So many returning veterans of
Viet Nam, the Gulf War and the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan suffered horribly
from their experiences.
I remember my father
returning home from his service in World War II. He and all my uncles had to
cope with what they went through. Mostly they didn't seem to say much about it
at all.
Uncle Larry was killed in the
War. His death was a fact, a gaping hole in our family. Uncle Don chose to stay
in England with his new English wife - which had something to do with an old
American wife. But not a whole lot was said about either of these losses - at
least not in front of us kids.
My other uncles, Joe, Philip
and Raymond and especially my dad, just seemed awfully happy to be home.
My parents moved into a
government housing project we called Happy Homes. It was offered to ex GIs and
their families. Barracks on Wright Patterson Air Force base were converted into
apartments. They were small, cheerful and cheap. The idea was to enable
veterans to get restarted, go to school on the GI bill or save enough to buy a
house
We watched our dads and
uncles pack away their dog tags and their medals. We children got to play with
the souvenirs they brought home. We wore their caps at jaunty angles. The boys
staged battles, happily killing Japs and Krauts.
We especially loved the parachutes.
We made tents or cut them up for costumes for Halloween. Uncle Raymond had
souvenirs from the Germans. One was a Luger pistol. No one asked how he got it.
Each of my uncles had his own
particular story to tell. We were warned not to ask Uncle Philip any questions
because he had been among the first Americans to enter the camps. “He doesn't
want to talk about it,” Daddy said.
Did they get together after
we went to bed? Did they gather in bars or at the track to really talk over
their experiences?
All I can remember of Daddy's
stories was his often repeated account of jumping into the Pacific after his
troop ship was hit by a kamikaze plane.
"You should have seen
it,” he said. “That guy hit us square in the middle. He knew where he would do
the most damage. I was eating lunch and before I knew it I was in the water.”
“Was it cold?”
“Oh no, not cold, it was
summer in the Pacific, but the water was choppy and we had to keep swimming. We
couldn't just float.”
He would stop at this point
in his story to say to Mama, “I’m sorry. The watch you gave me when I left was
ruined. It was a Bulova and really good.” He never missed this straight line.
And she always responded. “Why
didn't you put it in your pocket?”
She would remind us that she
actually did say this and we would all laugh before he got to the part about how
he was glad he had played hooky from school to go swimming a lot. He and a lot
of other guys were in the water a long time and the weak swimmers didn't make
it.
“Sharks Daddy - did you see
sharks?”
“No sweetie. We knew about
them and we were scared they would show up, but as I said the water was choppy
and I guess they were busy somewhere else. We were mostly scared because we
were hit in the afternoon and we knew rescue operations stopped at sundown. We
didn't have anything to hold onto. No rafts, no debris. We just doggie paddled
and prayed.”
“I think the guys I was with
were the last bunch to be picked up. A rescue boat finally appeared just as the
sun was setting. We were dragged on board and we thought everything was ok. We
were saved. But then it pulled in really near to another big troop ship. We
could see it heaving up and down in the waves. A huge net was lowered down and
we were told to jump for the net. There was only one chance. The sea was so
full of swells. A lot of guys missed. I
watched them miss. And then it was my turn. You can see I made it.”
“Yeah, Daddy, I sure am glad
you made it.”
And that was about it. We
learned he was in the Philippines on Mindanao. He manned an ack-ack, an anti-aircraft
gun. I looked up the Battle of Mindanao. It was a very long, dirty episode.
That was in 1945 so he only spent about two years total in the war. And when it
was over, somehow it became known he could cook so he got that job. For a
while.
He came home through San
Francisco. He loved San Francisco. Mama wanted to meet him there, but it didn't
work out.
She would frequently ask him
if the Philippino girls were pretty and he would always just laugh.
In his last years when he had
Alzheimer’s, he would brighten up at any young woman who looked a bit South East
Asian. He would approach and say, “Are you Philippino? You Philippino girls
were awfully good to us GIs in the war.”
We would apologize for how it
must have sounded. But most of the young women would laugh and pat his arm.
People are kind.
Mama said, “I guess it was a
long time ago.”
Waking up the first day after
heart surgery, he thought he was on a troop ship again in the Philippines. The
next day his ship passed by Hawaii. The third day the ship was nearing San
Francisco.
Mama said, “At least he’s
returning home again.”
