Category Archives: Remembrance

Repost: A Remembrance on Armistice Day

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Before November 11th was known as Veteran’s Day, it was known as Armistice Day, the day World War ended on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month of 1918. We remember our veterans this day, those few from World War II, those from Korea, Viet Nam, Grenada, Panama, Gulf Wars I and II, Afghanistan and all the little ones that many have never heard of that took lives of our military.

We remember those who are gone, those who were injured, baring wounds, scars and lost limbs…and those wounded who exhibit no scars. Here is a story about one just veteran of World War I, my distant cousin, Heinie Mueller. (I’ve posted the story of Heinie Mueller in past years, usually for Thanksgiving. This year, posting his story on Armistice Day seems more fitting.)

Heinie (Henry) Mueller http://www.wegowild.com/ReinkeWWI.jpgwas Grandmother’s nephew. He served in the US Army during WW1 though most of the battles on the front lines. He was gassed twice, received two Purple Hearts, a Bronze Star plus some French medals.

Heinie was a character. He walked with a slight limp and cussed every third word. He didn’t care who he was with nor who heard him. If somebody didn’t like his language, it was just too bad. Usually, Heinie would send them on their way with a few choice words and phrases.

After the war, he married a lady named Irene and moved to Woodriver, IL. When I was small, they would drive down to visit us every few months—more often after we moved to the farm. Heinie liked to hunt squirrels, rabbits, and geese and he would frequently appear during hunting season. He, Dad and I would go hunting while the women-folk visited.

I don’t remember Heinie ever shooting much. He seemed to just like getting outdoors and walking in the woods. When we flushed some game, he would more than likely let Dad or me have the shot.

One year, Heinie and Irene came down for Thanksgiving. They arrived on Wednesday and Irene brought makings for oyster dressing. She and Grandma would fix Thanksgiving dinner the next day while Mom went to pick up my sister who was attending college. Heine, Dad and I planned to get up early Thanksgiving morning and go goose hunting.

We left the house early Thanksgiving morning, about an hour before sunup, and drove down to the Muddy River bottoms where Dad share-cropped corn on a ten-acre field. Dad built some hunting blinds along the edge of the field when Heinie called to tell us he and Irene were coming.

The hunting blinds were set up along a tree line with an open view across the corn field. The field had been picked late in the season and there was a lot of corn spillage to attract geese and an occasional deer.

It was cold. Ice had formed on the surface of the field and crunched as we walked across it towards the blind. It had been built out of salvaged two-by-fours and rusted scrap sheet-metal for the roof with a covering of corn stalks for camouflage. Across the front was a tarp that would be dropped to allow us to step forward to shoot.

For whatever reason, the wind, or low hanging gray clouds or just general cussedness, the geese didn’t appear that day. Heinie had brought a hip-flask and would take a nip every so often. Dad was a Baptist and didn’t drink, but Heinie didn’t care.

By 11 o’clock, we decided that we’d give up hunting for the day. Dad started a fire to make some coffee and to fix a quick lunch hoping to sober Heinie up a bit before we went back to the house.

Heinie had been nipping steadily since we arrived and was feeling good. While the coffee was perking in an old coffepot, Heinie started talking about when he was in the Army. He had joined the US Cavalry in 1912 at the age of 17 and had gone down into Mexico with Black Jack Pershing after Pancho Villa.

After a bit, he talked about going to France to fight the Germans. Heinie was a Corporal by that time and had transferred from the Cavalry to the Infantry. After Mexico, he said, he didn’t want to ride or see another horse for the rest of his life.

Heinie was promoted to Sargent on arriving in France and took over a rifle platoon. He fought in a few battles and managed to survive with only some minor wounds. He was lightly gassed with chlorine a couple of times when his British-made gas mask leaked.

After we had finished our coffee and the fried egg and bacon sandwiches Dad had warmed over the fire, Heinie was silent for awhile. Then he began to talk about the ‘big fight’, the Second Battle of the Marne and tears started flowing.

Heinie had been in charge of a rifle squad when they had left the US, first as a Corporal and then as a Sargent. Not long after arriving in France, he was made a Platoon Sargent and Company interpreter. Heinie had known many of the men in the platoon for several years, some from the excursion into Mexico.

Heinie’s grandparents had immigrated from Hesse, German in the early 1880s. They spoke both German and French. Heinie, born in Illinois, didn’t speak English until he entered school and retained a slight German accent the rest of his life.

Heinie’s company was in the front line trenches and preparing for battle. The Battle of the Marne had been going on for some time and the allies were preparing counter-attacks. An hour before the company was scheduled to attack, Heinie was sent back to the battalion headquarters. It had been decided that all interpreters would be held back and would not attack with their troops because they would be needed to help translate for all the prisoners that would be captured—so they assumed.

Heinie paused several times to blow his nose and wipe his eyes before continuing. The whistles blew and the troops attacked. After several hours, survivors began filtering back through the battalion headquarters area. It was later determined that out of Heinie’s company, he and seven others were the only survivors. None were from Heinie’s platoon.

Later, Dad told me that every year Heinie would get a bit liquored up and start talking and remembering. One of my uncles, Dad’s older brother, joined the Army just before WW1 but had spent the war in the Cavalry patrolling the Mexican border out of El Paso. Usually Dad wasn’t too tolerant of drunkenness but Heinie was different. Dad said it was a small thing to give Heinie an audience. It quieted his ghosts.

Heinie is long gone now. But every Armistice Day and Thanksgiving, I remember him.

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Tuesday’s Thoughts

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Tomorrow is the 12th anniversary of 9/11. I expect the MSM will do the usual 30 second spiels and then forget about the occasion…unless it fits some agenda item of theirs.

I’ll be in Jeff City to attend the veto override session tomorrow, so I’ll post this little reminder of 9/11, today.

ramirez_09092013***

Obama is facing opposition from all directions, even his own party. He made a fool of himself by drawing a “Red Line” over chemical warfare in the Syrian civil war. Obama blamed Assad, wanting to support his Muzzie buddies. The problem is no one can prove who used Sarin gas on whom? Both sides claim the other did it.

Obama blamed Assad and threatened to attack Syrian government installations. The rebels cheered. Then, more news appeared and the rebels did not appear to be so blameless. The EU, as usual, got cold feet. Five years of Obama’s diplomatic assaults and insults against the UK grew fruit and the Brits said, “Not us!”

One by one, Obama’s expected allies dropped away, soon to be followed by…members of his own party. Locally, Representative Emmanuel Cleaver, who never met a commie he didn’t like, said, publicly, that he would not support Obama. Other democrat pols joined the opposition.

As Reid and Boehner counted noses in Congress, Obama did not have any support to attack Syria. Reid, to save some face for Obama,is delaying a resolution to attack Syria to a vote. Boehner is like to follow. Why would they not vote? Neither wants to embarrass Obama.

Now Vladimir Putin has upstaged Obama with a solution to remove all chemical weapons from Syria. Assad has agreed. The rebels are balking. That speaks volumes on who is likely to have attacked whom—those Obama wanted to support.

Obama can’t lie his way out of this situation.

***

We have a local issue that is beginning to draw public attention. Last October, the Raymore city council voted to install a Roundabout at the intersection of one of the city’s heaviest points, Lucy Webb and Dean. Both are high-volume streets, especially during rush hours. Before construction started, only Dean Avenue had stop signs, Lucy Web did not.

The reason for the roundabout was supposedly for increase safety and enhance traffic flow. The proposed cost, last October was around $450,000. Since that time, the contractor has raised his price another $100,000. Over half a million in construction costs alone. Cheaper options to add two more stops signs, making the intersection a 4-way stop, costing maybe a $1,000 at most, or to install traffic lights like the intersection a few hundred yards to the east, were discard, if they were discussed at all. In the end, the vote was a tie to kill the project or at least to revisit the cost and scope. Mayor Pete Kerckhoff broke the tie to continue the project and increase the budget to more the $500,000.

Construction started a week or so ago and we’re already seeing the results of the council’s lust to spend. The proposed roundabout, designed purposely to be single-lane, is too small. A truck got stuck this morning trying to navigate through the intersection. I drive a Tahoe. I have difficulty getting around the roundabout traffic lane.

No, the whole project is turning into a gigantic example of governmental misfeasance and incompetency. One council member claims they tested the design by drawing the traffic lanes in a parking lot. They had no problems. Obviously, their testing was faulty.

Half-a-million dollar project and it is too small. I would not be surprised, after real-world use proves the defects of the concept, that the council will want to spend more to “fix” the roundabout’s design. How much will this cost in all? A million? More? There is land to be bought to expand the intersection if that is the solution.

More waste by council members with a lust to spend when a solution could have been in place last year for a thousand dollars or less. You can bet Raymore’s residents will remember this fiasco when the next city elections come around.

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Thanksgiving Remembrance

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I hope you all are having a great Thanksgiving. As I am known to do, I repeat some selected posts on Holidays. Some Holidays trigger particular memories. Thanksgiving always triggers one for me about an older cousin of mine. My Grandmother’s nephew actually.

Here for your enjoyment is a tale of Heinie Mueller. I hope the story may trigger some memories of yours of those who have gone before us and left a memorial mark on our lives.

***

Heinie (Henry) Mueller was Grandma’s nephew. He served in the US Army during WW1 though most of the battles on the front lines. He was gassed twice, received two Purple Hearts, a Bronze Star plus some French medals.

Heinie was a character. He walked with a slight limp and cussed every third word. He didn’t care who he was with nor who heard him. If somebody didn’t like his language, it was just too bad. Usually, Heinie would send them on their way with a few choice words and phrases.

After the war, he married a lady named Irene and moved to Woodriver, IL. They would drive down to visit us every few months—more often after we moved to the farm. Heinie liked to hunt squirrels, rabbits, and geese and he would frequently appear during hunting season. He, Dad and I would go hunting while the women-folk visited.

I don’t remember Heinie ever shooting much. He seemed to just like getting outdoors and walking in the woods. When we flushed some game, he would more than likely let Dad or me have the shot.

One year, Heinie and Irene came down for Thanksgiving. They arrived on Wednesday and Irene brought makings for oyster dressing. She and Grandma would fix Thanksgiving dinner the next day while Mom went to pick up my sister who was attending college. Heine, Dad and I planned to get up early Thanksgiving morning and go goose hunting.

We left the house early Thanksgiving morning, about an hour before sunup, and drove down to the Muddy River bottoms where Dad share-cropped corn on a ten-acre field. Dad built some hunting blinds along the edge of the field when Heinie announced he was coming.

The blinds were set up along a tree line with an open view across the corn field. The field had been picked late in the season and there was a lot of corn spillage to attract geese and an occasional deer.

It was cold. Ice had formed on the surface of the field and crunched as we walked across it towards the blind. It had been built out of salvaged two-by-fours and scrap sheet-metal for the roof with a covering of corn stalks for camouflage. Across the front was a tarp that would be dropped to allow us to step forward to shoot.

For whatever reason, the wind, or low hanging gray clouds or just general cussedness, the geese didn’t appear that day. Heinie had brought a hip-flask and would take a nip every so often. Dad was a Baptist and didn’t drink, but Heinie didn’t care.

By 11 o’clock, we decided that we’d give up hunting for the day. Dad started a fire to make some coffee and to fix a quick lunch hoping to sober Heinie up a bit before we went back to the house.

Heinie had been nipping steadily since we arrived and was feeling good. While the coffee was perking in an old coffepot, Heinie started talking about when he was in the Army. He had joined the US Cavalry in 1912 at the age of 17 and had gone down into Mexico with Black Jack Pershing after Pancho Villa.

After a bit, he talked about going to France to fight the Germans. Heinie was a Corporal by that time and had transferred from the Cavalry to the Infantry. After Mexico, he said, he didn’t want to ride or see another horse for the rest of his life.

Heinie was promoted to Sargent on arriving in France and took over a rifle platoon. He fought in a few battles and managed to survive with only some minor wounds. He was lightly gassed with chlorine a couple of times when his British-made gas mask leaked.

After we had finished our coffee and the fried egg and bacon sandwiches Dad had warmed over the fire, Heinie was silent for awhile. Then he began to talk about the Second Battle of the Marne and tears started flowing.

Heinie had been in charge of a rifle squad when they had left the US, first as a Corporal and then as a Sargent. Not long after arriving in France, he was made a Platoon Sargent and Company interpreter. Heinie had known many of the men in the platoon for several years, some from the excursion into Mexico.

Heinie’s grandparents had immigrated from Hesse, German in the early 1880s. They spoke both German and French. Heinie, born in Illinois, didn’t speak English until he entered school and retained a slight German accent the rest of his life.

Heinie’s company was in the front line trenches and preparing for battle. The Battle of the Marne had been going on for some time and the allies were preparing counter-attacks. An hour before the company was scheduled to attack, Heinie was sent back to the battalion headquarters. It had been decided that all interpreters would be held back and would not attack with their troops because they would be needed to help translate for all the prisoners that would be captured—so they assumed.

Heinie paused several times to blow his nose and wipe his eyes before continuing. The whistles blew and the troops attacked. After several hours, survivors began filtering back through the battalion headquarters area. It was later determined that out of Heinie’s company, he and seven others were the only survivors. None were from Heinie’s platoon.

Later, Dad told me that every year Heinie would get a bit liquored up and start talking and remembering. One of my uncles, Dad’s older brother, joined the Army just before WW1 but had spent the war in the Cavalry patrolling the Mexican border out of El Paso. Usually Dad wasn’t too tolerant of drunkenness but Heinie was different. Dad said it was a small thing to give Heinie an audience. It quieted his ghosts.

Heinie is long gone now. But every Thanksgiving, I remember him.

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Ghosts

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It’s near Halloween. That means it’s time for ghost stories. We, over time, create our own ghosts. We all have some for one reason or another. Life events, especially of people we’ve known well, have loved, create ghosts—the remembrance of those, their ghost, remains with us throughout life.

One of mine is my Grandmother.  She died in 1960 when I was 13, quietly of heart failure. It was late Spring. School was still in session. Mom was teaching in a nearby town. I was a Freshman in High School. Dad, after being laid off at the mines, was working for the county, clearing brush along rural county roads.

A cousin of my Grandmother had died. Visitation was that evening and the funeral was scheduled for the next day. As usual, Grandma spent the day preparing for the funeral dinner—baking several pies and a large blackberry-jam sheet cake. With the pies and cake baking, she worked awhile in our garden, one of three that totaled over an acre. She usually spent the day working around the house and yard. When the rest of us got home, she had supper waiting for us.

I don’t remember much about the visitation that evening. There was no one my age around. On the way home, Grandma said she felt tired and was going to nap. I sat in the back seat next to her. The trip home took about a half hour.

When we arrived home at the farm, Grandma wouldn’t wake up. Mom noticed Grandma wasn’t breathing. We rushed her to the county hospital ten miles away but it was too late.

As usual when we traveled, Grandma always held my hand while we sat in the back seat. I remember she squeezed my hand when she said she was going to take a nap. Sometime during that drive home, she died…holding my hand.

Years later when I was working toward a degree in Psychology, I had a class where we spoke about a traumatic event in our lives. I repeated this story. The trouble was…it wasn’t traumatic for me. My Grandmother was a strong Christian—as were we all. Yes, I was saddened she died but I expect to see her again. Also, I was young and younger folk, through their inexperience in life, sometimes aren’t as affected as are adults.

We all have our ghosts, memories of those who have gone before us. They live in our memories, accompanying us as we travel through life. I believe our behavior is guided more by our ghosts than anything else.

I’m older now and have acquired more ghosts—my Mother, Father, my Father and Mother-in-law, a few high school friends, too. Ghosts need not be fearful. They can be a comfort, our memories of them, of all the good and occasional bad events in our lives. I’m fortunate to have many of the former and few of the latter. I wish the same for you.

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Tuesday’s Notes

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There have been a number of items appearing of interest today. Some are significant like the RNC attempting to establish a dictatorship within the party. Some, like the passing of Neil Armstrong, are life events of the changing times.

The RNC, as usual, stumbles along. They continue to associate Ron Paul with the Tea Party when he is not. Ron Paul and the Tea Party agree on a number of items but Ron Paul marches to his own radical drummer while the Tea Party follows another. Paul’s statement about Bin Ladin is a prime example of those differences. Paul fails to understand that the border for national security lies on their shores, not ours.

***

I received an e-mail today from city hall. It announced that the flags around town would be at half-mast in memory of Neil Armstrong. I watched Neil Armstron step on the moon in 1969 when I was assigned to Keesler AFB. I had just arrived a few days before to begin training. I and some friends were watching the landing in the BOQ dayroom.  It was all in black and white and somewhat grainy. The audio was clear fortunately. The transmission from the moon didn’t have the band-width for color.  All the color shots and videos were on film and brought back to be developed later.

I remember some commentary concerning the fate of the two in the lander if it could not take off. Whether they had “suicide pills.” The supporting technology, while extensively tested, was not really stable. So much of today’s advances were developed during that period as by-products of NASA and the space program.

Neil Armstrong refused to benefit from his feat. For a time he would give away his autograph. Then he discovered people were selling them for outrageous sums. He stopped autographing after that. He didn’t mind giving his signature but he didn’t want others to profit from that gift.

Goodbye, Neil. You’ll be remembered. You’ve left your legacy on Mare Tranquillitatis, beyond the reach of petty politicians here on Earth.

***

For those of you who’ve read my earlier posts about Ron Paul know I’m no fan.  However, he and the Tea party won a common victory yesterday against the ‘Pub establishment.

The establishment ‘Pubs were pressing a rule change that would disenfranchise any delegate who did not swear fealty to the establishment. The rule would force the state organizations to be puppets of the RNC.  When the proposed rule was published, a Hue ‘n Cry arose and the rule was amended to remove that tyrannical provision.

Republicans reach rules change deal to avert floor fight with Texans, Ron Paul backers

Republican leaders moved Monday to quell an uprising by Texans and Ron Paul supporters that threatened to steal the spotlight from GOP presidential nominee Mitt Romney and expose rifts in the party right as its nominating convention got under way.

Under a compromise reached late Monday, Romney supporters and GOP leaders agreed to back down from a proposed rule change that effectively would have allowed presidential nominees to choose what delegates represent them at national conventions.

The proposed change was aimed at muting the power of insurgent candidates such as Tea Party favorite Ron Paul but prompted an uproar from Texas Republicans, who select their delegates through successive votes in conventions at precincts, then districts and finally statewide.

…

“We believe in Texas as a principle that no presidential candidate nor the RNC should be able to tell Texas who can or cannot be a delegate to the national convention,” Davis said.

“This isn’t Reagan versus Ford, Goldwater versus Rockefeller,” Davis added. “This is George Washington versus King George.”

And Texas Republican Vice Chairwoman Melinda Fredricks had flatly told RNC rules committee members Sunday night that the Lone Star State would stand its ground.

“The Texas delegation considers the new rule . . . an unacceptable infringement on our right to freely choose our delegates to the national convention,” she said in an e-mail to the committee members. “We realize not every state selects its delegates in the same manner we do, and perhaps you find it hard to understand what has us so worked up. Frankly, we find it hard to understand how your delegations would be willing to give away their rights.”

While this rule change was aimed at Ron Paul and his delegates, it also affected those delegates for Rick Santorum, Newt Gingrich and others. The delegates who supported the Tea Party would be as affected as those for Ron Paul.

I’ll give Paul credit for this. His organization lead the fight.

***

I found the following article during my daily scan of internet news.  The Washington Times is a good conservative source of information. However…this article doesn’t ring true.  The Tea Party, of all organizations, studies the Constitution more than the rank and file of the ‘Pubs.

Be that as it may, here is that article. It does bring forth questions. Just how knowledgeable are we?

Embracers of the Constitution are baffled by what’s really in it

Voters see rights they don’t have

By Stephen Dinan – The Washington Times, Monday, August 27, 2012

TAMPA, Fla. — They say they stand for a return to constitutional principles, but it turns out tea party supporters are just as confused as to what rights and powers are in the federal government’s founding document, according to the latest The Washington Times/JZ Analytics poll.

Most Americans say they’ve read all or most of the Constitution, but they tend to see more rights than the document actually guarantees, and struggle over what the Constitution says about the powers and structure of government itself.

For example, 92 percent of those surveyed said the Constitution guarantees the right to a jury trial, but only 40 percent knew that it grants Congress the power to coin money, and just 53 percent said it establishes Congress‘ power to levy an income tax.

And voters thought they had protections that they don’t have — at least not in the Constitution: 71 percent said the it protected the right to a secret ballot and 58 percent said it guarantees a right to education, though neither appears in the document.

“What most studies find is that many people think they know a great deal about the Constitution, but when asked specific questions about our founding document as a country they really miss the mark,” said Doug Smith, executive director at the Center for the Constitution, based at James Madison’s Montpelier home.

…

But The Times/JZ Analytics poll found self-identified Republicans and self-identified tea party sympathizers often shared the same views as other voters. For example, 66 percent of Republicans and 65 percent of tea party supporters said the Constitution guarantees a right to privacy, which was almost identical to the 68 percent of all voters who said the same thing.

The same held true on Congress‘ power to coin money and the right to a secret ballot.

Republicans, though, were far less likely to say the Constitution guarantees the right to education — which it does not — than the general public. While 71 percent of Democrats and 55 percent of independents said education was in the Constitution, only 47 percent of Republicans did.

…

He also said civics education has deteriorated, adding that he learned about the Constitution in ninth grade, but his daughter, who just completed that grade, did not.

The Washington Times article continues to a second page. I urge you to read the entire article. It contains some interesting information and implies that the lack of civics education has been driven by the federal government. I can’t speak to that but like the writer above, I was taught the federal and my state constitution as a requirement for graduation from high school.  My daughter, who graduated from a private Christian school, did not. Perhaps we should make this a goal of our new ‘Pub administration?

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Repost: Eagle Veteran

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This post was originally published last year on the 4th of July.  It is still appropriate this Memorial Day.

***

The photo below and the link to the news article is self-explanatory.  Let’s remember what Memorial Day is really about and how we’ve had to fight to retain our Heritage and Independence. (H/T to Mobius.)

Frank Glick took this photo at Fort Snelling National Cemetery. When he recorded the shot, he never could have guessed how much it was going to mean to the widow of the World War II veteran buried there.

It was a crow that first caught Frank Glick’s attention. It was flying around erratically, so Glick got out his Nikon camera and followed it. It was around 6 a.m. on a hazy spring day and he was driving through Fort Snelling National Cemetery because he was early for a training meeting at Delta Airlines, where he works.

Glick is an amateur photographer, but he always carries his camera, just in case. So he followed the crow, in some cultures a symbol of good luck and magic, until he saw it: a huge eagle perched on a tombstone, its eyes alert, its head craned, looking for prey. In the foreground, dew glistened on the grass.

He didn’t think too much about the photo, until he showed it to a co-worker, Tom Ryan, who e-mailed it to his brother, Paul.

Paul wondered whether a relative of the soldier might want a copy. The tail of the eagle partially covered the man’s name, but Paul did some research and looked up the soldier’s name in newspaper obituaries. The eagle had landed on the grave of Sgt. Maurice Ruch, who had been a member of the St. Anthony Kiwanis Club, the obituary said

Paul called the club, and it put him in touch with Jack Kiefner, Ruch’s best friend. When Glick took his photo, he never could have guessed how much it was going to mean to Kiefner and Ruch’s widow, Vivian.

One day this week, I met with Kiefner and Vivian Ruch in her St. Anthony condo. The actual print would be delivered later that day, but Vivian held a copy of the statuesque photo and her voice broke as she talked about Maurie, his nickname, who died from a form of Parkinson’s in 2008 at age 86.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “This is very emotional for me.”

Maurie graduated from college in mechanical engineering in December of 1941 and enlisted in the U.S. Army Air Corps. Known for his keen eye, he became a rifle marksman and was stationed in the Aleutian Islands. He served four years in the military and earned a bronze star.

To those who knew Maurie, he was a calm and deliberate giant. He stood 6 feet, 4 inches tall, with broad shoulders, but he was also unassuming and unpretentious.

“Used to call him Mr. Precise,” because of his love of order and knack for fixing things, said Vivian. The Ruches had a rotary telephone long after they became obsolete because Maurie scavenged parts and kept the phone working.

Go here for the complete article.

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A Thanksgiving Story

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I’m being lazy this Thanksgiving . This is a repost from a couple of years ago about a cousin of my mother, Heinie Muller.  It’s a story about Heinie, but it’s also a story about Thanksgiving and the years I spent growing up on the farm.  I hope you enjoy it as much as I do remembering the occasion.
***
Heinie (Henry) Mueller was Grandma’s nephew. He served in the US Army during WW1 through most of the battles on the western front. He was gassed twice, received two Purple Hearts, a Bronze Star plus some French medals.

Heinie was a character. He walked with a slight limp and cussed every third word. He didn’t care who he was with nor who heard him. If somebody didn’t like his language it was just too bad. Heinie would send them on their way with a few choice words and phrases.

After the war, Heinie married a lady named Irene and moved to Woodriver, IL. They would drive down to visit us every few months—more often after we moved to the farm. Heinie liked to hunt squirrels, rabbits, and geese and he would frequently appear during hunting season. He, Dad and I would go hunting while the women-folk visited.

I don’t remember Heinie ever shooting much. He seemed more to just like to get outdoors and walk in the woods. When we flushed some game, he would more than likely let Dad or me have the shot.

One year, Heinie and Irene came down for Thanksgiving. They arrived on Wednesday and Irene had bought the makings for oyster dressing. She and Grandma would fix Thanksgiving dinner the next day while Mom went to pick up my sister who was attending college at SIU at Carbondale, IL. Heine, Dad and I planned our hunt. We got up early Thanksgiving morning and went goose hunting.

Early Thanksgiving morning, about an hour before sunup, we left the house and drove down to the Muddy River bottoms. Dan share-cropped corn on a ten-acre field. When Heinie announced he was coming, Dad built some blinds along the edge of the field. The blinds were along a tree line with an open view across the corn field. The field had been picked late and there was a lot of spillage to attract geese and an occasional deer.

It was cold. Ice had formed on the surface of the field and we crunched across it as we walked towards the blind. The blind had been built out of salvaged two-by-fours and scrap sheet-metal for the roof with a covering of corn stalks for camouflage. Across the front was a tarp that would be dropped to allow us to step forward to shoot.

For whatever reason, the wind, or low hanging gray clouds or just general cussedness, the geese didn’t show up that day. Heinie had brought a hip-flask and would take a nip every so often. Dad was a Baptist and didn’t drink, but Heinie didn’t care.

By 11 o’clock, we decided that we’d give up hunting for the day and Dad started a fire to make some coffee to sober Heinie up a bit before we went back to the house. The fire also gave us an opportunity to fix a quick lunch. Heinie had been nipping fairly steady since we arrived and was feeling good. While the coffee was brewing, Heinie started talking about when he was in the Army. He had joined the US Cavalry in 1912 at the age of 17 and had gone down into Mexico with Black Jack Pershing after Pancho Villa. Coincidentally, so had my Uncle Johnny.  The two never met during their years in the Army; not until decades later when Dad and Mom were married.

After a bit, he talked about going to France to fight the Germans. Heinie was a Corporal by that time and had transferred from the Cavalry to the Infantry. After Mexico, he said, he didn’t want to ride or see another horse for the rest of his life. He was promoted to Sargent on arriving in France and later took over a rifle platoon.

He fought in a few battles and managed to survive with only some minor wounds. Once, he was lightly gassed with chlorine when his British-made gas mask leaked. After we had finished our coffee and the fried egg and bacon sandwiches, Heinie was silent for awhile. Then he began to talk about the Second Battle of the Marne and tears started flowing.

Heinie had been in charge of a rifle squad when they had left the US, first as a Corporal and then as a Sargent. Not long after arriving in France, he was made a Platoon Sargent and Company interpreter. His grandparents had immigrated from Hesse, German in the early 1880s. They spoke both German and French. Heinie, born in Illinois didn’t speak English until he went to school and he retained a slight German accent the rest of his life. 

Heinie had known many of the men in the platoon for several years, some from the excursion into Mexico. His company was in the front line trenches and preparing for battle. The Battle of the Marne had been going on for some time and the allies were preparing counter-attacks.

An hour before the company was to counter attack, Heinie was sent back to the battalion headquarters. It had been decided that all interpreters would be held back.  They would not attack with their troops because they would be needed to help translate for all the prisoners that would be captured—so they assumed.

Heinie paused several times to blow his nose and wipe his eyes before continuing. The whistles blew and the troops attacked. After several hours, survivors began filtering back through the battalion headquarters area. It was later determined that out of Heinie’s company, he and seven others were the only survivors. None from Heinie’s platoon.

Later, Dad told me that every year, Heinie would get a bit liquored up and start talking and remembering. Usually Dad wasn’t too tolerant of drunkedness but Heinie was different. Dad said it was a small thing to give Heinie an audience. It quieted his ghosts.

Heinie is long gone now. But every Thanksgiving, I remember him.