My Uncle and the Tire Iron

My Uncle Sherril is the young man in the picture without a tie.  Dad is at the top left.

In April of 1945 my Dad's 12 year-old sister Joyce went down the lane to pick up the mail and found a letter from the Navy Department.  She didn't know what was in it, but she knew it was important so she sped back to the house waving the letter in the air.

The letter was from The Casualty Notification and Processing Section and stated that Dad had been "wounded in action" and had "sustained multiple wounds." 

My grandfather, a very gruff man, broke down in tears and said to Grandma, "You promised he'd be OK!"  Grandma had promised him that Dad would come home safe from the war because she and the women at Maple Run Friends Church were praying for him.

Soon after that my Dad's 17 year-old little brother, my Uncle Sherril, was at Cole Station on State Road 22.   A neighbor farmer named Abe, who was doing quite well financially because of the war, was also there and casually said, "If the war can last a couple more years, I'll have my farm paid off."

Having just heard his big brother had been wounded and not knowing the extent of the damage done, Abe's words struck Uncle Sherril the wrong way.  He picked up a tire iron and went after him.  He had to be restrained by two men as Abe took off.

I just heard this story last night from my half-brother John.  I didn't ask... but knowing Dad, I'm sure Johnny heard it from Uncle Sherril, not Dad.

I love these little snapshots of the past.

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