When the war started, Dad got a job with Morrison Knutson Construction Company building roads and the airport in Boise, along with his brothers and brothers in law. He made very good money and he and Reah were very frugal, so when he had to join the military in 1943, he left Mom with a paid for home, two paid for autos with spare tires, and two dump trucks leased to Morrison Knutson.
Dad joined the Marines when draft day approached, with a special goal of helping free my Uncles Ike and Pete Wardle who were captured on Wake Island shortly after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. They were civilians working for Morrison Knutson to build the airport on Wake Island but helped defend the island in a heroic stand, for which their captors punished them terribly.
When Dad was about to ship out after training at Ft Pendleton, near San Diego, CA, Mom packed up the best of the cars with clothes and three little boys and headed across the Nevada desert to see Daddy Tom off. It was a very hard, difficult trip. The heat was scorching. There were often snakes on the road. She suffered sunburn on her left arm and face with the windows down for air. Tommy was such a good son and brother, staying in the back and changing baby Harry to keep us rolling. Cars did not go very fast in those days so it took three days. Early in the journey, Mom stopped at a service station to add water to the radiator, a common need in those days and a woman attendant sprayed water on the engine, cracking the block making it necessary for Mom to carry large canvas water bags so she could stop along the way to put water in the radiator. We made it. I do not remember the visit but have been told that Mom and we boys took Dad to the gate, she kissed him goodbye and stayed brave as they had agreed. However, after his depature, she parked there sobbing for a long time. Then we went home to Boise without Daddy.
Dad later told us how very hard it was, standing at the stern of his ship watching the U.S.A. drop out of site, wondering if he would ever see his precious Reah and little boys again in this life.
Dad served as an engineer in the Mariana Islands, Saipan and Tinian, in So. Pacific. He rose to sergeant and led a demolition group in the beach landings, tasked to blow up iron landing craft barriers so they could get their crafts to the beach. Thus, Dad’s group was second wave and a main target and lost many men. Dad would not talk about the war until he spoke a little about it near the end of his life. He did tell us how they would go dynamite fishing when the tide was out, throwing dynamite in corral potholes and harvesting the stunned fish for the camp cooks. He also told us about watching navy fighters and Jap Zeroes have dog fights. He also spoke once of taking a crew of Jap prisoners to work on the runways and being attacked by snipers, who were targeting his prisoners.
It was during this period that I had a scary thing happen. There was a graveled alley between our house and the back of Mrs. Armestan’s house. (She was a wonderful person that helped Mommy a lot with many acts of kindness. So I must mention her.) There was also a painter’s garage down the alley a ways. He had a utility van and one day he was backing up in the alley past our house and little Jimmy was in the track. I remember so well seeing him about to be run over. I froze and could not think of what to say. Finally, I ran towards his door and yelled, “Whoa mister!” It worked and I was so thankful and praised.
After Tinian, Dad’s Company was sent to Iwo Jima, where that Company suffered 70% death casualties and only 10% suffered no wounds. It was one of the most terrible fights of the war. Before Dad left, he and Reah devised a code related to mentioning a family name in some context so she would know where he was stationed.
But Dad was preserved by the Lord’s hand. On Tinian, he contracted a very terrible fever that often killed the afflicted. As he was about to disembark with his platoon, he stopped at the infirmary and asked for some aspirin. One of the medics noticed that Dad had sliced his boots so he could get his feet in them. Dad was asked to sit down and they inspected his now black feet. Dad passed out and woke up a month later on a hospital ship as it arrived in Pearl Harbor.
Mom, in the meantime, thought he was on Iwo Jima and knew from the news that Dad’s Company was in the front of a terrible battle taking awful losses. She also knew that she had suddenly stopped receiving his letters. Tommy and I always knelt at the overstuffed chair where she would sit and nurse Jimmy and we would have family prayer, praying lots for Daddy. I remember when Mommy wept and sobbed so much and Tommy and I would try in vain to love her and comfort her.
Everything was so hush, hush that they kept troop losses and locations very secret so Dad was not allowed to contact Mom for an extended time, about 3 to 4 weeks after he arrived at Pearl Harbor, I think. He was transferred to a hospital in San Francisco when he was finally allowed to call home. Oh, the joy!
Now, Tommy and I were a little pesky. One evening at dinner, we decided to stake our claims on slices of bread by poking our licked fingers in our chosen slices. For some reason, our exhausted little mommy took offence and decided it was time to bring in more horse power to control these naughty boys. She pretended to call the police to come and get us. (This was not especially good child psychology because Tommy and I became very scared of policemen.) She had us stand at the window to watch for the policeman to come to pick us up. (At last she had some leverage.) Tommy and I bawled and bawled. Finally, after making her point she pretended to call the police back and tell them that we had promised to be good and to cancel the visit.
The first time, because of my young age and Dad’s long term absence, that I have personal memory of my Dad was shortly after we had the charges dropped by Mom. Dad was transferred by train from San Francisco to a medical center in Farragut, Idaho. On the way the train stopped in Boise, where we lived but they would not let Dad get off and see his family. In fact, he was not even allowed to let Mom know he was coming through. Knowing that he would probably be busted from sergeant, he got off in Boise, got to a taxi, and, when told the situation and that he had no money, the kind taxis driver said, “Get in soldier, you’re going home”.
That afternoon I went to answer the door and there was a policeman. I screamed and tried to run but he scooped me up. (It seemed very, very high because all of the taller men were gone to war and Mom was a shorty.) Daddy also had a mustache and was wearing his dress uniform (looked like a cop to me), so that also kept Tommy from immediately recognizing him. Then that fiend grabbed our squealing Mommy and picked her up while Tommy and I punched and kicked him on the leg. Mommy was finally able to giggle out, “It’s your Daddy.” That was my first memory of my Dad.
The MP’s eventually came to take Dad to Farragut. While he was there, Jimmy got very sick. He developed spinal meningitis. Dad was given an emergency leave to come home. Shortly after he got home, dear little Jimmy died. We were all crushed. We went from so happy to such anguish so quickly. Now mommy also needed to convalesce.
Kindly, they transferred Dad to Sun Valley where the Lodge was being used as a hospital. The family traveled there to be near and stayed in a little cabin in Ketchum. Dad was increasingly able to be with us and to comfort Mommy. The fever had damaged his heart. (He had a heart attack when he was about 35 and we lived in Caldwell but that seemed to be it. He never had any problems after that and lived a very active life.) Mom and Dad decided to have the Docs at the hospital remove from Tommy and me, our tonsils. We had no problems, but they could get it done for a dollar apiece. Like I said, frugal. They gave me ether to put me under and I thought I heard a train. Later, aspirin gum, all we wanted, and we were taken around to cheer up convalescing soldiers. Some amputees and burn victims were a little scary but I remember giving lots of kisses and getting lots of smiles. Possibly, it was my first act of service outside of my family and I remember feeling joy.
Dad was finally released to come home and honorably discharged. I remember when the Japanese surrendered. All of the cars were honking, people screaming, sirens blasting, fireworks going off, Mom and Dad, everybody, rejoicing.
My Uncles Ike and Pete Wardle were released from a Japanese slave labor camp after the war. We went to the rail road station to welcome them home. They had a barrier rope up to keep us back as they got off the train. Mommy and her family all cheered when they got off the train about three cars down the tracks from us. I couldn’t wait any longer and ran under the rope to go to them. They were just then getting out of their wheel chairs and, with help, attempting to walk to us. When I got near, I was scared to tears. They were walking skeletons. It bothered me for years thereafter, even to the point of tears in a Bud Abbot and Lou Costello movie, when I was 8 or 9, at a comic walking skeleton scene.