The ground rumbled just a little as it always did when the bus’s brakes squeaked it to a halt. I got on, and found a seat next to an older gentleman reading a book.
We nodded, and swayed back and forth with the motion in the traffic, and over time, I saw a pattern. He’d be there when I got on, and would be there about once a month. While everyone else insulated themselves from the rest of the passengers with their headphones and their smart phones, the older gentleman had his in a book that he was perfectly willing to put down. I made it a point to sit next to him, just to chat.
It took awhile, but I got to know him a little better. He always wore a baseball cap with USMC embroidered on the front, was always friendly, and seemed genuinely happy to see me. I got the impression he was going for his monthly checkup at the VA hospital.
At one point, he was holding the book in his right hand, and I saw that he was missing most of the index finger there. I wasn’t sure what to make of it, everything else I could see seemed to be in perfect order, and he was clearly used to it. Eventually I got up enough courage to ask how that happened, expecting to hear some story involving power tools or some action that had been preceded by the phrase, “Here, hold my beer.”
“Japanese sniper,” he said, turning his hand and looking at it, as if for the first time noticing that finger was gone.
“A… a what?”
And the older gentleman on the bus faded into the background as the story of a strapping 18 year old in the jungles of the South Pacific came out. He’d been in the Marine Corps, in the Pacific, during WWII, and they’d been dropped off at the south end of an island, and were to take the airfield on the north end. That was the book he’d been reading, a history of his unit. They had to get there at a very specific time, as a great part of the upcoming battle depended on that airfield being usable, and they had to take it. He showed me the map, and the huge swamp they’d had no choice but to go through, not around.
He talked so matter-of-factly about how they had to hike in triple digit temperatures through jungle, especially through that swamp. He held both arms up high as he showed me how he kept his rifle out of the water and mud to keep it dry.
They got to their destination, where he unknowingly had his appointment with the Japanese sniper, who’d been trained to shoot off soldier’s trigger fingers, and that’s precisely what he’d done.
As we were both looking at that stump of a finger, he lost in his memories while I was trying to imagine what those memories were like, the bus stopped, and we both looked up. I realized I was at my own destination. I thanked him for sharing that part of himself with me, and for his time and his service, and got off the bus, reluctantly coming back from that hot, humid airfield I’d been at in my mind to a street full of honking cars and rumbling buses, grateful for the privilege of the history lesson I’d just gotten first hand.
From someone who had been there.
===
So, on this Sunday morning, Memorial day, I find myself thinking of and remembering those of you who have served your countries, on the front lines or just as importantly, holding down the fort at home, whether that’s my Opa, or my dad, or my mom and Oma during WWII, Grampa, Grandma, or my uncles on both sides, my father-in-law, brother-in-law, and nephew, or Chris, Buck, Jon, Kevin, Brian, Ralph, Beth, Al, Jae, Denny, as well as so many others who never made it home, or brought back reminders of that time they gave more than we could possibly imagine.
Thank you.
10 comments
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May 25, 2014 at 12:21 pm
bob lammers
A perfect message for Memorial Day but also a perfect example of how our lives are enriched when we simply talk with one another.
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May 25, 2014 at 1:26 pm
tomroush
Thanks Bob…
I haven’t seen the gentleman in some time, but the chance of just hearing of these events from someone *who was there* instead of seeing the edited version in a history book or a documentary is shifting greatly. I think I’ll contact the VA hospital to see if maybe I could contact him through them, just to say hi and let him know he’s remembered.
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May 25, 2014 at 5:02 pm
Karen Builta Moore
Very nice tribute to those who sacrificed in service to others, whether a finger or a life is lost, they should be honored this Memorial day and always.
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May 25, 2014 at 5:20 pm
tomroush
Thanks Karen –
It made me think of all the times we see an “old person” and forget two things: 1. they were young once, too, and had lives, interests, and adventures. And 2. We will be old sometime as well.
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May 28, 2014 at 9:28 am
The Presents of Presence
What a beautiful tribute to Memorial Day! Isn’t it marvelous when we connect with others even for a brief time? I bet you made his day by simply asking and being you.
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May 28, 2014 at 7:04 pm
tomroush
The funny thing was, I didn’t think about whether I’d made his day or not…
I just remember thinking about the stories my Opa told me from World War I, and how much history I learned from people who had lived it – and it just didn’t make sense to even pretend that this was “just an old man” – he was someone, who’d been young once, who’d had hopes and dreams and successes and failures… He was just like any one of us, just further down the road than I was. And I’d learned, over the years, to pay attention to those who’ve gone down the road a bit further than I have – they may have crossed some bridges I might have to cross myself someday, and so, I listened… and learned… and we laughed, and smiled, and both of us reminisced a little… and by then, what had started out to be a dull bus ride had turned into a priceless history lesson for me, and a chance to relive some of his youth for him. Hmmm… Just writing that made me smile… 🙂
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May 29, 2014 at 3:28 pm
The Presents of Presence
What a win-win situation for both of you and then when you shared your experience, it became a WIN-WIN for all of your readers as well! How amazing is that!!! 🙂
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May 28, 2014 at 10:06 am
K. Brian Kelley
I admit that I hid out this Memorial Day. Even before the weekend hit, fellow alumni whom I went to school and those who followed were posting about fallen classmates. Some of them I knew and interacted with. Eggers stands out. I had to chew him out for messing with my knobs (freshmen cadets). It’s not a “holiday” I wanted to deal with, whether what it was intended for or what it has become for many.
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May 28, 2014 at 7:14 pm
tomroush
And you know what? Hiding out’s okay. There are times when we need to protect others, and times when we need to protect ourselves. Clearly, this was a day to protect yourself, and in doing so, it feels like it was needed, and you did the right thing. I agree about your feelings on it being a “holiday”. The thing is, so few people, percentage-wise, have spent any time in the military, that the shared experience had by previous generations is for the most part gone. There are pockets of folks who understand near military bases, but for the most part, I don’t think people understand anymore what it’s like to go through the level of challenge, of pain, of hardship, of camaraderie, and of loss that one gets in the military. Take care & God bless,
Tom
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February 22, 2016 at 2:30 pm
Learning to run before I could walk. | Tom Roush's Blog
[…] of research corroborating a half-remembered story from childhood, and some were just a snippet of life that happened as I was paying attention, and I wrote it […]
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