A friend and I were discussing Ted Kennedy's death not too long ago, and the Kennedy family history. I did a little online research and was reminded of a fact I'd forgotten.
"You know," I told my friend. "JFK was less than a year younger than Dad."
And that got to thinking about some key events in my family's history.
On December 6, 1941, my dad was a hard-working graduate student at the University of Wisconsin, Madison. The Dust Bowl years had been hard on ranchers in western Kansas, where Dad grew up, and there wasn't much money for tuition. Dad did everything he could to support himself, including joining the campus Reserve Officer Training Corps.
So on December 7, 1941, Dad suddenly became a brand new lieutenant in the U.S. Army.
For many years, I didn't know much about Dad's military service. I knew he served in the Pacific—we had some photos from Hawaii. Most of what he told us made it sound more like McHale's Navy or Hogan's Heroes than Midway. Dad claimed that the only action he saw was when two sentries got drunk and shot each other. He once told a story about how his unit failed a training exercise—they were supposed to go down the coast in small boats and perform a mock attack on a fort, but instead went up the coast and were lost for days, horribly seasick, and eventually sent back for more months of training. He recalled being the clerk of a company composed almost entirely of Kentuckians who were awesome riflemen, but a little unsound on the concept of military discipline. Whenever something happened back home—a new baby, a sick relative, a farm shorthanded at harvest time—they would take off and eventually be reported AWOL. By the time Dad stopped their pay, they'd be in the stockade, requiring a change to half pay, and by the time he got that change put through they'd be back on active duty until the whole cycle started again. He even told a hilarious tale about the time he and the few non-Kentuckians were left to cover while the rest of the unit went home to watch the Kentucky Derby, their convoy of Army vehicles led by an officer from the Bluegrass State.
Truth or tall tales? I never knew. I never really wondered until one day, long after I became an adult, Dad revealed a little more about his military service.
He was on a troop ship in the South Pacific, part of a convoy delivering troops to the Phillippines. One night, his ship was hit by a kamikaze pilot. The ship did not sink, but was badly damaged. The rest of the convoy steamed ahead leaving Dad's ship to make its way as fast as it could. This was normal procedure—for the rest of the convoy to limp along at the speed of its slowest member would endanger even more lives.
As their ship crawled toward their destination, the surviving troops spent much of their time hauling the dead and wounded out of the wreckage below decks.
"I will never forget the smell of burning human flesh," Dad told Mom. "And I don't ever want to talk about it again. I'm telling you so you'll know, and can help me change the subject when people ask what I did in the war."
That was presumably in 1947 or 1948, shortly after they became engaged. In the years that followed Dad never did talk about it as far as she recalls. As World War II gradually faded from an almost current event into history, I suspect the need to change the subject arose less and less often. It was at least three decades before Dad shared his secret with my brother and me.
I say at least three decades because I no longer remember how long ago it happened. I remember being shocked, and not feeling able to interrogate him. I remember Mom filling in some of the details he'd told her. But unfortunately we never really talked about it again. And now Dad's gone, and with him the chance to know more about what happened on that fateful day in the 1940s.
After Dad died and Mom began thinking of moving to a retirement community, I started helping her clear out the papers and stuff that had accumulated in the house. And I began looking for more information on the story of Dad's war experiences.
I found a Bronze Star buried in his chest of drawers. We didn't even know about this. Months later, I found a copy of the citation, dated 5 August 1945, and issued from Headquarters, 38th Infantry Division:
That period roughly corresponds with what the history books call the Battle of Luzon, MacArthur's campaign to retake the largest island in the Phillippines. I suspect meritorious achievement during that period required a little more than keeping the company payroll in order.
But that's all I know for sure, so far. I sent in a request to the National Personnel Records Center for his military records, but apparently a fire in 1973 destroyed sixteen to eighteen million records, including 80% of the Army records from November 1, 1912 to January 1, 1960. There's a process you can follow to request as much information as they can piece together from other sources, but it requires that you give them as much information as you can offer. I'm still hunting down information from the mass of papers Dad left behind. Eventually, when I've found as much information on my own as I can, I'll send in that form. But I have a suspicion they may not be able to tell me much.
While writing this blog, I once again looked up the 38th Infantry Division, and I find that it's headquartered in Indianapolis. Which seems like a happy omen. I'm going to Annapolis in October, to attend Bouchercon. So I've written a letter to the 38th Infantry asking if they have any resources that would help me learn a little more about Dad's wartime experiences. Tomorrow I'll call and find a name to address it to. And perhaps, if they have any kind of library, I can visit them in October.
It still won't make up for not talking to Dad while he was alive. If life gave me a do over or two, that's one thing I'd fix.
(What about you, O blog reader? Any do overs you'd like?)
I've never felt inclined to post, but having lost both my step-dad and FIL in the past year and a half, I would have asked more questions and reminded myself to listen carefully. My step-dad took a trip around the world & FIL was a Navy man: Oh the places they went and me, for the most part, none such the wiser. They both taught me what was important, but I could have known so much more.
Posted by: twisted sister lit | September 12, 2009 at 06:48 PM
Many, many things I would do over. One is the opportunity to ask my dad about being in the minor league baseball with the San Francisco team, the Seals. The other is to ask my mom about the port service she did in WWII. Since they are both passed, it would take a seance to find out. Not playing with that...
Posted by: Teri | October 29, 2009 at 12:17 PM