Veteran's Day: Long Overdue Tribute

This is a long overdue tribute to honor three WWI and WWII Veterans, who were a major part of my life. They include my grandfather, who served in WWI, my dad, a WWII Veteran and my uncle, who was on a ship at Pearle Harbor when it was bombed on December 7, 1941.

A simple twist of fate that Sunday morning, would allow my uncle to survive the Japanese attack. On Veteran's Day...thank a veteran for their service to our country and the freedom we so recklessly take for granted in America. View a heartfelt music video tribute to veterans here.

The following is a note my grandfather wrote to my grandmother on a postcard, mailed from France in WWI, which I cherish.

March 27, 1918

"Still in France"

"Boisson"

"Dear Billie girl,

I suppose you are wondering why I haven't written, but don't worry, I am still alive and kicking and feel fine. We have just finished a little journey over the road and just as soon as I get settled I will tell you all about it. This isn't a very good picture of me but it is as I look every day. I will get some better ones later.

Well, good night for now, hon."

It was WWI. My grandfather wrote these words to reassure his young love, my grandmother, that although he was in the Army fighting a war in a foreign country; he was alive and kicking and was doing all right. In the note, penned on the back of the postcard photo I have included with this story, my grandfather also declares his passion for my grandmother by saying, "and don't forget that I love you more every minute."

Although a vast distance separated him from his family and the city of Lowell, Massachusetts, it would have been typical of my grandfather to try to comfort everyone back home. By writing positive messages in the face of war and his unknown fate, he covered up any insecurity he surely must have been experiencing. The fact that he uses the words "little" and "journey" in the same sentence, leads me to believe he wanted to set my grandmother's mind at ease. I cannot imagine there being any "little" road journeys during war.

I am fortunate that several generations before me, preserved my family history, through writing, photos and boxes of their beloved memories. Among these cherished items are letters my grandfather wrote while he was away at war. The letters offer me a multifaceted look at the author as a man deeply in love and demanding the best of himself to be brave about the war; not simply a man I adored as my grandfather.

In some of the letters, as his military unit moves from place to place, my grandfather explains that although he cannot say exactly where he is "...I am in good health and trying to keep my chin up, considering the not-so-great circumstance of war." Characteristically, most of his writing focuses on the wellbeing of the "folks" back home and his Billie girl. He writes of longing for the day, he will see her again and how much he missed talking to her.

My grandfather endured the war and on his return to Massachusetts, took a job at the Boston Navy Yard as a machinist. During the WWII war effort, the Boston Navy Yard awarded him several citations for pioneering numerous cost effective machined pieces, which saved the government money and time during WWII.

My grandparents shared a sweet and loving relationship, but my grandmother died after a brief illness when she was 55 years old. I do not believe my grandfather was ever the same without his "Billie girl," however; he was always full of pride as a veteran and proud of anyone who served their country.

My Father - WWII

I remember my dad running all over our house in the middle of the night, screaming for water to put the fire out. I was a little girl and I would jolt out of my bed in tears...terrified our house was burning down. My mom would gather her kids, reassuring us there was no fire. At the same time, she would yell and shake my father, which was the only way she could snap him out of his recurring nightmare of being a soldier at war. My dad was a WWII Veteran.

A Purple Heart recipient, shot in the war, my father did not speak much of his time in service. Despite that fact, he wore his honor proudly on his sleeve. Every Memorial Day I put on my Girl Scout uniform, my dad put on his musty Army uniform and together we marched in the parade to the WWII monument in our small town.

When the ceremony at the monument was finished, we headed to the American Legion, where my father guzzled beers with his veteran buddies. There they would share tales of the war and rehash the same stories for what seemed to me, a gazillion times. As a kid, I just did not realize the depth and significance of those stories, but I certainly do now!

In 2003, one of my brothers received a phone call from a man in New Orleans. He informed my brother that he was searching for an "old Army buddy," who had an uncommon last name, which was Polish. The man's search led him to call my brother, who not only had the same uncommon last name as his Army buddy; he had the same first name and lived in Massachusetts where his Army friend grew up and returned to live after the war...as as far as he knew. They fought in Normandy together he said.

The man's long search would prove to be bittersweet. My brother confirmed that the WWII Army friend he was excited to locate was indeed our dad, but, sadly, Dad died in 1969, when he was 50-years-old and I was just fourteen. My father's friend was coming to Massachusetts to attend a wedding and wanted to get together with my dad if it was feasible.

The man was devastated to learn that my dad's life ended so many years ago. This thoughtful man did not want his search to be in total vain, however. He came to Massachusetts to meet his Army buddy's children. He also met grandchildren and great grandchildren, all of whom, my dad never had the privilege to see himself, although I have a feeling he was there that special day.

He offered us great insight into what my dad was like as a fellow soldier during the war. The bond between these two soldiers has spanned an amazing 57 years. This wonderful man has stayed in touch through phone calls and emails. He made it through WWII and he survived Hurricane Katrina in 2005, as well. He is 91 years-old.

My Uncle - Pearle Harbor

A year before my father headed to the war trenches in Europe, my great uncle decided to serve his country in the U.S. Navy. While other men in our family and his friends went Army; my uncle decided a ship and the open sea was for him. He considered himself fortunate that he was on his way to an idyllic place like Hawaii. To his delight, he found himself in route to the beautiful island of Oahu.

My uncle, who died in 1991, was a slight man all his life and as a kid, suffered from several childhood illnesses. With a weak immune system, he was a magnet for colds, flu and the like. Apparently, anything he contracted was ten times the severity than most children. My mother use to recount that her family was terribly worried about his health holding up when he joined the Navy. However, my uncle's letters home, stated that he was experiencing good health and not to fret.

Early on Saturday, December 6, 1941, my uncle went about his business on his ship. When he awoke earlier, he was not feeling himself, but brushed it off and attended to his naval duties. As the day wore on, though, he never felt any better, even skipping his evening meal. Hoping to get his mind off the fact that he was feeling so sick, he instead used the time to write a letter to his three sisters, one being my grandmother.

Through the night, my uncle tried to buck up and will his illness away, but it was not going anywhere and he was sick as a dog. He was vomiting and had spiked a serious fever, making it necessary to move him to another ship. It was 4 a.m. on Sunday, December 7. I do not need to elaborate on what took place four hours later; we are acutely aware of what transpired. Had my uncle remained on his battleship, though, this part of my story might be very different.

One afternoon I was talking to my uncle about Pearle Harbor. I should say I was talking "a little" about Pearle Harbor. He dropped our conversation when he realized the Red Sox game was on the television. He also excused me from the room so I would not interrupt his concentration on the baseball game.

I know a person would not normally be thankful for being violently ill. Was my uncle, however, for the first and probably only time in his life, grateful for the sickness that overtook him that tragic day at Pearle Harbor? Alternatively, did he always carry that guilt about the loss of many of his shipmates, as so often is the case? I will never know.

I do know, however, I am eternally indebted to these three veterans I loved dearly, for providing me the freedom I bask in as an American. I also salute all the veterans who have followed or still serve, their country so honorably.