a lot of men who suffered “shell shock”, as it was called then, and people shook their heads at how sad it was to see them that way. Today, we call it Post Traumatic Stress and still seem to do little about it. Maybe we really don’t know how, even today. That brings me to Willie.

I first met Willie when introduced to him by my friend Bob at Bob’s office one day. I don’t really know how Bob knew Willie except that Willie sold insurance for Life of Virginia. It turned out that Willie liked to shoot doves and do some hunting in general and that led us to have some meals together, laugh at some jokes, and pop a few caps on the dove field. I did not realize that Willie was the same age as my Mother. His wife worked at Sears and was a sweet lady and we went over there for dinner and had lunch with them a few times. Willie and Bertie had three sons and one retired later as a major from the US Army.

As people go, they were the “salt of the earth” type people. They never seemed to accumulate a lot in the way of worldly possessions but they enjoyed life. Willie was not a macho type guy and would not appear to have a “mean bone in his body”, as my Grandmother would say. He was one that you could not picture with an M1 Rifle and a battle helmet on, for sure.

One day, some time back, Willie called my friend Bob and asked if he was going to be around his office for a while, he wanted to come by. When he arrived, he had something wrapped up in a cloth. He told Bob that he wanted to give it to him.

Bob unwrapped the cloth and found it to be a German Luger pistol. Not a commercial copy but a “real McCoy” German Luger from World War II. Willie said that he wanted Bob to have it because if he left it for one of his sons the others would be upset. This way, they would never know about it or where it went. Willie had brought it home from the War. Bob promised to keep it in trust for the present time.

Now, Bob had never had any real conversation with Willie about being in the War and I am not sure that he even realized that Willie had been in service. So Bob asked how he came by the Luger. Willie replied in a matter of fact way that he had taken it off of a German officer that he had killed! Willie had killed somebody!? Are you kidding? This man sold life insurance for a living, for Goodness Sakes!

It seems that Willie’s outfit captured some Germans and the officer was not searched very well. While the Americans were giving the Germans some food and hot coffee, the German officer pulled out his Luger and shot one of the Americans. Willie, in turn, shot the German and kept the Luger pistol.

So, Willie had killed a German officer. Under the circumstances, you could see how that would happen.  Bob commented to Willie that he had never thought about him actually shooting anyone and that having to take a life, even in combat, had to be tough. Willie’s reply was somewhat startling.

He, in fact, had shot many Germans. One night, he was on guard duty watching a rock wall fence downhill from where his company was dug in. There was an opening in the fence and the Germans were trying to get through to flank his camp. One after another, one of the enemy troops would come through the opening trying to reach the other side of the clearing. One after another Willie shot them. Between 20 and 25 that night alone. Shooting one German officer was not actually that big of a deal! It was all in a day’s work for Willie. The officer was not the first and would not be the last. And, no one would have ever guessed it. He had never said a word. In another occasion, he and a comrade were sent to check out a town occupied by Germans in France. Before that night was over he shot 28 Germans. He said his comrade wasn’t too good and only got about 20. They picked them off going and coming between a headquarters building and a self-styled bar.

How did these men do these tasks? How did they get to a point that they could shoot one enemy soldier after another. Were they driven by the fear that if they did not kill the other guy they would get killed? Were the driven by their concern for their buddies? Were they doing it for their Country? Did it actually get to be fun? Did they get a rush pulling the trigger?

Most of the men that Willie shot, he probably did not get “up close and personal” with. They were several yards away and you could not see the look in their eyes or hear the last breath leave them. But, the German officer was different. He was right there. Up close. And, many would say, he asked for it! He had done the unthinkable….shooting at a group who were now befriending him and treating him humanely. But Willie kept his Luger all those years. Why?

That event touched Willie in some deep human way. Probably in ways he did not acknowledge or understand. Maybe, parting with that gun was the last of the demons that Willie had lived with all those years. Now, in the waning days of his life, he may can sleep a little better! The last ghost was now gone from his closet. He never said.

Memorial Day 2019

© HJC 2017

 

 

 

 

 

Snipers and Snakes:

Let’s talk about Burmese Pythons.  Burmese Pythons are big snakes and big problems. Not as big as snipers but big anyway. In Vietnam, our soldiers got to see both Burmese Python snakes and snipers.

My neighbor has three purple hearts from Vietnam and taught at Columbia University, Emory, and Kennesaw University while starting a successful business. He was drafted into the Army out of Law School. We had ice cream with him and his wife one Sunday afternoon and  we started talking about fishing and the subject turned to snakes….and snipers. Continue reading Snipers and Snakes →

 

Superstitions

Most of us would probably not admit to having superstitions or paying any credence to any that we hear of. After all, superstitions are something out of the dark ages. Superstitions have no place in today’s enlightened society. What with Alexis and Google. https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/superstition

But, even big companies have some superstitions they try to work around. The hotels and office buildings with no 13^th floors would be glaring examples of people giving in to such superstitions as the 13^th floor being cursed or unlucky. J.W. Marriott was quoted in 2007 as saying one of the first things he learned was you don’t go to 13. Not all hotels go along with the superstitions, of course.

Friday the 13^th is unlucky. Everyone knows that. They even made a famous classic movie about it. One version is Judas Iscariot was the 13^th guest on Friday the 13^th.

Ophidiophobia, the fear of snakes, is common to a lot of us including yours truly.

I have a neighbor that is very smart but insists that you come in and go out of her house the same way. Bad luck if you don’t. That applies if she comes to your house, too.

Down in Sandy Point, if a black cat crossed the road in front of the car, my grandfather, who always wore a hat, would turn his hat around backwards to offset the dangers represented by having the cat cross in front.

Itchy palms mean good luck and an itching nose meant someone was coming. And there is that one about walking under a ladder. Somehow, that one always seemed to have merit. Maybe that has to do with someone dropping a hammer on your head or paint. Superstitions? Some say the triangle created by the ladder represents life. Holding your nose for five seconds is said to counteract any ill effects.

Be sure and don’t break a mirror because that bad luck goes on for years! But finding a horseshoe, now that is good luck. Maybe it wasn’t for the horse.

Don’t open an umbrella in the house or spill salt. Knocking on wood can bring good luck. Superstitions.

Say “Bless you” when you sneeze came from the Pope requiring everyone be blessed when they sneezed in 1665. They thought the person was likely to die soon from the Black Plague.

Many athletes have certain shoes or pants or bats and gloves that they feel “bring them luck” and go through personal rituals before their contests to insure victory. We have seen the lucky rabbit’s foot from a seriously unlucky rabbit, the special coin, or the four leaf clover.

Yes, like it or not, admit or not, and deny it or not, many of us have our little superstitions that affect us and how we do things. In the song The Gambler, the singer says, “You never count your money when you are sitting at the table.” Just talking about a deal can jinx it, in the mind of some. This brings us to today, Friday April 13^th.

Are Black Cats bad luck?

Even if it’s not Friday the 13th! You need to know about such things! (We have two in 2019)

My wife came home from work one day and said that her car was making a noise. I went to look and also heard a noise. Inside the fender well of her car was a small black kitten. It had ridden the 25 miles from her office and survived. We kept that cat for over 20 years! This was a “Lucky” black cat. We named it: Black Cat!

Maybe we all have a superstition hidden away somewhere that we don’t like to talk about. Or, maybe we are too superstitious to tell anyone!

 

JC 2018©

 

 

 

Fly fishing can be a frustrating sport at times. You can see fish rising in the current to feed at or near the surface but can’t see what they are hitting. Now some people will land one and take out a little syringe and suck out the contents of the fish’s stomach to see what it has been feeding on and then  they find a fly like or close to the one the fish has been feeding on. The problem with that is: you have to catch a fish when you haven’t been catching any!

Sometimes, I’ve thrown everything in my fly boxes, which must have over 500 flies in them, and still not caught a thing. The fish then seem to just rub it in that you can’t catch them. That’s when you want to throw the rod, flies and vest into the current to put your self out of the misery that you are having while supposedly having so much fun.

But, they say, a bad day fishing beats a good day working. So I must be overly sensitive. But, at least I am fishing when this goes on.

Double Names

 I have found myself highly perplexed the last year or two over something I had never considered as even being a problem before.  The issue: double names. That is, people who have double names and the burden that they carry around because of it.

Silly, you say. Well, I would have agreed with you before I ran into a double named lady up in Vinings one Saturday. It was then that I realized that some people have been branded for life with  a double or hyphenated name and that this labels them a certain way. At least it did in the mind of the lady I am referring to. And, this can cause a lot of explaining to be necessary when introducing one’s self to someone else. Nonsense, you say.

Well, when I met this lady I asked her what her name was and she hesitated. “You may laugh when I tell you my name,” she said. “I have double name. I am from South Georgia.”

That response, in itself, required more conversation as I needed to know what she called “South Georgia”.  Having grown up in and around Macon, Central Georgia, I knew that people are not always precise in referring to North Georgia and South Georgia. When she said Hazlehurst and added, “you probably never heard of it,” I knew she was, indeed, from South Georgia.  Anywhere below the gnat line qualifies in my book.

I replied to her that double names were not new to me, at all. I grew up in Georgia and had friends and relatives and acquaintances with double names and I had never given it a second thought.Until now, that is. My granddaughter, Mary Claire, has no idea of the problems she faces.

Mary Lou, Lilly Belle, Mattie Clyde,Georgia Belle, Norma Jo, Lida Jo, Mary Anne, Minnie Lee, Mary Margaret, MaryCatherine, Betty June, Ida Mae, Betty Jo, Emma Lou, Billie Jean, and Betty Lynnare just a few of the names that I grew up around. No doubt I am forgetting at least that many more. So, I never saw double names as unusual or problematic.At least, not until I met the double name lady down in Vinings, who, by all accounts seemed otherwise very normal and certainly a very nice person.

I can see some problems. Take Marianne. Now that sounds like a double name but is actually only one. So,Marianne’s everywhere are probably having to say, “My name is Marianne and that is one word. Not Mary Ann.”  The same with Imogene. Not Emma Jean. Then there is the situation with hyphens. “My name is Marla-Deen, with a hyphen.” More stress to deal with.

So, why am I bringing this up now? Good question.

I had about put this drama behind me until I picked up a June/July issue of Garden & Gun magazine. A one named writer, who has never had to deal with the double name stuff, named Julia Reed has an article called The Name Game. There she goes into Southern names and dares to use the word proclivity in discussing double names. Now, that is a brazen approach!

Imagine you are in New York and trying to impress the haughty tautey folks as to your sophisticated nature and back ground. Maybe trying to make them think you are from Atlanta or the Buckhead area and not Cordele. Then they ask your name and you say Mary Lou and they go “Aha! We knew it! You are from South Georgia!”

All this stuff came rushing back a to me and I will now lie awake nights worrying about my granddaughter having to go through life with a double name. And, one that sounds a lot like a magazine.And worrying about all the other Southern women afflicted in this manner.Although Betty June was born in Pennsylvania. One of my grandsons is named John Patrick and his mother thought he would be called that double name although I warned her that he would likely be “J.P.” That will never happen, she thought. But, J.P. it is.

But, you could be a boy named Sue.Or, Heaven forbid, Jerome. How about Bubba, Buddy-Ro, or Cuz. All of  those are not a double names or a hyphenated one but fraught with possible problems.

But my grandfather used to say, “In the end, all you have is your good name.” He could have added, “even if it is a double name.”

© 2018 JC