Just Simply, "Dad"

The Old Man honors his (and all) fathers today.

Sometimes you just don't need words.

"I'll see you later, bud."

Big Bad Biker Boys

The Old Man was quite a biker in his day. Oh no.....not the Marlon Brando "Wild One" kind, but the Park Street Battalion gang kind. We wouldn't have known 'Brando' from 'Bondo', but we roamed far and wide on our Schwinns and J. C Higgins machines.
We were light years ahead of the American Chopper crowd. A new bike wasn't considered "street worthy" until there were some additions. A headlight was a must. Never mind that it had about one millionth of one candlepower and ate size D batteries faster than a Nancy Pelosi sidestep. At least one of us absolutely had to have a speedometer. After all, it's important to know exactly how fast you were going when you hit that pothole you didn't see because you were looking down at your speedometer. The pothole always won.

One of the coolest accessories was a built-in horn. It was located in the over sized bar just in front of the seat. When you pushed the little button, the mighty horn cleared the way ahead. Forget that it sounded like a chipmunk fart. But the absolute, be-all-end-all bolt-on was the siren. It clamped onto the front wheel frame and had a cable that ran up to the handlebars. When you pulled the string, the siren moved into position against the side of the front tire and it could wail like Jimi Hendrick's guitar on steroids. At night,we liked to lay in wait and fall in behind a car just to watch for the brake lights come on.....followed in many cases by administration of the Hawaiian Good Luck Sign.

There were a number of mishap possibilities. Most of the summer, we wore no shoes or shirts. A spill meant Mercurochrome or that evil potion, Iodine. Gravel became our arch enemy. The ultimate catastrophe for us was to break a chain while pumping up a hill. Two things were assured: Your bare toes would spin downward so quickly that they would turn partially under and the tops would scrape the asphalt. Crap....more Mercurochrome. But of even more ominous note, since the "cup" had not yet been invented, certain anatomical parts were relocated to an area located approximately between your eyes.

Years later, I saw Marlon Brando in The Wild One. He and his gang were a pretty tough bunch. But I submit that even Marlon wasn't so tough if his chain broke.

Join me tomorrow for a special Fathers' Day post.

D-Day.....A Follow-up

The Old Man needs your assistance. As you are probably aware, D-Day and Bedford are forever linked. To refresh, Bedford lost more men per capita in the invasion of Normandy at Omaha Beach than any other municipality in the United States. As such, Congress agreed that the National D-Day Memorial should be located there. A private, non-government foundation was created to develop and manage the Memorial. As such, it receives very little if any government funding, and operates primarily from admissions revenue and gift shop purchases. While there is a paid staff, most are volunteers.

A "double whammy" of sorts has hit the Memorial. Donations and contributions have decreased substantially due mostly to the shrinking of the brave veterans, (we're losing around 1000 per day of World War II vets) and the general decline of the economy. Considering these financial shortfalls, there exists the possibility that the Memorial may have to close. A horrible tragedy.

Virginia legislators have introduced a bill in Congress to place the Memorial under the wing and management of the National Park Service; a move that, hopefully, would insure its survival. I have mixed emotions about this, considering some of the screwy moves government has been known to make, but these are desperate times for the Memorial.

Your assistance I mentioned? Perhaps a letter to your Congressman or Senator encouraging a positive vote on this idea at the proper time; maybe encouragement to the company you work for for donations, or even a personal contribution if you feel so led; all of these in the total could make a difference.

The very fact that I can sit in my comfortable home and write this without fear of recrimination of any type is testimony to the debt we owe the brave men who were willing to give all to insure our freedom.

All who attend the Memorial come away deeply touched. I took a group from our church up last fall and one of the members stood apart from the group and silently absorbed the scene. He is a combat veteran of Vietnam and he said later that he could look at the statues of soldiers in a desperate battle for their very lives and he "knew exactly how they felt".

I promised very few "soap boxes", so that's it for this session. Help however you feel you can.

Here's the link to the National D-Day Memorial....pay it a visit when you have the time.

http://www.dday.org

"The Longest Day"? Unquestionably

The Old Man has a lifetime "To Do List". At the very top is the entry, 'Stand on Omaha beach at Normandy'. While there are many places on this earth that beckon and compete for my attention, only Normandy touches some place deep in my psyche and drives an intense desire to pay some degree of homage to those who died there 65 years ago today. This posting will be a tribute to those "Bedford Boys" whose lives have touched my own.

On June 5, 1944, General Dwight D. Eisenhower turned to his driver Kay Summersby with tears in his eyes and said quietly, "Well, it's on". Earlier he had made the 'go' decision and given the order to begin the invasion of Adolph Hitler's stronghold in France known as The Atlantic Wall . Having just visited the departing troops and given them words of encouragement, he now was feeling the terrible weight of command....of knowing that he was sending some young men to a certain death.

Weather had been a problem for several days but a small window of opportunity had opened and Operation Overlord had to go now or be postponed for 2 weeks. Had it been delayed, the fleet would have to be refueled, and the tides would not be favorable for a landing.

June 6 dawned with the seas in the English Channel still roiling from the departing low pressure driven storms that had plagued the decision-making for days. Waves of 3-4 feet and sometimes up to 6 feet were the norm. Thousands of troops were stuffed into Higgins boats; the landing craft of choice for beach invasions. Men were soaked to the skin quickly, and the violent movement, up, down, and sideways, as well as the constant pounding caused most to puke uncontrollably. Among these dear souls were the men of Company A....now known, thanks to author Alex Kershaw's book, as "The Bedford Boys".

Coming off the end of the Great Depression, young men from Bedford (and of course elsewhere) had joined National Guard units to earn a few extra dollars. Little did they know.........

The withering hell of German gunfire and its effect on the landing is well documented by historians and other authors, so I will not spend time on it here. It's been said that the opening 20 minutes of the movie, "Saving Private Ryan" is as accurate a description of what Omaha Beach was really like as could be shown. Of the 35 men from Bedford, 21 lost their lives. Nineteen of the boys from Company A were killed in the first wave, and two shortly after.

What I want to accomplish is to make some of the boys who gave their lives there seem a little more personal to you; to make their sacrifice perhaps more meaningful. And to do that, I'll share with you my connection to them.

Lucille Hoback Boggess is a dear lady and prominent Bedford citizen. She has served our county and town well for many years. During my early years, her husband, Ralph, ran a newsstand and small sundry store. I bought my model airplanes from him. I got one dollar a week allowance and a Monogram Kit cost ninety-eight cents. Lucille's two brothers, Raymond and Bedford Hoback were both killed. As I grew, there wasn't a lot of talk about that horrible day. I knew this family, but.......little did I know.

Frank Draper, Jr, a gifted athlete and strikingly handsome young man paid the ultimate price for our freedom. I knew his brother, Gamiel. Gamiel was one of the "town police officers". Back then, we knew them by name and they, in turn, knew us. .........little did I know.

One of the young men was Weldon Rosazza. His little sister was my youth choir director.......little did I know.

Earl Parker was one of the older of the Bedford Boys. He was 26. Married to Viola, he had a daughter that he never saw. Her name was 'Danny' and she and I went to school together. A delightful and pretty girl, she was a cheerleader and was one of the most popular and well-liked girls in our school. In one of his letters, he wrote words to the effect .."all I want is to get home to hold my baby girl in my arms." His body was never found. I've been in their home many times........little did I know.

While not one of the Bedford Boys, Bill Peters deserves great mention here. Bill left his young wife, Louise to serve as a medic. Within a couple of months after D-Day, Bill was shot and killed by a German sniper as he walked down the road. Louise moved on with her life and married my uncle, where she remains a much loved member of our family.

In thoughtful moments, other connections flood my soul. The Western Union Telegraph Office that on July 17th became the conduit for those 'With regret' telegrams was located in the rear of Green's Drug Store. I've had countless cherry cokes and banana splits at the very lunch counter where Bedford mourned...........little did I know.

The train station from which the Boys left is now a restaurant. People sit daily and enjoy the food and ambiance, mostly unaware of the scene acted out there all those years ago......little do they know.

Bedford folks are a resilient lot. All of the grief, the heartache bred of loss, and the struggles with hatreds have all but disappeared. Growing up, I heard very little about the sacrifice. It seemed to be accepted as an ugly part of life; life which must go on.........little did I know.

....but now I do.

Jeffrey of "I Ain't Goin" Fame

The Old Man mentioned a while back that the Battalion always knew that when we heard the mantra, "Vacation Bible School starts next week", that our halcyon days were in a state of interruption. Just when we were getting grooved in to summer vacation we had to get back into a harness of sorts. Now, don't misunderstand me, here. As a parent, I firmly believe in getting children off to a proper start on the development of their spiritual progress. And to this end, VBS is a valuable tool for teaching values that help create lifelong integrity. But to a kid, these concepts were beyond our cognizant level. All we knew was that sleeping in, pick-up baseball games, riding bikes, and all the other "kid-things" were about to be interrupted for a week.


Another "semi-cruelty" was that the old Bedford Baptist Church had no air conditioning. Matter of fact, neither did most other buildings. Let a few weeks after school was out go by, and we were well into summer. Pack 150-200 kids with their already-broken-in U.S. Keds and the whole place began to take on the odor of old combat boots and rancid butter.


Opening day.......lined up out on the sidewalk in two directions....flag bearers at the front of each column....thundering through the front doors and tromping down the aisle we marched....singing a reasonable rendition of "Onward Christian Soldiers" and taking our positions to be seated and "indoctrinated" by the Reverend A. G. This was heady stuff.........on the first two days. After that, we didn't thunder, the singing became mostly mumbles, and as to tromping.....more of a shuffle.


Highlights were always 'snack time' and 'craft time.' Lemonade and chips usually made up the gourmet delight with maybe some cookies the good ladies of the church had provided. Crafts were another matter. We built (all within the span of a week) bird houses, leather braids, lanyards, or my personal favorite, a little dog tie rack. This was a beauty. The outline of a little puppy looking over his shoulder at his tail, which stuck out like a banana glued to a flat surface. Ingenious really, as you were to hang your ties on the tail. Ingenious but in retrospect, really kinky looking.

At the time, I owned 2 ties, so the tie rack was overkill.


Enter Jeffrey. Jeffrey lived almost across the street from the church. What you would call today a "high visibility" location. Jeffrey hated Bible School. But every year, he dutifully showed up, like all the rest of us, at the prodding of his mother. He would spend all week trying to think up creative ways to get thrown out, but nothing seemed to work. Finally, one year Jeffery simply said to his mother, "I ain't going". No amount of threatening, cajoling, begging, or pleading could change his mind. "I ain't going" became the rallying cry of the Battalion. None of us had guts enough to use it ourselves, but we all looked up to Jeffrey.


We'd line up to march in and there would be Jeffrey in his front yard....waving. We could have gleefully killed him, but secretly inside we wanted to name him king of the world.


Jeffrey suffered no ill effects from his stand and went on to a successful life. The last time I saw him, we shared a memory and a laugh about the whole experience. No harm, no foul.

I came across this picture the other day. I've indicated Jeffrey as he tried, yet again, one of his attempts to escape. The Old Man is standing beside him on his left. And by the way, that's Miss Alma on the right end of the second row behind the lady in the checked dress.




I hope to see Jeffrey in a few weeks, and I think I'll get him to say, "I ain't goin" just for old times sake.