My Memorial Day Hero . . . My Dad!



Mom and Dad: Their Wedding Day

 Today my mind has turned to the holiday we are celebrating . . . Memorial Day.  I was reminded by a relative that "Soldiers don't start wars; Politicians start wars...Our soldiers just do their part to protect the rest of us."  I don't know whether or not this statement is totally accurate but I do know that Soldiers don't start wars but when wars begin it is the soldier who protects the rest of us. For that I am grateful beyond words to express it. I am grateful to the soldiers who have stood ready to defend this nation through years of peace and for those who faced-down our enemies in time of war. From the men who wore the Continental Blue of the citizen soldiers in Washington's army to those now wearing the camouflage of today's military I am grateful.

On a personal level I could mention Samuel Appleby and his service in George Washington's Continental Army, or Robert Appleby who fought in the war of 1812. I might mention Robert Key who died in Natal, Brazil during WWII or perhaps Bob Appleby who laid down his life in Korea. Then there is Charley who died aboard the Kitty Hawk during the Vietnam War.  So many in our family have served with distinction.    However, when I think of soldiers I always think of my own father.

As a child I used to play with his medals and campaign ribbons. I didn't know or appreciate what they represented then like I do now. Then they were just another plaything for me. Today they serve to remind me of just how much of a hero my dad was.

My father was, I believe, typical of most of the men who became soldiers in his day (1942-45). He was not a career soldier . . . he was a farmer/mechanic born and raised in central Texas. But, the nation called and off to Fort Sam Houston he went where he became a part of the United States Army Air Force.

After a brief basic training and some advanced training in B-17's it was off to England by way of Iceland. He arrived in England and was assigned to the IX Army Air Force where he served as a crew chief  for the 52nd Wing's 315 Troop Carrier Group's 34 Squadron. Make no mistake about it . . . this was not a transport outfit . . . . it was a combat squadron!  These men flew un-armed and un-armored aircraft at slow speeds and low altitudes into heavely occuppied areas under heavy enemy fire.

During his 13 Campaigns he saw it all. He dropped paratroopers early on the morning of D-Day (the Normandy Invasion) and for a week during the famous Market Garden (A Bridge Too Far) receiving the Air Medal for his involvement. He supplied Patton's 3rd army and flew out wounded soldiers. I recall his only comment about these young men was as he shook his head, "They were just boys." He truly knew and appreciated the cost of war. He was 29 years old when he entered the service and most of the men he carried into battle and brought out again were under 20 years of age . . . . mere boys in his eyes. When the war ended he flew liberated prisoners of war back to England.

Dad never said much about the war. I recall on one occassion asking him about his war experience that he replied, "I have already had to live that war once and I don't feel like reliving it today." Then he would tell me about some funny non-combat war experience with a few of his friends and I'd catch a glimse in his eye that he was now a time-traveler in his own past. I was to learn more about his wartime experiences after his death when I attended one of his outfit's reunions. It has been through my contact with the men with whom he served that I learned just how much of a hero he truly was.

When the war ended and his services were no longer needed he went home and took up where he left off . . . . he opened a small mechanics shop and life went on. I don't think anyone ever said, "Thank you for your service" to him . . . . but then he never expected it. After all, in his mind he was "just doing what had to be done."

Dad has been gone since 1983 and he is still my soldier hero. Today, I say, "Thank you for your service."