My Daddy and the War

    Daddy never talked much about The War. That's how I think of it, The War with capital letters. That time in history when the "greatest generation" came together to stem the tide of cruelty that threatened to engulf the world. They labored and sweated, sacrificed and wept, fought and died. Young men signed up to do their part. Daddy tried to enlist. Three times he tried and was rejected each time. " Underweight," they said. Daddy wasn't a large man. His father's people were tall and thin, his mother's short and small but, in my eye's my daddy could move heaven and earth. The draft board didn't see it that way, so Daddy remained in the tiny coal-mining community that was his home.
    As The War raged on, every man was needed. Daddy received his draft notice. Now, no self-respecting man of the time was drafted.It was a matter of pride. Getting a draft notice was scandalous. Daddy reported to the draft board and begged them to let him enlist. The paper work was already done, so he was processed and sent to boot camp. His plea, however, weren't made in vain. Somewhere between northern Alabama and boot camp in Georgia, his discharge was finalized. When he arrived in Georgia, he enlisted in the Army.
    Even though he didn't talk about it much, my father was in every major battle in Europe. He landed on Omaha Beach on D-Day, fought his way through Europe and even chased Rommel in North Africa. He was a radio operator, a half-track driver and won a medal for sharp shooting.
    Daddy had a knack for turning almost any situation to his advantage. Between battles and moving to the next battle, he managed to make the best of things. When his unit came upon a potato field, Daddy found oil and fried potatoes in his helmet. He once found a Strativarias violin in an abandoned house. He sold it to a local resident for $200. He and his buddies partied all weekend. He also took every opportunity to go hunting to supplement the C-rations the soldiers ate in the field. This love of hunting saved his life on at least one occasion. He left his unit early one morning to hunt game in nearby wood. He thought he could get them some meat for breakfast. Just as he got back in sight of the camp, it was shelled. Daddy got a small cut on his left hand from shrapnel. It was the only time he was wounded. He was the only survivor.
    Daddy had several close calls during his War years. He recounted how cold it was in the Ardennes Forest. He found a barn and slept in the hay with a newborn calf. He swore that he would have frozen to death if not for that calf. That was all he ever told about the Battle of the Bulge. He also told of being lost for eight days in the desert of North Africa. He had only a half-full canteen of water and a chocolate bar. He was found by a Bedouin man who took him in, dressed him in local attire and took him across German lines. As they came to the check point, a German soldier looked him straight in the eye. Daddy said he figured he was caught right there. However, he held the soldier's gaze and was waved through the checkpoint with the command, "Schnell!". And, once again, Daddy rejoined The War.
    The only other story I remember about Daddy's War years was the half-track incident. At some point, while moving from one battle to the next, Daddy was driving a half-track in a convoy. The orders were to stop for nothing. Now, Daddy always had a soft spot for kids and dogs and they for him. So, when a little girl ran into the road in front of Daddy, he drove off the road to keep from hitting her. He wrecked the half-track, was busted to buck private and there was talk of a court martial for disobeying orders. Since a child was spared, the Army decided that instead of a court martial, Daddy would have to pay for the half-track out of his pay. I think the war ended before he got it all paid.
    I think Daddy learned many things during The War. He could repair or build anything he set his mind to. I once saw him take the water pump off our old wringer-type washing machine and put it on the car. It worked until payday and he could get a new one for the car. The old one went back on the washer and laundry resumed. I think he also picked up a restlessness from his time abroad. He worked a variety of jobs in his lifetime, but seldom stayed long at any of them. He worked maintenance at a factory that made parts for GM cars. He also worked as a cop, an ambulance driver, electrician, bus driver, security guard and funeral director. Once he'd mastered a job and the "newness" was gone, the restlesness would come creeping back.
    Even though Daddy never finished high school, he could converse with anyone. From an illiterate sharecropper to an accomplished statesman, Daddy was at ease with everyone. He enjoyed interacting with people and never encountered a stranger. He had a way of making others feel as if they'd known him for years. He fit in everywhere he went and everyone liked him.
    After The War, Daddy came home, married a girl and was divorced six months later. He played minor league baseball for a while. He lacked focus. He started dirving the local bus in Walker county. That's how me met my mother. As she was getting off the bus one day, she hit her head on the door. She swore. Daddy laughed. He asked her out and three weeks later they were married. That one lasted for forty-six years until Mama died. Daddy lasted only eighteen months after that. They had their ups and downs like everybody does. She fussed. He listened. They argued and made up. Their marriage was a strange dynamic, but a lasting one.
    I came along ten years after The War ended. I was a baby boomer and I was "the apple of Daddy's eye". He took me with him almost everywhere he went when I was small. I sat on his lap and "drove" the car. I rode with him to Detroit on weekends to deliver car parts. He painted his boss's house while I painted his car. He fixed things around the house and I was there to hand him tools. I learned a lot at Daddy's side.
    Daddy was slow to anger and quick to forgive. He was laid back and easy going, but I once saw him knock a man through our screen door when the guy came into our house uninvited. Daddy was impulsive but caring. He loved us but never disciplined. He was generous to a fault. He'd give someone the shirt off his back with never a thought for the cold.
    No, Daddy never talked much about The War, but I think that experience shaped who he was. And that, in turn, helped to shape the person I became. The War touched us all because of Daddy. Not by it's horrors, but because of the things Daddy learned.