It is twenty years to the day that Steven perished in a house fire while staying with friends in Vermont. He was 18. His brother Rob, 15 months older, is unusually restless on this day. “I think I should go to Steve’s grave,” he says.
“I’ll go with you,” I offer.
We bring our son Tommy with us. He is a towhead like Steve was and looks a lot like his uncle did growing up. He resembles Steve so much so that Tommy’s grandparents will have a senior moment and call him Steven.
At the simple gravesite in the Village Cemetery behind First Church we kneel or squat before the grave marker.
Being there gives me a chance to talk to Tommy, who at age 12 has expressed fears about death. I share we are a family of faith and believe that death does not have to be final. I tell him Uncle Steve’s human remains are buried here but that his being, his spirit if you will, has moved on to Heaven. Tommy is quiet and nods.
At the precise moment we all rise to leave, the church bell rings out. We are all energized by this serendipitous moment.
We walk the short distance to the car. Rob starts the engine and the radio immediately blares out: “It was twenty years ago today-” from the Beatles “Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Heart Club Band.”
Go Figure! Rob and I take it as a Sign, a la the movie with the same name.
It could also have been a special message to give peace of mind to a worrying nephew.
Melissa Connors
Wethersfield, Ct.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Friday, March 21, 2008
Jump Start from a Distance
Jump Start from a Distance
My goal is to get around Washington DC before dark. I am heading south to deliver furniture to the kid in college. I notice the car is running a little hot towing the U Haul so I stop at a rest area in Maryland between Baltimore and DC.
I go to the bathroom, walk around some to stretch my legs and return to the car. I turn the key in the ignition-nothing. Try again. Dead. Now what?
These high tech cars stump me (mine is a ten-year old Cadillac DeVille). I have no idea what to do next. I call my road service plan and they locate a towing service near the interstate.
“We’ll have to send two trucks,” he says, “One for your car and one for the trailer.” Looks like I will be spending the night nearby. Ugh!
As I return dejectedly to my car, I say Lord I need help here. A voice in my head says try your spare key. WHAT? What difference will that make. I try the key and the car starts right up. Wow! I call my road guy, cancel the tow service and head south. I have no further problems. I should call those “Car Talk” brothers on PBS about this one.
Walter Holloway
Philadelphia, Pa.
My goal is to get around Washington DC before dark. I am heading south to deliver furniture to the kid in college. I notice the car is running a little hot towing the U Haul so I stop at a rest area in Maryland between Baltimore and DC.
I go to the bathroom, walk around some to stretch my legs and return to the car. I turn the key in the ignition-nothing. Try again. Dead. Now what?
These high tech cars stump me (mine is a ten-year old Cadillac DeVille). I have no idea what to do next. I call my road service plan and they locate a towing service near the interstate.
“We’ll have to send two trucks,” he says, “One for your car and one for the trailer.” Looks like I will be spending the night nearby. Ugh!
As I return dejectedly to my car, I say Lord I need help here. A voice in my head says try your spare key. WHAT? What difference will that make. I try the key and the car starts right up. Wow! I call my road guy, cancel the tow service and head south. I have no further problems. I should call those “Car Talk” brothers on PBS about this one.
Walter Holloway
Philadelphia, Pa.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Lost Keys
It was my junior year of college and I was studying abroad in Strasbourg, France. My roommate was another American student. One evening she realized she had misplaced her keys. She began frantically searching the room, growing more frustrated and angry with each place she looked and not finding her keys.
I have a habit (as silly as it may seem) when I lose something to ask the Lord for guidance as to where it may be. My roommate was not a Christian so I left the room and walked down the hallway toward the floor bathroom.
I prayed, “Lord, Elizabeth doesn’t know You as I do, and she doesn’t know to ask You where her keys are. But I know she’s very upset and worked up, so Lord, I am asking You for her that You might help her find her keys.”
When I returned to the room a calmer Elizabeth said, “You’ll never believe it! Shortly after you left, I looked under my mattress and there’s my keys.”
Why am I not surprised.
Marybeth Henry
Arlington, Virginia
I have a habit (as silly as it may seem) when I lose something to ask the Lord for guidance as to where it may be. My roommate was not a Christian so I left the room and walked down the hallway toward the floor bathroom.
I prayed, “Lord, Elizabeth doesn’t know You as I do, and she doesn’t know to ask You where her keys are. But I know she’s very upset and worked up, so Lord, I am asking You for her that You might help her find her keys.”
When I returned to the room a calmer Elizabeth said, “You’ll never believe it! Shortly after you left, I looked under my mattress and there’s my keys.”
Why am I not surprised.
Marybeth Henry
Arlington, Virginia
Friday, March 7, 2008
A Torn Bumper Sticker
I won't go into deep detail about my incredible opportunity to serve God this week but it all was arranged by our Lord from a simple bumper sticker.
A man full of so much hurt from losing a loved one was on the edge of suicide. We first met last week when I purchased this individual's furniture (for our store Nearly New).
He seemed OK at the time. Wednesday he called and asked for me to come and buy some paintings he had. We usually don't buy personal paintings but I felt the push to go and take a look on my way home from our store.
Shortly after arriving I realized his call had nothing to do about paintings, this man was at rock bottom. Very unstable , drinking, and talking about suicide. All his money was gone, car was gone, his cat is dying and the love of his life has left. He is around forty five, she is a lot older then him.
Through conversation I established he was born again but his faith was fading fast. He was ready to give up on life because of his downward spiral, I asked how he knew I was a Christ follower.
He stated, “I read your bumper sticker when you left the first time we met.”
I have much more to share then I wish to write but Dan is still with us on earth at this moment. He asked me not to call the police because of his suicidal attitude.
I responded it wasn't the police Dan I would worry about, its Jesus whom you will be standing in front of possibly this evening trying to explain to Him how He gave you more then you Dan could handle. We shared events from the Bible and after a few minutes Dan replied loudly , "but I have nothing !" Very loud and unstable I might add.
The first thing that came to mind I responded softly but firmly, " Dan you said you were a child of God (Born Again), then how is it you say you have nothing ? A self absorbed multi millionaire has nothing , everything he has will come to past , Dan, you have eternity with Christ that will always last."
He just stopped and cried again. We prayed , We wept. We hugged. We talked and still are even today. I have never in my life seen a grown man cry so hard as Dan did. Please keep him in your prayers and me. I pointed him into the direction of the Word of God and I pray he runs to Jesus for healing. There is a spiritual war going on out there. Satan is encouraging him to drink and check out. Hopefully Dan will join me in Church this Sunday. Remember everyone, God can use just a plain old torn up bumper sticker sometimes. Praise God Amen.
" in His hands"
(update)
Dan is still with us here on earth. Since I shared with you all in some detail ,Dan seems to be on his way towards a relationship with the Lord. Last week he told me his electric bill was going to be shut off Monday 3/3/08. He called to tell me that out of nowhere his electric bill was paid last Friday by someone out of state. HMMMM, coincidental some might say, but not for us that know God personally.
Dan did go to church with me Sunday and went forth to the front and made the greatest fall a man can make: To his knee's. He wept in repentance and cleared the way for communication between him and God. He called today and wanted to share scripture he was reading. What a blessing to hear Dan is seeking wisdom from God. I couldn't help but to shed a few tears in hearing about Dan's new found desire to know Jesus more.
Is there anything more valuable then being used by God in reaching a lost soul? Not for this reformed country boy. Praise God and glory be to God. Please keep Dan in your prayer, he needs to find an income real soon.
Dan will be just fine now I truly believe. Oh how I still stand in awe, all from a torn up bumper sticker, which read “Are you a good person/need God.com.”
I love you all
Eric Burt
Englewood, Fl
A man full of so much hurt from losing a loved one was on the edge of suicide. We first met last week when I purchased this individual's furniture (for our store Nearly New).
He seemed OK at the time. Wednesday he called and asked for me to come and buy some paintings he had. We usually don't buy personal paintings but I felt the push to go and take a look on my way home from our store.
Shortly after arriving I realized his call had nothing to do about paintings, this man was at rock bottom. Very unstable , drinking, and talking about suicide. All his money was gone, car was gone, his cat is dying and the love of his life has left. He is around forty five, she is a lot older then him.
Through conversation I established he was born again but his faith was fading fast. He was ready to give up on life because of his downward spiral, I asked how he knew I was a Christ follower.
He stated, “I read your bumper sticker when you left the first time we met.”
I have much more to share then I wish to write but Dan is still with us on earth at this moment. He asked me not to call the police because of his suicidal attitude.
I responded it wasn't the police Dan I would worry about, its Jesus whom you will be standing in front of possibly this evening trying to explain to Him how He gave you more then you Dan could handle. We shared events from the Bible and after a few minutes Dan replied loudly , "but I have nothing !" Very loud and unstable I might add.
The first thing that came to mind I responded softly but firmly, " Dan you said you were a child of God (Born Again), then how is it you say you have nothing ? A self absorbed multi millionaire has nothing , everything he has will come to past , Dan, you have eternity with Christ that will always last."
He just stopped and cried again. We prayed , We wept. We hugged. We talked and still are even today. I have never in my life seen a grown man cry so hard as Dan did. Please keep him in your prayers and me. I pointed him into the direction of the Word of God and I pray he runs to Jesus for healing. There is a spiritual war going on out there. Satan is encouraging him to drink and check out. Hopefully Dan will join me in Church this Sunday. Remember everyone, God can use just a plain old torn up bumper sticker sometimes. Praise God Amen.
" in His hands"
(update)
Dan is still with us here on earth. Since I shared with you all in some detail ,Dan seems to be on his way towards a relationship with the Lord. Last week he told me his electric bill was going to be shut off Monday 3/3/08. He called to tell me that out of nowhere his electric bill was paid last Friday by someone out of state. HMMMM, coincidental some might say, but not for us that know God personally.
Dan did go to church with me Sunday and went forth to the front and made the greatest fall a man can make: To his knee's. He wept in repentance and cleared the way for communication between him and God. He called today and wanted to share scripture he was reading. What a blessing to hear Dan is seeking wisdom from God. I couldn't help but to shed a few tears in hearing about Dan's new found desire to know Jesus more.
Is there anything more valuable then being used by God in reaching a lost soul? Not for this reformed country boy. Praise God and glory be to God. Please keep Dan in your prayer, he needs to find an income real soon.
Dan will be just fine now I truly believe. Oh how I still stand in awe, all from a torn up bumper sticker, which read “Are you a good person/need God.com.”
I love you all
Eric Burt
Englewood, Fl
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Sylvia"s Fire
The house seemed quieter than usual. Michael, my seventeen year old, had just left in the car for the store to return some soda cans and my mother, who lives with us, was away visiting my sister.
It was “Maddy” and I relaxing in the living room in the glow of the candlelight. “Maddy,” our miniature Schnauzer, was sprawled on the rug where he usually is when I’m in the room. I had no clue how this tranquil evening was about to change.
It was about nine on a work night so I decided to take my shower and get ready for bed. I normally take long showers but on this night I cut it short. I don’t know why but it is a good thing I did. As soon as I turned off the water I heard the smoke alarms screaming and the dog scratching frantically at the bathroom door. I put on a pair of slacks, grabbed a towel and without thinking flung open the bathroom door. A thick wall of black smoke rushed in and I instinctively gasped—big mistake. I choked, fell backward s and fainted.
I don’t know what happened in the next minute or so. My next recollection is I’m standing outside, still wrapped in a towel staring at my house that is completely engulfed in flames. Maddy is with me barking frantically but I have no idea how either of us escaped that overpowering smoke. I rushed to my neighbor’s house and Marcel took one look at the inferno behind me and called 911.
Michael had just left the store when he heard the sirens. He pulled his car over to let the fire engines pass and as is his habit he raised his hand and offered a little prayer for those in distress. Little did he know that he was praying for his mother, our dog and his own house?
When the fireman arrived it seemed half the town was right behind them. The fire fighters did everything they could but the house was too far-gone. I never saw anything burn so quickly. Like many New England homes built in the 19th century the walls had been stuffed with newspapers and hay to provide insulation. Our old colonial went up like a tinderbox. All we could do was stand helplessly and watch our home burn.
A school friend of Mike’s pointed out an eerie sight. Framed in the window of an upstairs bedroom was the velvet portrait of Jesus hanging on the wall over Michael’s bed and illuminated by the flickering flames below.
We learned later that the fire was started probably when the dog knocked over a candle on a table by the window that fell igniting a phone book. When the window curtain caught fire the flames literally raced through the walls.
The next day, after spending a short night at my friend’s house, Michael and I returned to what was left of our home. There was only one wall standing. We found only two things not completely destroyed by the fire. One was a blanket my mother had crocheted although it reeked of smoke. The other was the framed portrait of Jesus that was still hanging on the one remaining wall.
When we took the portrait down there was no evidence of the fire. It didn’t even have a smoky smell to it. How do you explain that?
Sylvia Jarvis
Sturbridge, Massachusetts
It was “Maddy” and I relaxing in the living room in the glow of the candlelight. “Maddy,” our miniature Schnauzer, was sprawled on the rug where he usually is when I’m in the room. I had no clue how this tranquil evening was about to change.
It was about nine on a work night so I decided to take my shower and get ready for bed. I normally take long showers but on this night I cut it short. I don’t know why but it is a good thing I did. As soon as I turned off the water I heard the smoke alarms screaming and the dog scratching frantically at the bathroom door. I put on a pair of slacks, grabbed a towel and without thinking flung open the bathroom door. A thick wall of black smoke rushed in and I instinctively gasped—big mistake. I choked, fell backward s and fainted.
I don’t know what happened in the next minute or so. My next recollection is I’m standing outside, still wrapped in a towel staring at my house that is completely engulfed in flames. Maddy is with me barking frantically but I have no idea how either of us escaped that overpowering smoke. I rushed to my neighbor’s house and Marcel took one look at the inferno behind me and called 911.
Michael had just left the store when he heard the sirens. He pulled his car over to let the fire engines pass and as is his habit he raised his hand and offered a little prayer for those in distress. Little did he know that he was praying for his mother, our dog and his own house?
When the fireman arrived it seemed half the town was right behind them. The fire fighters did everything they could but the house was too far-gone. I never saw anything burn so quickly. Like many New England homes built in the 19th century the walls had been stuffed with newspapers and hay to provide insulation. Our old colonial went up like a tinderbox. All we could do was stand helplessly and watch our home burn.
A school friend of Mike’s pointed out an eerie sight. Framed in the window of an upstairs bedroom was the velvet portrait of Jesus hanging on the wall over Michael’s bed and illuminated by the flickering flames below.
We learned later that the fire was started probably when the dog knocked over a candle on a table by the window that fell igniting a phone book. When the window curtain caught fire the flames literally raced through the walls.
The next day, after spending a short night at my friend’s house, Michael and I returned to what was left of our home. There was only one wall standing. We found only two things not completely destroyed by the fire. One was a blanket my mother had crocheted although it reeked of smoke. The other was the framed portrait of Jesus that was still hanging on the one remaining wall.
When we took the portrait down there was no evidence of the fire. It didn’t even have a smoky smell to it. How do you explain that?
Sylvia Jarvis
Sturbridge, Massachusetts
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Hope Haulers
I’m a salesman and a part time chaplain to the trucking industry. This is a true story.
Three days after 9//11, 2001 I was on my way to Destin Fl. for the annual convention of the Tennessee Trucking Association where I planned to launch Hope Haulers, a family of services to and through the trucking industry. Upon arrival I wasn’t surprised to find everyone talking about 9/11. When I spoke with the association president he asked me if I would deliver the opening prayer. I said I would.
When I stood up in front of the convention, and I hadn’t planned this, I said, “looking out at your faces I see some of you are wondering what is going on in the world and others of you look worried. I might feel the same way if it wasn’t for my faith and knowing my destiny. I believe God has us all here for a reason and if any of you have uncertainty in your life and are anxious see me before you leave this conference.”
Two hundred and fifty people talked with me over the next three days.
Shortly after returning to Nashville I went to the chapel at the truck stop in Antioch to pick up some tools that I left there before going to Florida and to talk with Chaplain Doug. A young man came in and started asking the chaplain questions. The nature of the questions told me I should retreat to the chaplain’s quarters and pray for Doug while he talks with the man.
I could hear the chaplain making progress when a lady truck driver comes in and interrupts the conversation. I came out and suggest that the lady and I go next door to the restaurant. She is angry with God and unloads on me. We talk for more than an hour and she calms down. I realize I have to leave and I give her my cell number and head back to the chapel to pickup my tools.
The chapel is empty and I wonder how Doug made out with the young man. As I walk out of the chapel with my tools I notice a truck waiting to pull up to the fuel isle but there is no truck in front of it. The driver is just staring straight ahead.
I yell, “hey trucker you can move up.” No response, the driver keeps staring ahead.
I walk over and jump up on his rail. “You ok?”
The driver slowly moves his head and says he is waiting for his wife who is in the restaurant. Then he adds, “I’m a mess.”
I tell him to pull around and park and to meet me in the chapel. I drop my tools in my truck and I spot Doug in the restaurant. He tells me he had a good talk with the young man and has scheduled a follow up tomorrow. Together we go into the chapel and pray for the man parking his truck.
After a few minutes, he comes into the chapel. “You have something heavy weighing you down?” He nods. I ask, “are you a Christian?”
“Sorta.”
“Did you ever accept Jesus as your Lord and Savior?”
“Sorta.”
“Let’s address sorta. What do you mean by sorta?”
He tells me that he was kicked out of his house when he was 15, moved into the home of a pastor and his wife. He lived in the basement for a few years and that is when he “sorta” heard about the Lord.
.
“I find a good starting point is getting right with the Lord, would you like to do that,” I ask?
“OK, how do I do that?”
“Go for it! Just start praying.”
There is a long silence. He starts to sweat.
I say, “Tracey there is a battle going on right now over you. If it is alright with you I’ll put my hands on you and I’ll pray over your body. Are you comfortable with this?” He says, “Yeah.”
After two minutes of prayer he opens up and there is a stream of confession, repentance and acceptance of Jesus as his Lord and Savior. We all rejoice. He tells us that the gal waiting in his truck is not his wife but his live in girlfriend.
“I need to get right with that. When she came out of the restaurant with our food she wanted to leave. I told her I had to go to the chapel. She said I’ll wait here.” He looks at me and says, “When I saw you go into the chapel I wondered if you were the chaplain. When I saw you come out I hoped you would come over. When you spoke I couldn’t move my head it was like it was frozen.”
Then he says, “I’m an owner operator. I’ve lost my job, I’m behind in my payments and I’m broke, I had a spot all picked out one and half hours up the road where I was going to drive off and end it all. Then you jumped up on my truck.”
Chuck Sonn
Nashville, Tennessee
Three days after 9//11, 2001 I was on my way to Destin Fl. for the annual convention of the Tennessee Trucking Association where I planned to launch Hope Haulers, a family of services to and through the trucking industry. Upon arrival I wasn’t surprised to find everyone talking about 9/11. When I spoke with the association president he asked me if I would deliver the opening prayer. I said I would.
When I stood up in front of the convention, and I hadn’t planned this, I said, “looking out at your faces I see some of you are wondering what is going on in the world and others of you look worried. I might feel the same way if it wasn’t for my faith and knowing my destiny. I believe God has us all here for a reason and if any of you have uncertainty in your life and are anxious see me before you leave this conference.”
Two hundred and fifty people talked with me over the next three days.
Shortly after returning to Nashville I went to the chapel at the truck stop in Antioch to pick up some tools that I left there before going to Florida and to talk with Chaplain Doug. A young man came in and started asking the chaplain questions. The nature of the questions told me I should retreat to the chaplain’s quarters and pray for Doug while he talks with the man.
I could hear the chaplain making progress when a lady truck driver comes in and interrupts the conversation. I came out and suggest that the lady and I go next door to the restaurant. She is angry with God and unloads on me. We talk for more than an hour and she calms down. I realize I have to leave and I give her my cell number and head back to the chapel to pickup my tools.
The chapel is empty and I wonder how Doug made out with the young man. As I walk out of the chapel with my tools I notice a truck waiting to pull up to the fuel isle but there is no truck in front of it. The driver is just staring straight ahead.
I yell, “hey trucker you can move up.” No response, the driver keeps staring ahead.
I walk over and jump up on his rail. “You ok?”
The driver slowly moves his head and says he is waiting for his wife who is in the restaurant. Then he adds, “I’m a mess.”
I tell him to pull around and park and to meet me in the chapel. I drop my tools in my truck and I spot Doug in the restaurant. He tells me he had a good talk with the young man and has scheduled a follow up tomorrow. Together we go into the chapel and pray for the man parking his truck.
After a few minutes, he comes into the chapel. “You have something heavy weighing you down?” He nods. I ask, “are you a Christian?”
“Sorta.”
“Did you ever accept Jesus as your Lord and Savior?”
“Sorta.”
“Let’s address sorta. What do you mean by sorta?”
He tells me that he was kicked out of his house when he was 15, moved into the home of a pastor and his wife. He lived in the basement for a few years and that is when he “sorta” heard about the Lord.
.
“I find a good starting point is getting right with the Lord, would you like to do that,” I ask?
“OK, how do I do that?”
“Go for it! Just start praying.”
There is a long silence. He starts to sweat.
I say, “Tracey there is a battle going on right now over you. If it is alright with you I’ll put my hands on you and I’ll pray over your body. Are you comfortable with this?” He says, “Yeah.”
After two minutes of prayer he opens up and there is a stream of confession, repentance and acceptance of Jesus as his Lord and Savior. We all rejoice. He tells us that the gal waiting in his truck is not his wife but his live in girlfriend.
“I need to get right with that. When she came out of the restaurant with our food she wanted to leave. I told her I had to go to the chapel. She said I’ll wait here.” He looks at me and says, “When I saw you go into the chapel I wondered if you were the chaplain. When I saw you come out I hoped you would come over. When you spoke I couldn’t move my head it was like it was frozen.”
Then he says, “I’m an owner operator. I’ve lost my job, I’m behind in my payments and I’m broke, I had a spot all picked out one and half hours up the road where I was going to drive off and end it all. Then you jumped up on my truck.”
Chuck Sonn
Nashville, Tennessee
Saturday, February 9, 2008
One of the Greatest
February 9
Malcolm L. Daniels died January 24, 2008 at age 81. He was awarded a Purple Heart after being severly wounded during the Battle of Wingen in France during World War II. He was truly one of the Greatest Generation.
I met Malcolm in the summer of 1948 when we were both on the staff at Camp Yawgoog, a Boy Scout reservation in Rockville, Rhode Island. "Peppy," that was his camp nickname, was the chef and I was an apprentice on the waterfront. We were tent mates that summer. He was 21 and walked with a noticable limp and I was 15 and wet behind the ears.
One day when were changing to go swimming I noticed his wound...six indentations, each the size of a bullet, running up the inside of the thigh of one leg.
I said something brillant like, "is that where you were shot?"
"Yeah," he smiled, "and I'm glad he was a trained gunner."
(I didn't know what he meant then but years later when I was drafted into the army I was taught to fire a machine gun in bursts of six rounds to control accuracy.)
As an inpetuous teenager I badgered Peppy with questions about the war and his experiences. He wouldn't talk about it much but he eventually told me two personal experiences that still bring a smile. Here they are in Peppy's words as I remember them.
"My unit was fighting across France, hedge row to hedge row. It was getting late in the day and
we were told to hold up in this paticular hedge row for the night. We were digging in and I distinctly smelled coffee. So did my buddy. We slung our rifles over our shoulders and went looking for the brew with a canteen cup in our hand. We pulled back some bushes and there sat three Krauts with a coffee pot on a sterno and their rifles stacked nearby. I don't know who was more surprised. No one moved. We held out our cups and the German nearest the pot lifted it slowly and poured a small amout in each cup. We said thanks and backed up slowly and then beat it out of there. We ran to our position, grabbed some more guys and went back but the Germans were gone. Just the hot sterno remained. "
"We were still in France when I got hit. I drifted in and out of consciousness. I remember a corpsman putting a tourniquet on my leg. When I came to, there was a German loosening it.
I passed out again. When I regained consciousness I realized I was on a cart. I heard Germans
talking and I thought, 'God I've been captured.' Then I heard a voice in English ask, 'How are we doing here GI?'
'' I opened my eyes to see a smiling American. I was in a forward aid station and it was the German wounded who were the prisoners."
In memory of:
Malcolm "Peppy" Daniels.
Cranston, R.I.
Malcolm L. Daniels died January 24, 2008 at age 81. He was awarded a Purple Heart after being severly wounded during the Battle of Wingen in France during World War II. He was truly one of the Greatest Generation.
I met Malcolm in the summer of 1948 when we were both on the staff at Camp Yawgoog, a Boy Scout reservation in Rockville, Rhode Island. "Peppy," that was his camp nickname, was the chef and I was an apprentice on the waterfront. We were tent mates that summer. He was 21 and walked with a noticable limp and I was 15 and wet behind the ears.
One day when were changing to go swimming I noticed his wound...six indentations, each the size of a bullet, running up the inside of the thigh of one leg.
I said something brillant like, "is that where you were shot?"
"Yeah," he smiled, "and I'm glad he was a trained gunner."
(I didn't know what he meant then but years later when I was drafted into the army I was taught to fire a machine gun in bursts of six rounds to control accuracy.)
As an inpetuous teenager I badgered Peppy with questions about the war and his experiences. He wouldn't talk about it much but he eventually told me two personal experiences that still bring a smile. Here they are in Peppy's words as I remember them.
"My unit was fighting across France, hedge row to hedge row. It was getting late in the day and
we were told to hold up in this paticular hedge row for the night. We were digging in and I distinctly smelled coffee. So did my buddy. We slung our rifles over our shoulders and went looking for the brew with a canteen cup in our hand. We pulled back some bushes and there sat three Krauts with a coffee pot on a sterno and their rifles stacked nearby. I don't know who was more surprised. No one moved. We held out our cups and the German nearest the pot lifted it slowly and poured a small amout in each cup. We said thanks and backed up slowly and then beat it out of there. We ran to our position, grabbed some more guys and went back but the Germans were gone. Just the hot sterno remained. "
"We were still in France when I got hit. I drifted in and out of consciousness. I remember a corpsman putting a tourniquet on my leg. When I came to, there was a German loosening it.
I passed out again. When I regained consciousness I realized I was on a cart. I heard Germans
talking and I thought, 'God I've been captured.' Then I heard a voice in English ask, 'How are we doing here GI?'
'' I opened my eyes to see a smiling American. I was in a forward aid station and it was the German wounded who were the prisoners."
In memory of:
Malcolm "Peppy" Daniels.
Cranston, R.I.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)