My Salty Tears

My condolences for your loss.

Thank you, Heart_Melody. He passed some years ago. I still miss him, of course, but I know he's bound for a better world, or there already. I hit the jackpot for parents - Christians who did much more than talk the talk; they walked the walk. Mom still is, as she nears a hundred years of age.

What a wonderful testimony!
I pray that the treasured memories are strengthening you as you miss your Dad even if it hurts now and then. It's good to remember our loved ones who are gone.

Is there a particular memory you treasure a lot you. Could share? And God's bless your sweet Mama! 💕

When he came of age, my father was conscripted into the Army with the world enmeshed in war, WWII. He told me he briefly considered claiming conscientious objection, but that with such obvious evil in the world, he felt it his duty to help defeat it. Basically, he felt that Christians could not sit on the sidelines and watch others lose their lives against the likes of Hitler.

So he had war stories, but not about the blood and guts fighting, though he did arrive during the Battle of the Bulge. Shortly after his arrival, the German forces were in retreat, the line broken. At one point, a Captain ordered daddy, then a Corporal, and a Private to "Grab a bazooka, you two, and get down behind this log. A Panzer will be coming over the hill. Fire at it, then retreat."

The Captain drove away, leaving them alone. They hunkered down behind the log, and dad said, "I don't like this."

"Me neither."

"Look, there's a dry creek bed about thirty yards to our left that would provide us the same shot and a route to escape return fire. Here in this open field behind one medium-size log, well... this will get us killed. So, Private, follow me, and let's do something that makes more sense."

Sure enough, twenty minutes later here came the Panzer. Daddy said he fired at it, and never was sure whether or not he actually hit it because they shot and ran. There was return fire passing overhead, but they were out of sight in the creek bed, "getting some distance between us and the tank."

He was never sure why the Captain ordered them to fire once and retreat, but figured it must have served some purpose in a larger picture, "And that is what being a Christian soldier doing the Lord's work is like, too, son. Sometimes everything seems wrong, nothing makes sense, and there are things you'll never know, or see. You just keep the faith that God has his purpose, and uses those who are willing to persevere, trusting in Him and His larger view."

Most of his stories about the war came from the time he spent in occupied Germany after the Axis powers' European theater was won. Every morning he marched a group of German POWs from their barracks to a cafeteria for breakfast, carrying his rifle, of course.

Between the POW barracks was a small barn with a couple of milk cows. Now, dad grew up on a farm which included a small dairy. As they were marching past the barn, an elderly German woman hurried toward the group, shouting in German. Some of the POWs began shouting back, and though dad had picked up a few words of the language, he didn't understand what was going on.

It was obvious to him that there was no danger, that the woman seemed to be seeking assistance. So he asked which POW spoke some English, and was able to find the problem. The Army cook had sent the lady for fresh milk, but there was no one around and she didn't know how to milk a cow.

So dad asked around to find one of the POWs who had some experience, but not one of the group had ever milked a cow. So he decided to teach the knows-the-most-English prisoner, sending him to the barn to get a milk stool - which he knew must be there - while he kept an eye on the group. The lady stood by waiting for her milk.

The milking lesson didn't go very well, with the language barrier making it virtually impossible to teach by telling. He motioned the POW to stand, then traded his rifle for the bucket - he said the poor cow was in misery and about ready to milk itself if it could. So the POW watched carefully while standing guard with the rifle as daddy milked until the cow began to get some relief, then traded bucket for rifle and taught the POW, who wound up milking the cows every day.

"You gave him your gun, daddy? Weren't you afraid he'd shoot you," I asked as a child.

"No, not a bit. Everyone, us and them, were glad the fighting ended. Now we Americans were well supplied, and well fed during the war. These POWs were glad to be eating for a change. Their supplies had dwindled to nothing as their troops fell to their east and west. They were sick of war and of killing, just like we were. If the man had shot me, where would he have gone?"

About fifteen years after the war (1960ish), daddy would evangelize and found a black church in his home state of Mississippi at a time when such actions were dangerous. Initially, he was the preacher, teacher and leader, but once property was acquired and a new building erected, his black brothers came to him in private, asking him to return to attending the white church in town. The KKK had been threatening them because of dad's attendance. They didn't threaten dad due to his Christian reputation. The hypocrites. Claiming to have the love of Jesus while committing acts of violence embedded in their hatred.

Dad would say, "Son, my number-one-son, if you do something that requires wearing a hood to avoid identification, then it's about 99.99% sure that you are doing wrong."

Thank you for sharing those memories.
God bless you and your family...

My Grandfather was a child growing up in Switzerland during WW2 and he always used to tell me about the war times. how things were different' then. I never grew tired of his Stories

We are all ears, I visit youtube to hear from those who were there, it was an incredible time in the history of the world leading to this time, I now have the opportunity to pay back in some small way the sacrifice they made, that it might not be in vain.

As he awaited his time to return home from occupied Germany, dad told me he played gin rummy with his buddies (not for money, as that would be gambling) until he was sick of it. Of course, most of the men drank, and daddy would sometimes go with them to a pub in town and drink Coca-Cola. I wish I could recall the name of the town.

One day he joined his friends for a trip to town, and as they walked across the precisely laid brick square, he suddenly stopped. He stood gazing at the bricks puzzled. His best friend - another non-drinker - asked him why he'd halted.

"Because this brickwork makes no sense."

The whole group of ten, or so, also stopped to urge the two hanging back to come on and go to the pub, but dad replied, "Look at this. See how precisely the man laid these bricks? So why did it suddenly turn left here? It just doesn't make any sense."

"What doesn't make sense here is that we are standing looking at bricks when we could be sipping cold beer!" declared one of the drinkers, but another, looking around, said, "He did it over here, too."

Daddy talked them into following the paths of the design, until they were all splayed as far apart as possible, standing in place trying to figure out the pattern.

Then it hit him, "Fellows, do you know what this is?"

"No, and I don't care," said one, "I'm thirsty."

But another asked, "So what is it?"

"Guys we're standing on a giant swastika!"

Well, the German POWs all across their nation had been put to work destroying every vestige of the hated symbol, first thing, dad told me. Thousands of Americans had crossed the square for months, but no one else had stopped to wonder why the workman laid the bricks so oddly.

The next day, the POWs were relaying brick in the town square.

Shortly after that, his Colonel sent for him; he was a little apprehensive, wondering why, hoping it wasn't bad news about one of his three brothers who were also in either Europe or the Pacific.

"Relax, son," said the Colonel, who was in charge of a huge supply depot that served many different American forces in that half of the country. "Now, you've served your country well, soldier, but you still have several months before your return home. Now you can spend that time marching POWs twice a day, with lots of free time to do whatever you want. You've earned that right. Understand?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Or... you could spend your time being useful."

"Colonel, I am so sick of playing rummy that I would love something to do."

"Good man. I asked for you because, well son, you knocked the top off every test we've ever given you. Your IQ is in the 160 neighborhood, and what I need is someone smart enough to help me revamp our procedures for the depot. We're losing equipment - probably to the black market - and I have dozens of complaints daily from those who say they can't get supplies. Want to try your hand at it?"

"Yes, sir! I sure do."

"The first thing I'll have you do then, Sargeant, is to man the switchboard for a week. That will let you see what we're doing now, and where we need to make changes - you'll learn it all in that position. Then you put together a plan and present it to me. Got it?"

"Yes, sir, but I'm a Corporal, not a Sargeant."

"Not anymore. And you'll still be operating beyond that rank, if I adopt your changes."

So after he'd worked the switchboard for a week, and spent three days on a new plan, he let the Colonel know he was ready, and was immediately ordered to report. This time the Colonel had a Lieutenant who helped run the depot present, as well.

Dad laid out his plan, complete with new forms he'd designed. He presented the plan, and the Colonel said, "Now, explain this Expediter position you created again."

"Every CO from every group we supply is to assign an Expediter, whoever he wants to send, who will come and live here, and who will sign for each shipment his group picks up. Since it is a driver and truck from his own group, if something comes up missing, then the Expediter and the driver have to answer for it."

"Also, I made some slight changes to our internal paperwork that will allow us to better track the supplies on hand. Including backorder forms for items we have yet to receive."

Dad said the Colonel spent thirty minutes examining the forms and asking him questions, then turned to the Lieutenant, "Lieutenant, you are officially in charge, but you won't have to do anything but help get started. The Sargeant will be running the depot. You see to it that we adopt every form, every change, everything outlined here. This man has thought of everything, and I want it done exactly as presented. Begin now. Dismissed!"

Three weeks later another Colonel - from one of the groups they supplied - came storming into the warehouse, angry and cursing at the top of his lungs. They were short of almost everything.

He demanded his supplies. Dad started pulling forms from file cabinets and showed the Colonel how almost all his supplies had been signed for by his Expediter, and driven away by one of his own. He showed him that a few items had been back-ordered, and explained how they would still go out when the depot received them - it wasn't forgotten.

The Colonel looked at the forms, "What is this about an Expediter, now?"

Dad explained it to him, who was supposed to have chosen a man from his unit that he felt right for the job. Later, he heard the Colonel had used the opportunity to get rid of a trouble-maker. The Colonel, no longer angry at the depot asked a question.

"I've been in Army supply depots all over the world, and I've never seen a single one this organized. Who came up with this?"

"I did, under supervision of my Colonel," dad said he didn't want to antagonize any officers, so he made sure his Colonel got credit, too.

"Sargeant, how would you like to come work for me. I believe you could help me get our site more organized."

"Oh, thank you, sir, but I'm happy right here," he knew the Colonel and his men were living in tents in mud, whereas he had his own room in a nice hotel.

"I think we could make you happy with us, son."

"Well, here I live in a nice hotel, we have hot running water, There's a steam room, and horseback riding, pubs within walking distance, opera and orchestra... I really like it here."

"You know I could order you, don't you?"

Daddy thought, not likely, his own Colonel wouldn't want to send him away, but his reply was, "Sir, in three months I'll be heading home."

"Well, that's the only thing that saved you, Sargeant."

"Yes, sir!" and thus the Colonel saved face.

He installed a new Expediter, and took the old one back, possibly to face charges.

Thanks for sharing friend, blessings

I have always greatly respected and honored such men. few tend to try to understand the severity of war and what the soldiers and their families go through. For every life lost defending our country a piece of a families heart is gone so many fathers mothers friends familiy sons and daughters having to endure that kind of heartbreak that cutts deeper and bleeds more than any knife or gun shot ever could.... That just hits me hard.
Your father was clearly an honorable man and I would have loved to shake his hand. in our lives and days in this age very few think about or even care about such things, the honor and valor that was shown the blood and loss that cost everything we have now...

A little testimony of my own if I may, A few years ago I saved up enough money to go see my girlfriend in Arizona and I never rode a train before so I wanted to try it. upon finally arriving in Arizona an old black man with a wounded leg was trying to get his stuff off the train I imediently helped him and asked how he got his injury and he told me about the war and how he fought and lost so much more than his leg from it. I told him that I know many don't remember and don't consider the great cost of what men like him did for us but there are still those of us who do. The look of shock and gratefulness on his face almost brought me to tears as if no one ever even thanked him for his service.

If I could meet your father right now I would say the very same thing

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