Purple Heart

I know it has been a long time since I have posted a blog.  For some reason, I just haven’t had it in me.  However, I feel like I must today.  A few years ago I wrote a blog about my hero, my Grandpa.  Today, he has been promoted to his heavenly dwellings and is in the presence of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.  In the spirit of my blogs being about the “heart” I have entitled this one “Purple Heart” in his memory.  I am thankful to God for allowing me to have him around for nearly 40 years.  With his war wounds and heart condition, who would have ever dreamed that we would have had 88 years with him?  Yet, the true grit that brought him through WWII has also brought him through life.  Would we expect anything less of the Greatest Generation?  He didn’t know how to quit.  Twenty two years ago, we were told that his bypass surgery should give him another 10 years…  He has always been a survivor, one who perseveres through anything – calm, cool, and collected like John Wayne.  He was always bigger than life, immovable, unshakable, but now reality is setting in.

I was blessed to spend time with him over Thanksgiving.  Although dementia had ravaged his mind, he still acknowledged me when I said, “Hello Grandpa.”  He responded, “Hello, Son.  How’re you gettin’ along.”  That was always our greeting, and God blessed me by allowing me to hear it one last time from a man I have adored and called my hero all of my life.  I also did something for him that day that I would not do for too many people.  I tasted his coffee to see if it was too hot and about burned my tongue off.  I don’t know what I was thinking – it tastes just as bad as it did the last time I tried it…  My family got a good laugh out of the look on my face, but I didn’t see a thing funny about it…

Well, I now have the honor of preparing to officiate the celebration of his life.  I would like to share some things about his life, mostly about the war in this post.  Feel free to stop reading anytime, this is as much for my therapy as anything, so it may get lengthy (yep, it did!).

Several years ago I sat down with Grandpa and let him talk while I tried to write down everything he would share.  I wish I would have clarified some of my notes while he could still answer my questions.  Some of this information is gathered by piecing together what he told me and what I can find on 12tharmoredmuseum.com.  Ironically, this museum is in Abilene, TX, where I spent about six years of my life and graduated high school, and I never knew it was there.  Anyway,  I will not guarantee all accuracy.  He was born in Mill Creek, OK on August 11, 1923, the third of four children.  He went into the Army in 1942 at the age of 19 and went into active duty in February of 1943.  He was trained in operating a tank at Ft. Knox with the 22nd Armored Division, and later joined the 12th Armored Division at Camp Berkely, near Abilene, TX.  The 12th had the nickname, “Hellcats.”  Later, they picked the most capable to join the 151st Airborne, where he became a paratrooper.  However, when they got to England, they didn’t have helicopters to get the tanks across the English Channel, so he re-joined the 12th Armored Division.  I can’t seem to reconcile all the details, but I’ll just say that some time was spent under the command of General Patch and the 7th Army, and some time was spent under the command of General Patton and the 3rd Army.

Grandpa told me a couple of details, but not many.  He shared that 600 men drowned as they crossed the English Channel.  And, he shared that there was a truce during Christmas Eve and Christmas Day of 1944.  It was so cold they thought they would freeze to death. Some had their toes amputated.

On April 3, 1945, his tank was hit near Rothenburg, Germany.  He was assumed dead and was stacked in a barn full of bodies and was covered with hay.  He crawled out, and was captured.  He began the 26 day march  from Rothenburg to Moosburg.  He was injured badly, including shrapnel in his head, and was given no medical attention.  Along the way, the Germans told him that FDR had died on April 12, and he thought they were lying.  However, some of them were actually crying about it because they were afraid the war would now go on forever.  It was then that he realized it was true.  The march was on fine gravel and they walked all day.  When it was dark, they would lie in the road and get up and go again the next morning.  Sometimes, they would come across a potato field and were allowed one potato, which they would boil in a can of water.  There were not enough to go around most of the time.  Sometimes, he wasn’t strong enough to go and get a potato, so someone would share.  He had awful dysentery and lost over 100 lbs.  On April 29th, they arrived in Moosburg, layed on a bunk, and were immediately liberated by the 14th Armored Division.  He was put on a C-47 and taken to Camp Lucky Strike in France.  He left there on June 1, 1945 and arrived 10 days later in New York.  From there he caught a train to El Paso, TX, where he was given some money and a 60 day leave.  On June 14, his dad’s birthday and close to Father’s Day, 1945 he walked up to his house in Amarillo, TX.  Everyone was there to greet him.  My Aunt told me that she prayed everyday for her brother’s safe return and made a deal with God that she would always be a good girl.  I would say that God answered her prayer and she lived up to her promise.  Our family honored her on her 90th birthday with the 90 things we love about Aunt Sudie.  None of us could come up with a single negative attribute about her.  She was truly a “good girl,” and she loved the Lord.

During his time at home, he spent a great deal of time in the hospital.  He had epileptic seizures from the tank explosion.  After his 60 day leave, he went to Arkansas for rehabilitation.  He then went to Fort Ord, CA, and was honorably discharged on November 29, 1945.  One newspaper article we have listed his medals as the Purple Heart (he has two), the American Theater of Operations ribbon, the Good Conduct ribbon, and two bronze battle stars.

From there, he married in 1948, and had four awesome children (yes, I’m biased).  His wife died in 1959.  He had lots of help from family to raise the kids, but once again he was faced with adversity and persevered.  He later remarried to the woman that we knew as Grandma or Grannie Girl and added a step son to the family.  Grandma died in 2001.    Grandpa spent a good part of his life managing or owning nursing homes.  He was always taking care of others, and I got to witness this first hand as we lived in the same town and even in the same house for awhile.  I had the awesome opportunity to see them about once a week when I was in college and that time is priceless to me.

That is his legacy – he cared for people, especially his family.  He was truly a man who was built for others.  He was never selfish and he passed this along to his family.

One very vivid memory that I have was when I was in the 6th or 7th grade, and I wore a hat to the VFW.  A gentleman walked all the way across the room and said, “Young man, please remove your hat.”  I looked at Grandpa and I’m sure with a smart-aleck tone said, “What’s the big deal?”  With tears in his eyes he said, “It is to honor those who have died for our country.”  I rarely put on a hat now where I don’t think about that day.  It’s amazing what impacts a kid…

I could say so much more about him, but I have to stop somewhere.  He was truly my hero, always there for me no matter what.  I miss steak night at the VFW, eating at Paradise, Too (which he called Paradise Both of Them), watching re-run after re-run of Walker Texas Ranger, including a literal all day marathon where at the end he said, “It’s been a good day, Son.  Let’s don’t wait too long to do it again.”, watching Dallas Cowboys football, especially at Thanksgiving, and most of all just laughing like village idiots.  We never knew what he would say next.  But, we always knew there would be laughing involved.  A friend posted Proverbs 17:22 – “A joyful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.”  Perfect fit for Grandpa.   I loved him dearly and miss him so much.

I will close with this.  Unfortunately, he didn’t go to church and I didn’t know where he stood for the longest time.  I knew he was a good man, but good men don’t necessarily go to Heaven.  I finally asked him about 7 years ago if he believed in Jesus and he said, “Why sure, all my kids and I were baptized on the same day.”  His mind was beginning to give way to dementia, but he was very clear at that point and that was as far as I could get.  However, I had and still have a peace about that.  I will say that he loved well and lived a life of service and sacrifice.  Most importantly, he confessed Jesus as His Savior.

Now, I sit here staring into the lights of the Christmas tree with the fire beginning to die out in the fireplace, reflecting on life.  My son is asleep in my lap after we watched an episode of Walker Texas Ranger in Grandpa’s memory.  What will my legacy be?  Am I a man built for others?  What will I leave my son and daughters with that will really last?  I want them to truly know God and be sold out, not just know about Him.  I want them to know what it means to be surrendered.  I must live it out so they will know.  Thank you, Grandpa, for instilling love, laughter, values, integrity, and selflessness into us.  I look forward to our blessed reunion and joining you for a big t-bone steak.

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