Holidays

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Larry Lilly's Letter Memorial Day May 31, 2006

My aged Mother, 92, lives on Norman Allen Street in our home town. I had never paid much attention to the address as I only get to see Mom every now and then, and being a country boy I don't know the addresses of many places though I know how to get to them. If you are from the country you know, and if you're not from the country no explanation will avail.

I discovered this past Sunday that Norman Allen a former resident of our little town laid down his life as a hero in World War Two. His name was the first listed in the Cecil Whig, our county paper honoring all those who died in war since the beginning of WW2. Mom told me that all of the streets in her neighborhood are named after people from Cecil County who died in the war.

I have no idea about Norman Allen. I do know some of the other names, through several avenues. Harry Bailey is number two on the list. I started the first grade with his daughter, I believe her name was Cora, a slight girl with red hair. I haven't seen her for near fifty years, so I know nothing about her, except that all of us kids, we weren't called children back then, as we had not proven worthy of such high sounding titles, held Cora in high esteem as her dad was a war hero.

As I went down the long list (108) I saw Walter Edward Boulden, his dad was the local Ford dealer. In my mind anyone who owned that many cars was super rich, and I nor my young friends could not for the life of us figure out how a person that rich could die in a war, but we committed that when we grew up and made our own fortunes, I as a Cowboy and several of my friends as Generals, like MacArthur, who would keep our word, we would drive Fords. To my honor I have bought several Fords but to my chagrin I departed from my childhood vow and bought other models in my days of wealth. I am now back to Ford products, but no pink ones.

Near the bottom of page one the name, John A. Congo leaped off the page. The line just read, "Pvt. John A. Congo, Elkton." Yet his very name said worlds. When I grew to age, never maturity according to the Great Blonde, Blacks were not permitted to eat in most restaurants, use most rest rooms, or drink from the same fountains. And "they" had their own schools, separate but equal. Sure. All of this reality of my formative years rushed over me as I read Mr. Congo's name. Congo was the family name of a large group of light skinned blacks, I am using the modern vernacular as the terms of those days are not acceptable. The Congo's as a whole were upstanding citizens and here for all to see, one had offered "The last full measure of devotion" on behalf of his fellow Americans.

Sgt. William Keithly lived up a dirt lane named after his family a little way from our house. His sister, who became a registered nurse, a big thing for our little community, and my older sisters were close friends. I knew his elderly Dad and Mom well.

When I was in about the third grade one morning due to behavior well enough to be permitted to ride the school bus, two pretty little girls got on at a new stop. They would ride the bus for several years, I think until they were old enough to drive. My sister says as far she knows after graduation they married and moved away. When I saw their Dad's name on the list the memory of these twin beauties came rushing back. I knew their names, and sure was awestruck by their beauty, but I never really got to know them, as we all held them in wonder, as their Dad had been killed in the war and this gave them along with any kid in similar circumstances special status. I haven't seen the 'Twins' as they were referred to in near 50 years. But you do wonder about the special people of your childhood and youth. As you age you realize more of them than you thought at the time were special.

Two names had a special attraction for me and a thousand thoughts rushed through my mind as I read them. S1c. William Daniel Lee rests in peace next to Pfc. Harley E. Walker. Harley was my wife's uncle, killed in New Guinea in the last days of the war. The box they sent his body home in was kept in the corn crib for years. Joyce's grandmother and I used to stand by the old corn crib and she would talk about her Harley. On every Memorial Day Mrs. Walker and the rest of the family would go to the little cemetery on Howard Street and decorate the grave of Harley and also the grave of Mr. Lee. I think Joyce's sister still follows this near sacred routine of honoring these two heroes' of the Greatest Generation.

Joyce wasn't born when Harley was killed in a far away land, fighting for our way of life. Her grandmother always talked about Little Joycee wandering up to the corn crib and asking a million questions about 'Uncle Harley's box' and how he died and why there were wars? When we took our children to Hawaii in 1980 we made a point of visiting the Punch Bowl National Cemetery. We visited the grave of Ernie Pyle. On the Memorial wall of the Pacific Theater of the war, we found the inscription, Pfc. Harley E. Walker. The children then 7 and 12 wept with us.

Today, the mortal remains of Uncle Harley and the others still rest in peace. Mrs. Walker, Mr. Walker, and Jean, Harley's only sibling, Joyce's mother, all lay in repose awaiting the bugle call for the resurrection.

I never knew Uncle Harley or any of the heroes listed in the paper. I did know the survivors of many of them. And now more than ever I feel the pain of the left behind loved ones. And I try in my fumbling way to say thank you, and to mean it.

Not so long ago I thought I might live long enough to attend a funeral for a Vet and there would be no one young enough to play Taps. Now with the new wars, tragically there will be a supply of supple lips for the bugle long after I am gone to my long home.

While I was nursing at my mother's breast, WW2 began, then as an adolescent, Korea, later as a young preacher Viet Nam and then in mid life the Gulf War and now in my dotage the current War on Terror.

Someday, when Jesus comes we will gather down by the riverside, beat our swords into plowshares and study war no more. Even so come quickly Lord Jesus.

Larry Lilly Copyright © 2006 Use with credit.

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