Here is a story about what can be done without being with a family member or close friend. It first happened within the first six months after my wife`s departure. It began to dawn on me that there were other places in my life that had good memories as well as those I shared with her. I was alone, and casting about for support. It came to me that I had had other supporters in my youth, and foremost among them, were men I shared combat with in WWII. There are special bonds that exist when your life is dependent on others, and theirs on you. Not many more deeply ingrained that those with whom you shared the horrors and stresses of combat. When you were in between or after those stresses, during those times you also had great and vivid memories. Memories of those good times were enthusiastically and happily shared with those who were close. I could see some relighting possibilities there.
I had a nagging doubt, however, in that I had, never in all the years subsequent to my honorable discharge in 1946, had more than infrequent contacts with the guys I served with. Never attended in person, any of the formal A Company reunions. So when this need to relight some long dimmed lights came into my life, there were no longer any more A Company reunions. However, I did, at that time, while perusing a VFW magazine, see a notice about a Divisional reunion. In my hour of need, I abruptly decided that, yes, I would go. Go to get a change of scenery and hopefully, be distracted from my immediate sorrow by brightening some other existing lights of a former life.
When I arrived at the reunion, and just before I walked in the door of the reception room, I had some deep hesitations and reservations. Foremost among them were that there probably would be few, if any, guys from my old A Company there. And even if there were, we had over 250 guys in the Company, I probably would not even know anybody who might be among the living and in attendance. I might, therefore, not be graced with any kind of supporting welcome that I needed.
Well, as it turned out, as usual I was both right and wrong. There was only one guy there from my old A Company, and we did not know each other – right on that score. Completely wrong on my fears about not receiving a warm and supportive welcome.
It was overwhelming, supportive, and needed. I was immediately transformed into a complete family member. Accepted without question or hesitation, but with enthusiasm. I felt it deep down inside. It got better and better. There wasn’t one person at that reunion with whom I didn’t have a friendly and substantial visit. We came from every part of America. A cross section if ever there was. All gathered to be with and honor the 13th Armored Division family members who “did what they had to do”. Family is partnered with support as an operative word in this group. To underline that concept, I would offer two similar reunion experiences. The first happened the next day when we took a bus ride to Fort Hood.
What a ride…
As you know Texas is large, and anywhere you go takes a long time. The trip itself was more important to me than anything that happened that day. First off, right behind me sat a man, basically from the same generation as my own children; He was accompanied by his attractive wife, Florene. It didn’t take me very long to get into a very moving conversation with them. His name was Ken Odgers and his dad was a Platoon Sergeant in Headquarters Company, 67th Armored Infantry Battalion.
Ken`s dad was killed in the Ruhr Pocket on April 13, 1945. A day that ultimately became one of the most tragic in the Division’s combat history. On that same day A Company was ambushed in the village of Kemper, and suffered the most casualties of our combat experiences. My Platoon Sergeant (and Platoon Leader) Eldon Miller was severely wounded in the leg, and was hospitalized in England. I never saw Eldon again. It happened on a Friday the 13th, to the 13th Armored Division… (We didn’t get the name Black Cat Division for nothing).
For once I was glad that Texas journey’s take a long time. As we rode along, I sat and listened to a young man describe his reasons for being at the reunion. A heart wrenching story, but so down to earth real. The entire 13th Armored Division, including Ken`s dad, left Brownwood, Texas, just after Christmas 1944, on our journey to Europe. Ken’s pregnant mother remained in Brownwood for Ken’s birth. She gave birth to Ken on January 18, 1945, while his dad was with the rest of us in our convoy at sea, heading for the war zone. His dad was killed before he was able to see his newborn son. He was killed serving his country with the13th Armored Division on that same April 13th, upon which the Division took so many casualties. Ken came to honor a dad he never met. He was taking his dad’s place at the reunion. He was now with those who were with his dad when he died. So deeply moving… So memorable…
The capstone moment came the next day of the reunion, when a solemn memorial service was conducted honoring our fallen comrades. Who should appear as bugler, but Ken, who was there to represent his dad. He brought an antique trumpet (which in this instance was played as a bugle) and rendered a most soulful version of Taps. The sound was so deeply moving, and was coupled with a deeply expressed love from his heart. He was bidding goodbye to a dad he never met. It brought tears.
We were there for our families and our survival. That reality struck me right between the eyes. Now I could see what reunion was all about. What was going on. Being with those who were there. Being with their families. Being thankful for that opportunity. The dawn was occurring right in front of me. I didn’t realize it all until I came back almost 70 years later.
I went again in September of this year (2014), and guess what? Didn’t I have another enlightening experience. So very similar to the Ken Odgers experience. Another light was being relit. Only in this case, it involved a son who was unable to attend, but had an almost similar loss as did Ken.
His name is Ron Briggs, and his story goes like this:
I had been in touch, shortly before attending, with Ron, a son of one of our KIA veterans. Ron indicated that he couldn`t make it to the reunion, and he was seeking information about his father who was KIA with us in the Battle of the Ruhr Pocket, when he was only three. He really had no memories of his dad. At reunions we deal in memories. We talk about what we did 70 years ago. The urge to share memories with that son smacked me full in the face.
I thought why don`t I take the reunion to him? I actually never knew his dad, but I knew a lot of the same guys he knew. Ate with them in the mess halls. Drank beer with them. Shipped out with them, and shared combat with them. I, along with everyone else who was there, shared the same memories. Enough so that they could provide a background of memories that would match those of his, never to have been experienced, dad.
On the last evening of the reunion I took a small memorial document around and had each remaining veteran sign it. In that way a new memory could be given to Ron that would deliver some of our memories of his dad.
In September, I presented the memorial document to Ron and his wife Anita at lunch at a restaurant in Sodus.
In a later email, Ron wrote: It was an experience I will never forget. It seemed to bring me closer to my Dad .Thank you.
In some small way a bulb was relighted on Ron`s string. I felt good, because it relit a light on mine as well. A win-win deal.
The reunions actually helped me find, and also share, support. Not so much with adventure stories and reminiscing, but coming together, veterans and their families, and celebrating doing their duty as Americans. Sharing it with their families. Then being fed back with respect and honor by those same families. That phenomenon first revealed itself to me when I first entered the reception room in September 2013. In fact it relighted me, right there on the spot. From a darkened and hesitant semi-stranger, to becoming a relighted, welcomed, long lost brother. Happily, in 2014, I was able to help relight another person in need.
Relighting Us.