History is Our Stories ~ A Remarkable American

He shares his birthday with that of our Constitution. And, each year when September 17 rolls around, I am thankful for our Constitution and I am thankful for him. He's been gone for eighteen years, but I think of him often - especially in these years when our country is in such grave danger from outside forces. He would be on the "front lines" of this war, just as he was through all of the wars in his lifetime. He didn't carry a gun, but he carried support for our troops, their mission, prayer and love of country throughout his life.

My grandfather was the most remarkable American I ever knew. He wasn't a large man - about 5'8" tall, but he was always a giant to me. He was a modest man. He came from a town in Iowa that was (and is) so small it is difficult to find on a map. He left school after the sixth grade because he was needed on the farm. Yet, he was self-educated and more astute than most of the highly degreed people I have known. He sold turkeys door to door in this rural farming community to "win" an engagement ring for my grandmother. Can you imagine trudging through the snow in 1926 to sell butchered turkeys to farmers?! I have the ring now. He married at 18, stayed married to the same woman until his death - 62 years. He raised my mother. He loved his family. He carried his God in his heart everyday. He worked as many jobs as it took to support his family through the depression, eventually moving the family to California for more opportunity. He worked hard and he learned fast. He became a diesel mechanic and worked himself up to the upper levels of management, yet he still came home with the smell of diesel and grease under his fingernails.

And, he loved his country! Sunday, December 7, 1941, he stayed out all night. This was a man who liked to be in bed by 8:30. It was the only night anyone can remember that he didn't come home (save the nights he was called out of bed to go fix a truck that was broken down on the road). He was out in the cold fog of the San Joaquin Valley standing in line all night at the recruiting office. He was turned down - too old (he was 33), too valuable at home. He tried all of the branches of the military - too old, too valuable at home. He drove to various communities trying to enlist - too old, too valuable at home. It bothered him all of his life that he wasn't allowed to serve in the military. What he did do was keep the trucks running that were carrying war supplies, and did it with limited gasoline and tires and parts - too valuable at home. "We kept 'em runnin' with spit when we had to," he'd say. Friends told me he used to write notes to the men overseas and tuck them in the boxes of supplies they were hauling. He worked long hours and never faltered. He also put the family on additional restrictions in addition to government rationing and bought war bonds every week to help support the men overseas.

And, he loved the flag. He flew the flag on every holiday that called for it. The last home he bought was across the street from a grade school. I thought it was an odd place to purchase a retirement home and asked him about it. He got the twinkle in his eye and said, "Most days I can watch the flag flying over there. That gives me peace in my heart." He made me promise that when I owned my own home I would put up a flag pole and fly the flag. I kept that promise - you can see it at the top of the blog. He loved sports and I spent many hours watching football and baseball with him. Even at home, when the Star Spangled Banner played, he stood up and placed his hand over his heart, and you could always detect the hint of tears glistening in the corner of his eyes.

Memorial Day and Veterans Day he would buy small flags on sticks and go to the cemeteries. He would walk the rows and place flags at any veterans grave that didn't have a remembrance on it. He would say "Thank you for my country." I went with him one year, and was amazed by the love and tenderness he felt for men he never knew. He wanted them to be remembered always for what they had done for his country.

I asked him one time why he did all of these things. He looked at me and said, "Everything good you have in life is because you are an American - a free woman who can do what she wants to do. And, you owe it to the military and to that flag to never forget."

During the Vietnam War, we were having an intense conversation about the war. He looked at me with an intensity and an anger I will never forget and said, "I hate this war. I hate it because people haven't supported the men who are fighting it. I hate it because politicians are using it to act important and aren't supporting the men they sent to fight it. I hate this war because all future wars will be haunted by it." (Did I tell you he was a forecaster of the future?)

I'm glad he didn't live to see September Eleventh, or the bombing of our embassies or the USS Cole. I'm glad he didn't live to see the War on Terror. I'm glad he didn't live to see the country torn apart once again - haunted by the Vietnam War. I'm glad he didn't live to see us on the brink of a religious war, something he said I would see in my lifetime. I know it would have broken his heart.

I remember him for his remarkable patriotism - for his ability to forgive his country for her weaknesses and to celebrate her strengths. I remember him for the love he gave to his family - right or wrong. I remember him for the ever present smile, the internal happiness that came from "being an American". I remember him for the old hymns he was always singing, even though carrying a tune was not one of his gifts - "God doesn't care if I can't sound good, He cares that I sing my love."

I value what he taught me more and more each year. After his funeral, I went back to the cemetery with one of those flags he kept for the holidays and put one on his grave, and said, "Thank you for teaching me to love my country." He was a remarkable American!

We all know a remarkable American or two - don't ever forget what they teach by the way they live. Take the time to remember their stories. If you feel inclined, write them down, send them to me and I will post them here. My email link is at the top of the blog - next to the flag!