Family in the Military

Some names and faces that perhaps have parallels within your own:

Bob 

Ken

Lewis

Morris

Wade

Jack, on left, the immigrant's son, in WWI

Sam

Jack

Worth and Daughter 1945

Billy

Phil, second from right,front row. Many years after Khe Sanh

Den in his first uniform 1943.
(Yes, his hair is long.  Read blogpost "Shave and a Haircut".)
Picture of him in Saigon is MIA

Den with wife and first child, 1970

"Battle of Fort Jackson" 1962

Memorial Day . . . it conjures all kinds of imagery and memories.  In more recent times, it is taken as the unofficial beginning of Summer . . . 'the Lazy, Hazy, Crazy Days of Summer'.  This weekend will be filled with cookouts, large retail salestravaganza's, ballgames, trips to the beach; for many, a time not to have to report to 'the job'.

    Those kinds of events, however, do not lie at the origins of Memorial Day.  Wikipedia has a good account of the origins on the observance.  A key distinction is made between Memorial Day which is for persons who died while serving and Veterans Day (formerly Armistice Day, November 11) which is set aside for recognition of all who served in the military.

    During World War II, I learned a new term, "Gold Star Mother" . . . for those women who had had children to die while on active duty.  Our family experienced such a loss.  I have written on an earlier post ("For Whom the Bell Tolls") about the death of my Uncle Bob in a B-29 crash in 1944.  Soon thereafter, a small flag appeared in my grand-parents' window with three stars, one for each of their sons in the military.  Two stars were white, the other, gold.

    As Memorial Day approached, I was reminded again of that post and from that I remembered that several other members of our family have spent time in uniform . . . some in harm's way; others, like myself, not so. Still, it was time away from our civilian lives given, we believed, for a high purpose. . . being prepared to protect and defend our country.  Since it is still six months or so until November and Veterans' Day, I decided to proceed naming my relatives who have served.  (I need to note that there were many others, like my dad and younger brother, who were willing to serve but were disqualified when they failed the physical exam.)

    Mom had three brothers  on active duty during World War II.  In addition to Bob, there was Ken who enlisted in the Navy after his brother's death and was deployed to the Pacific, notably to Guam. Lewis was in the Aleutian Islands. There is somewhere a newspaper clipping with a photograph of him and his squad on patrol duty, guarding against possible Japanese incursions.  Additionally, her brother-in-law, Morris, was deployed to Newfoundland.  Uncle Wade served stateside.

    At least one of my paternal grand-father's siblings, Jack, was in World War I.  In the 1950's, two of dad's siblings ... Sam and Jack  (the namesake) . . . were in the Army.  After the above picture was made, Uncle Sam ( I have a real 'Uncle Sam') earned a commission and completed his stint as an officer.  Jack told me of his experience when in Basic Training of having his officer brother visit him, to the amazement of his friends who saw him enjoying a conversation with an officer.  Jack spent some of his enlistment in Germany.

     My wife's father,Worth, served in the Navy in World War II.  My brother-in-law, Billy, served three years in the US Army, much of that time in Germany during the 1970's.

    Two family members were in Vietnam. Lewis's son, Phil, my cousin, was a medic and was wounded at the Battle of Khe Sanh. My brother, Dennis, spent time as an Orthopedic Surgeon at Saigon General Hospital during that time and was promoted to Major prior to his discharge. They both saw some horrendous stuff.

   I am somewhat embarrassed to speak of my military experience within the context of those named here.  I passed the Air Force Officer Training School Exam and Navigator Exam only to flunk the physical exam the following day.  "You could have eye surgery and try again later", the examiner told me.  I decided not to have a scapel (or whatever instrument might be used) for this procedure with unknown outcomes.  So, in 1962, I enlisted in the Reserves with an Army Aviation company.  After basic training, I did  OJT in aircraft dispatch.  Within a month of my leaving active duty, my outfit, the only Army Aviation company in the state, was dissolved and the men reassigned. There being no aircraft to dispatch, I was placed on Inactive Duty which meant no weekly drills,no two-week Summer camp.  It was a total  fluke.

    Perhaps the time for a universal military draft has long since passed. While I hardly consider myself a "Hawk", I am grateful for the service of these other men pictured above.
Many families had variations of this same story. Recently I saw statistics of US casualties in each conflict since World War I. Whether it's Memorial Day or Veterans' Day, the issue is not to glorify war but appreciation for those who served.

     Satchel (E-1)


    

"SHAVE AND A HAIRCUT . . . "

          "You've had a haircut," my friend said. "No, I had several of them cut", I answered.  He missed the lame joke.  Saw my barber (not stylist) today. (Well, actually he exceeds 'barber' skills. It's just that my 'style' is relatively easy to maintain.) While I marveled at the pile of grey hair on the floor, I did enjoy the warm shampooing afterwards.  (Lots of itchy hairs down my shirt collar always was a dismaying aftermath of a haircut.)

      According to Wikipedia, barbering has had several specialties over the centuries.  Once called Barber-surgeons, they offered services, including several 'medical specialties', in addition to trimming the tonsures.  The abandoned practice of blood-letting, once considered top of the line treatment for various maladies, lies at the history of the barber pole . . . Red for blood, white for bandages and blue for the veins.

     In the small towns of my youth, along with the traditional 'shave and a haircut, two  bits' (25 cents), of that ditty's fame, many shops offered hot showers and shoe shines. (One of my first 'public jobs' was shining shoes in Mr. Lewter's shop in the late 1940's. Fee ? 25 cents.) He did not assess me a space rental fee. I suppose that I was a kind of add-on bonus for his well-groomed customers, especially on Saturdays.  One of my younger brothers plied the same trade in our uncle's shop several years later.

     At that time, barber shops were essentially a male domain . . . except for the occasional mother who would bring in a son for his first trim.  Along with providing grooming service, they were community centers for information, misinformation, rumors and gossip.  Herb Shriner, a humorist of another generation, remarked that life was so slow in his small town that on Saturday nights, folks would gather at the barber shop 'to watch a couple of haircuts'. 

'Watching a few haircuts' at Kilroy's shop ca. 1970's

     Mr. Pickard, a barber with whom I was  acquainted in the 1950's, could on occasion be bombastic and profane.  Local lore had it that one day as each customer would leave his shop, 'Pick' would proceed to gossip mercilessly about that person. . . until one customer who had just had his haircut resumed a seat in the waiting area.  "What in the *&%$#()& are you still doing here?"  The customer allegedly replied that having heard what happened to the earlier patrons, he was not leaving to be talked about.

    My Uncle Lewis was a multi-talented man, capable of doing most anything that caught his interest.  During World War II, he
became a self-taught barber in his group.  After the War, he went to the state licensing office and was told that he would have to go through a formal training program.  He replied to the effect that he did not have time for that and somehow persuaded someone to let him demonstrate his skills, whereupon he was licensed.  His shop in the mill village was a long-time gathering place for many of the karakters there.

Uncle Lewis shaves his brother, Ken, in this 1949 photograph from the Durham, NC newspaper.

        My brother who shined shoes in Lewis's shop had become very fond of our uncle when just a wee thing.  So strong was the attachment that he insisted to our parents that he be allowed to wait until Lewis returned from military duty so he could give him his first haircut. Consequently, he had lots of long curls at his initial 'shearing'. 

     Probably my most memorable haircut occurred in July 1962 at Fort Jackson, South Carolina, when I entered the US Army. While I knew what 'style' would be coming, I was still  a bit surprised when the 'barbers' would occasionally ask a recruit how he wanted his hair cut, then proceed to skin his head.  Grown men were seen crying.  The only other 'style' that came close was that worn by a  neighboring elderly gentleman whose wife placed a bowl on the top of his head and cut around it, leaving him with a somewhat bizarre appearance.

Fort Jackson, South Carolina; Summer 1962

     The price of a trim has risen along with other necessities.  I do remember when  twenty-five cents was indeed the 'going rate'.  Now, it's more like twenty dollars where I live.  A once  prominent politician from our region caught lots of negative publicity as a result of his purportedly $400 haircut.  I wonder if that kind of thing was in  Garrison Keillor's mind when he wrote that "beauty isn't worth thinking about; what's important is your mind. You don't want a fifty-dollar haircut on a fifty-cent head."

     And, speaking of fifty-cent heads and thoughts that proceed therefrom: 'Kilroy' has been a barber in this area for many years.  Now, he apparently has encountered some sort of mindless bureaucracy.  I'll let my brother tell it ( from a column he regularly writes in  the local paper.): He noted that Cadle (his real name) had initially operated his shop in the building where Uncle Lewis once practiced his trade. Then, about 37  years ago, he built a new  structure just up the road. "His shop was open at night when many folks who work during the day find it convenient to have their ears lowered. . . . In the meantime, he continued to work at the original shop [about 8 miles away], never having the two open at the same hour.  Then came the word a few weeks ago that he was apparently engaging in some nefarious activity that would doom the world as we know it. The state Barber Board - or whatever the official title is - said 'You can't do that.'  As far as I've been able to learn the reason given was one barber couldn't operate two shops. My friend appealed, asking if he couldn't be 'grandfathered in'.  Nope. One barber can't operate two shops. So, thanks to a nameless shadow in a cubicle somewhere in Raleigh [the state capital], 37 years of time, money, sweat, good will and community service is in the tank."  

Talk about'bloodletting'.

   "Next".

        Satchel






     

". . . if you don't hear yourself write"

      "How are you going to know what you are thinking if you don't hear yourself talk?"  So the late Dr. Vernon Wall, my counselor back in the 1970's sometimes challenged his introverted client (me).  And even now as a therapist, I am sometimes surprised by something that I didn't know that I thought until I heard myself saying it.

      Sometimes writing can provide the same kinds of awareness.  Vernon invited me to write an interpretive narrative of my life . . . all 38 years of it at the time. Didn't know I thought some of those things til I saw them on paper. (No PC's then) Though that document has been sparingly shared with others, it still remains somewhere  within the 'archives'.  Not exactly a blog by any stretch . . . although  occasionally I see things on internet blogs that seem to me to be much more personal and appropriately private.

     Writing a blog for a bit more than two years, I often wonder about my "why's" : 'it is less expensive than therapy'; it provides an opportunity for  'thinking aloud'; and there are family stories that I can share with my contemporaries as well as 'the next generation'.  And, occasionally, I receive feedback indicating that particularities in my writing resonate with someone else's experiences.

   From curiosity, I put my search engine on various kinds of blogs ... by states, regions, professions,  interests, etc. There are blogs about: food, cooking, camping, midlife, aging, . . . Noting all those writers, I wondered 'who is reading this stuff ?'  And, Wikipedia has an entry about the history of the  Blog.

   Currently, I read a dozen or so blogs. Some authors are kinspersons or friends.  A few  I have just stumbled upon.  In no particular order, here are those that I read with some consistency:

   .Clear Eyes, Full Heart, Grace as it finds me.  My colleague, Russell Jones.

   .johnbrowe.com ...Dreams and Other Mysteries. By a former colleague

   .jmh4043.blogspot.com ... "a blog about personal dimensions of learning, schooling, home and family life." I wish he posted more often.

    ."Blogger:UserProfile:RisingSong".  I located this one while searching "EMDR blogs" since I use EMDR as a modality for treating trauma.  Note: this person sometimes tells her recovery experiences in rather direct narrative. 

   .burrissblog.wordpress.com  by a pastor whom I know. His reflections on Christian faith and life.

   .CaringBridge.org.  Site for Kirstin Hoff.  My daughter's account of her battle with breast cancer.

   .www.edwardhays.com/haystack-blog. "haphazard thoughts on the invisible and visible mysteries of life"

   .http://swimmingwithoutthemanual.com.  A single mom's experiences.

   .theweatheredshepherd.com.  Reflections of a Moravian Bishop.

   .Harrell F. Beck blog.  "The Wisdom of Harrell Beck".  Harrell was a major influence in my life.  He died in 1987; however, some of his former students   periodically post snippets of his writings and reflections.

    .Charles F. Price.  Visit his website and select 'blog'. Charles is a former fraternity brother, now fulfilling life long dream of writing for publication.

     What might you "hear yourself say" were you to write of your interests and observations ?

     Satchel