I’m thinking about my dad on this Veteran’s day 2016, ten
years after his passing, and he remains an enigma. My dad was one of the most
gregarious people I have ever known! He always approached strangers and struck
up a conversation but he never revealed much of himself. He was also one of the
most private people I have ever known.
The family line as I recall it, growing up, was that dad had
served in World War II but was on a ship in the Atlantic when the armistice was
announced. We knew that he had served in the Korean conflict, too, but there
was not a lot of detail around that. He didn't have any memorabilia, not his
Purple Heart medal (which I only surmised he must have gotten when I heard
about the shrapnel that remained in his arm), not any mention of a comrade, I
never even saw a photograph from that time. As I look back on it now, it
strikes me as odd that my dad and I never talked about that aspect of life. I
was fascinated with the military as a child, playing with toy soldiers and G.I.
Joes and even read a lot about the battles of World War II and played board
games simulating them but, I don’t ever recall talking with him about it. Maybe
I had a sense that it was off limits.
My parents divorced when I was 12 but my dad remained nearby
and was a constant presence in my life. He often made it to my sporting events
and even my performances with the school band or theater. We spent many Sundays
together too. He expressed his love for me in a stoic fashion; very few hugs
and kisses but a constant supportive presence. As I entered college I moved
away and our communication became sparser but I still made it a point to
contact him. I moved even farther away after college and he retired to South
Carolina so we were literally on opposite sides of the country. Our contact was
reduced to a phone call a couple times a year. He was always happy to hear from
me but always cut those calls shorter than I wanted. I'm not sure if it was his
frugality, now living on a fixed income and not wanting to incur long distance
charges, or his awareness of my impecunious state and not wanting me to incur
long distance charges or whether he was unwillingness to get in to deeper
topics of conversation. The only time I saw him in my twenties was when we both
traveled to Chicago for my brother's PhD graduation. Dad was a big man at
6'4" and had many back problems so he always complained about plane travel.
Traveling cross country to see me wasn't discussed. I just understood that it
wasn't an option.
Once I got myself to a place where I had an income I made it
a point to go see him once a year. He always expressed great happiness in
seeing me and his wife made it a point to tell me, when we had a moment alone,
how much my visits meant to him. On one of my visits, as we were chatting after
dinner, he handed me a photo album and told me he had spent some time
assembling pictures from his life. He was having some health issues after a
lifetime of smoking cigarettes and he was softening up. I opened the album with
great curiosity and found on one of the first pages a black and white picture
of him in army fatigues holding two pistols much like today's gangster rappers.
In the background were two palm trees. "Is this Korea?" I asked. He
told me that it was World War II and that he had actually served in the Pacific
and this picture was taken in the Philippines. After a little prodding he went
on to explain how he had run away from home at 17 after his father had beat him
for going to swim team practice. Dad grew up in a rural house, the youngest of
twelve children, on the Canadian side of Niagara Falls. His mother passed when
he was four years old and his father started working at an automotive parts
factory in the US when he was young so he was raised by an older sister. Dad
described to me, that night he showed me his photo album, how he found himself
on the streets of Buffalo, NY, literally penniless and hungry and in front of
the Army recruiting office. I'm unclear on the timing of this. I'm guessing it
was the fall of 1945 as he told me he was 17 when he was deployed to the Pacific
theater. He said that he spent 6 weeks training as an anti-aircraft gunner in
Arkansas and once he got to Seattle to deploy was told he was joining the
infantry. He was the tallest member of his squad so was made the squad leader
despite his youth. His Canadian citizenry came to light at this time and he was
told that he couldn't be deployed unless he was a citizen so was offered
citizenship. He agreed and they made him a citizen on the spot. As squad leader
it was his responsibility to lead the charge on the beach they landed on. He told me how he ran through the shallow
waters of the Pacific on to the beach in a hail of bullets and mortar fire and
miraculously made it to the edge of the forest. As he told the story I tried to
digest it. As I inserted his story into my knowledge of this setting it dawned
on me, ever so clearly, and I had to ask, "So, you killed people?"
Dad did not hesitate. "Oh yeah," he admitted matter-of-factly,
"More than I can remember." That was difficult for me to assimilate.
My dad had killed more people than he could remember! I chose not to focus on
it but, instead, tried to find something positive. "Did you keep in touch
with any of your squad?" I was thinking about the Hollywood version of
war. "No. I lost half my squad every day. There was no point in getting to
know anyone. You never knew who would survive." I just kind of stared
blankly not sure what to say. He could tell I was struggling and went on to
tell me how terrible it was and his only goal was to survive. We talked about
what it was like for him to return to normal life. After spending some time as
a drill sergeant stateside he went back
to upstate New York and his older step brother took him in. He actually had to
finish High School! He was allowed to attend the public high school nearby but
only after the principal sat him down and told him he was to stay away from the
girls. He completed his senior year without incident and took advantage of the
G.I. bill to enroll in college after spending a couple years saving money. He
was determined to have a normal life but as the Korean conflict involved US
troops my father was called to serve again. I'm not clear on why his service in
World War II didn't fulfill his obligation but he was required to return to the
military even though he was adamantly opposed to it. He told me, that night, of
a conversation he had with a US Army officer where he asked what would happen
if he didn't show up and was told that he would be jailed. It seems he could
have easily gone to Canada, where the majority of his family lived, and avoid
service. Maybe not.
Regardless he found himself on the front lines of the
Korean conflict. He was part of an intelligence unit that would actually
venture behind enemy lines at night, hide in the brush all day taking notes,
and then return the next evening. I asked him about peeing while hidden in the
brush and he just laughed. "You just wet yourself! There was enemy
soldiers everywhere so you didn't dare move and risk being detected." He then went on to tell me how they would send
their compatriots off at night following a defined route and when they heard the explosion of a land
mine they would calculate the spot on a map and that is how they determined the
route for the next guy not to
take. He also told me how he and two other guys were atop a peak, calling in
aerial strikes, when the enemy made a push and trapped them behind enemy lines.
They stayed there for 69 days with supplies being dropped in. He said the
hardest part was keeping their food from the rats. They would put the food in
the ammunition boxes and sleep with it in order to keep it from the rats even
though there was risk that the ammunition might be compromised by moisture.
They survived multiple attempts by the enemy to take their position. He would
see the enemy advancing and watch troops ascend the hillside below them. As the
enemy got closer they would pull the pin on a grenade and let it roll down the
hill and watch enemy soldiers fly off the hillside when the grenade exploded.
After 69 days the allies finally pushed forward and they were able to come down
from that peak. They had to cut their uniforms off and immediately burned them.
I sat there, in my Dad’s living room, trying to reconcile
the man who endured the horrors of war twice with the man who raised me working
a white collar job and living a typical American life. The truth of the matter
was that I was struggling to understand myself at that time and my Dad’s role
in my formation was something I was trying to reconcile too. I tried to imagine
what it would have been like to have gone through his experience rather than
the jejune path of my early adulthood. I couldn’t.
That was 20 years ago and I'm still trying to understand what
his life must have been like and it has occurred to me that my Dad’s experience
was common for his generation and for the Vietnam generation too. The thing
that really sticks with me was my Dad’s absolute yearning for a normal life.
That impulse, I think, had the single largest impact on me and my generation. I certainly appreciate the normalcy that he
provided. Even though my parents divorced in the mid-70s, and that was uncommon
at that time, we still maintained a standard middle class life with the luxuries
and amenities afforded United States residents of that time. All driven by a couple
generations of men who survived the horrors of war and were determined to have
a normal, comfortable life.
My father passed away ten years ago and I rue that I was
never able to get more clarity on that era of his life. I briefly researched
what was available on line thinking maybe I could find what division my dad
served in and find some history on their experience in the Pacific theater. I found
that most of the records of that time were lost in a fire at the Pentagon and
abandoned my efforts. I’m not sure I want to know all that my Dad endured but I
still wonder about it often. Recently I saw an article about pictures from the
Korean War that were just released. I decided I would look to see if I could
find my dad in any of them. One of the first I found was this -
The soldier giving solace bears a striking resemblance to my
father, particularly the pictures I have seen from that time. I've zoomed in to
see if I could determine if it was my dad and can't tell definitively. Still,
the emotion in this picture informs me of the dreadfulness my dad endured and I
am even more filled with respect and admiration for his ability to survive that
and maintain his sanity.
