Distant Memories ……of a boy, a man, a war and a family

Part I  .....a boy, a man. a war. and a family

My mind contains no real memories of my dad.  I was conceived before he left to go over seas at the height of America’s involvement in WW II.  I was born while he was still there.  He died on the battlefield at Saint Lo in France.  My memories of my dad come from, events related to the return of his body and the insights I’ve gained from those who knew him during the brief 24 years of his life.

My first strong memories from my early years are seeing my mother kneeling at our living room sofa crying uncontrollably for long periods of time.  This may have been when she received news of dad’s death from the War Department telegram or it may have been when the family received news of her brother’s death.  One of mom’s brothers who was killed when the submarine, Wahoo, was lost in the Sea of Japan.  In our immediate family it seems like everyone went off to fight in the War; my mother’s two brothers, K.B. and C.T., my Dad, and my mother’s sister’s husband, John Stair.  Two of them returned from the war, two did not.

The second strong memory about my dad is related to the return of his body some time after the end of the War.  I was not aware of it, but the event got a lot of local publicity because his was the first veteran’s body to be returned to Roane County.  Thus, the return of a veteran who had been killed in the War was symbolic for many folks.  A lot of local families had lost a son, a father, or a husband during the War.  I remember riding in a black car out to the railroad station a mile or so out of town where the casket was to arrive.  This was not the local passenger depot, but a small freight stop on the main rail line that ran along the banks of the Emory River.  A narrow gravel road led to that point, not far from where the railroad trestle crosses the River.  I remember the train stopping and the casket, draped with the American flag, being unloaded from a freight car and placed in a hearse. 

 

I don’t recall anything about a funeral service, but I vividly remember the traditional military graveside ceremony; standing at the grave side, seeing the honor guard fold the flag and hand it to my mom.  I remember hearing the loud report from the rifles; seeing the smoke and smelling the burned powder when the honor guard fired the 21 gun salutes.  I remember hearing the sad somber sounds of taps as a bugler played those familiar notes.  Even to this very day, I feel an emotional fullness whenever I hear taps played.

As I grew through my childhood years I came to discover some articles that belonged to my dad:  a guitar, a harmonica holder, and a .22 caliber single-shot bolt action rifle.  From the personal effects returned by the Army we had a blood stained watch with no crystal; the hands frozen at 7:45, a few letters, a pipe and tobacco pouch, and a well worn Western Union telegram sent on August 25^th stating “THE SECRETARY OF WAR DESIRES ME TO EXPRESS HIS DEEP REGRET THAT YOUR HUSBAND PRIVATE FIRST CLASS PHILLIP C.  KINDRED WAS KILLED IN ACTION ON SIXTEEN JULY IN FRANCE….LETTER FOLLOWS….J.A. ULIO.”

Later, mother received an official letter from the War Department and a Purple Heart Medal with a written citation.  From these few items I knew that my dad had some musical ability and had enjoyed playing the guitar and harmonica.  The rifle indicated he liked to hunt and perhaps enjoyed the outdoors.  The Purple Heart has always been a reminder of his sacrifice for our country.

On my 31^st Father’s Day, my wife and my two sons had the letters and Purple Heart appropriately mounted and framed for display.  They hang in our family room now, not only as historical artifacts, but as tangible reminders of one family’s sacrifice during a time of war.

As I’ve reflected on this personal loss over a lifetime I’ve concluded that it matters little which war a loved one died in, what country he lived in, or what political persuasion he supported, the end result of a war in its simplest terms is always the same.  “War is hell” for those who lose a loved one. 

The  “War is Hell,”  quote is attributed to William Tecumseh Sherman, a Union Army general during the American Civil War.  This quote originates from his address to the graduating class of the Michigan Military Academy (19 June 1879), young men who had yet to ever fight in a war.  His quote is reported as follows.  “I’ve been where you are now and I know just how you feel. It’s entirely natural that there should beat in the breast of every one of you a hope and desire that some day you can use the skill you have acquired here.  Suppress it! You don’t know the horrible aspects of war. I’ve been through two wars and I know. I’ve seen cities and homes in ashes. I’ve seen thousands of men lying on the ground, their dead faces looking up at the skies. I tell you, war is Hell!

From a personal perspective, I think General Sherman had it right.

 

Now, let's ramble.