- Jun 10, 2014
- 4,102
- 12,632
Founding Member
The text in the title is from the Gettysburg Address.
My father-in-law was a 20 year old marine in 1944, and fought in the South Pacific theatre. Until her mid-20s, that’s about all my wife Kelly knew about her father’s service. He joked about the check he received each month as his “shot in the butt money”, but never spoke otherwise about his service. He was a good man, drank a little too much, and was known to be moody sometimes, but he was patriotic, funny, and loved his family. He came back from the war, was the first of his rural family to get a college degree, and went on to be a successful pillar of the community.
When he was 62, he had a stroke, and he was affected by losing some inhibitions - he cursed (which he never did before the stroke), and he lost track of where, and when, he was sometimes. He also told stories. Stories he had never told before. They were confusing, kind of “half dream” stories. He talked about military training, learning to drive a tank, and about his best friend. He was funny, obscene, and clearly had some fond memories. But one day, he was somber. He described a big firefight, being in the water, dragging his best friend to the beach, and swimming back out multiple times. His story was confusing, but clearly emotional.
At 63, he had another stroke, and passed away. It was then, going through his belongings, that we found his medals, his commendations, and the story of the battle in the Mariana Islands (Guam) when he was injured. He was an amphibious tank driver in the middle of a beach landing when his tank took a shell and sank. Whether shrapnel from the explosion or subsequent gunfire, he was wounded in the hip, but swam his more-wounded tankmates to the beach, multiple times. Most survived, but there were two KIA - a gunner, and his best friend.
His best friend, Kelly.
To all the men and women who gave the last full measure of devotion, I spend the day in remembrance for these husbands, wives, sons, daughters, and best friends. I’ll never forget.
My father-in-law was a 20 year old marine in 1944, and fought in the South Pacific theatre. Until her mid-20s, that’s about all my wife Kelly knew about her father’s service. He joked about the check he received each month as his “shot in the butt money”, but never spoke otherwise about his service. He was a good man, drank a little too much, and was known to be moody sometimes, but he was patriotic, funny, and loved his family. He came back from the war, was the first of his rural family to get a college degree, and went on to be a successful pillar of the community.
When he was 62, he had a stroke, and he was affected by losing some inhibitions - he cursed (which he never did before the stroke), and he lost track of where, and when, he was sometimes. He also told stories. Stories he had never told before. They were confusing, kind of “half dream” stories. He talked about military training, learning to drive a tank, and about his best friend. He was funny, obscene, and clearly had some fond memories. But one day, he was somber. He described a big firefight, being in the water, dragging his best friend to the beach, and swimming back out multiple times. His story was confusing, but clearly emotional.
At 63, he had another stroke, and passed away. It was then, going through his belongings, that we found his medals, his commendations, and the story of the battle in the Mariana Islands (Guam) when he was injured. He was an amphibious tank driver in the middle of a beach landing when his tank took a shell and sank. Whether shrapnel from the explosion or subsequent gunfire, he was wounded in the hip, but swam his more-wounded tankmates to the beach, multiple times. Most survived, but there were two KIA - a gunner, and his best friend.
His best friend, Kelly.
To all the men and women who gave the last full measure of devotion, I spend the day in remembrance for these husbands, wives, sons, daughters, and best friends. I’ll never forget.
