Footsteps of My Father

Dad’s military time was a watershed period in his life.

My dad was born November 10, 1916, the second oldest of 9 children. He transitioned on May 3, 2006, at the age of 89.

Born and raised in Sandston, Virginia, during what renowned TV news anchor Tom Brokaw called the greatest generation, my dad was a teenager during the great depression.

Although dad may have experienced some “trickle-down” benefits from the economic expansion following the depression, because of Jim Crow laws, the sociopolitical mentality of the time was expressed by American blues songwriter Big Bill Broonzy’s (1893–1958) 1947 song “Black, Brown, and White.”

“If you’re white, its all right;

If you’re brown, stick around;

But if you’re black,

Get back, get back, get back.

I included the above song in this piece because I recall hearing it when I was a child in the 50s. In 2021, that 1950s mentality continues to exist in many sectors of American society.

Dad was one of over 1.2 million black men drafted into a segregated army and sent overseas during World War II (WWII) to fight for democracy and freedom they did not enjoy fully at home.

The military was as segregated as the deep south, and black soldiers faced similar treatment as civilians.

The prevailing narrative was that black soldiers were unfit for combat or leadership positions.

Most black soldiers served in combat support roles, such as cooks, mechanics, quartermasters, stevedores, and truck drivers. They dug ditches, built roads, and uploaded supplies from trucks and airplanes.

Drafted in September 1942 at 26, dad’s separation papers indicate that he served in the 3647th Quartermaster Truck Company as a heavy truck driver.

Ledo Assam, India, was his first station overseas. He was stationed there between December 1943 and October 1945. While he did talk about India, he did not speak about his role in the war.

Because he was in Ledo, Assam, India, during the construction of the Ledo Road, he likely participated in the facility’s construction. The Ledo Road (later named the Stilwell Road) served as the allies’ overland supply route between Ledo, Assam, India, and China.

Over 15,000 American troops were involved in constructing the facility; 60 percent were black. Over one thousand soldiers died during construction, many from equipment accidents, malaria, typhus, or combat.

Dad was awarded a good conduct ribbon and two bronze service stars for serving in the Asiatic Pacific Theater Campaign.

After three years, he reenlisted and was honorably discharged in 1948, having served six years.

Despite having only a sixth-grade education, dad reached the rank of Sergeant.

Dad’s military time was a watershed period in his life. He loved it and spoke often and proudly of having traveled worldwide and from coast to coast.

One of dad’s favorite sayings was: “Give me my flowers while I am alive.”

A year before he passed, an appreciation service sponsored by his church fulfilled his wish for flowers while he could hear and see them. At that service, family and friends showered him with gifts, words of encouragement, love, and affection.

When I polled my siblings, my youngest sister remembered dad as a family man who was a giver and loved to talk about the bible.

Two of his favorite scriptures were: 1 Corinthians 13:4–8 (about love) and 1 Corinthians 7: 9 (about marriage).

I don’t recall any curse words in the house when I was growing up. “Dammit” might have slipped from time to time.

Dad did not drink nor smoke, noting that his dad was an alcoholic, and he did not want to repeat that behavior.

My brother remembers dad as caring and concerned. He recalled cutting wood or grass, and the mower or saw that he was using stopped. Dad would summons mom to go and check to see if something had happened.

Dad did not believe in sparing the rod. There was no talking back, no rolling of the eyes.

Dad was not our friend.

I don’t recall getting any whippings from dad. I saw my older brother get enough of them, and I did not want anything to do with that.

Another of dad’s sayings was: “I am the hub of the wheel.” It was clear who “wore the pants.” There was no democratic process for decision-making; at least, that is what we kids thought. As we grew older, we recognized the power mom leveraged.

Dad appeared invincible when I was a child. He was a big man, over six feet, two hundred forty pounds, big hands, and big fingers. A look would make us kids afraid.

As it turns out, dad was not as big as he appeared through the lens of a child. His army discharge papers say that he was 5’8” — perhaps the army got it wrong.

Dad was our protector. He was not hatred-ladened, but he believed in justice and standing his ground.

My middle sister recalled the time she was riding the school bus during the early stage of school integration (Henrico County, VA schools were integrated between 1963 and 1969). The extra two miles into the black neighborhood was not on the bus driver’s route.

We lived in a rural area, so there was no danger to the bus driver. It was just Henrico County’s form of malicious compliance with school integration.

Dad would have none of that and told the bus driver that he would not drop his daughter off two miles from home.

I am unsure what dad did, but my sister reported that the bus driver dropped her off closer to home the next day.

Dad is a born-again Christian and was a deacon in his church.

One of his favorite sayings is: “Ain’t God Good.” He would impatiently wait for the response: “All the time.” And, if you didn’t respond, he would look at you with bewilderment.

As dad aged, he became maligned with various ailments. He was bent over from back problems, and he walked with a cane.

I recall visiting dad at the veteran’s hospital after major surgery. When I first saw him, he appeared as if he was about to see his maker.

Knowing how bible discussions would lift his spirits, I told him that I had seen the devil. He looked at me with a puzzled expression.

However, by the time I was leaving the room, he had forgotten about his ailments. His eyes had brightened. He was sitting up and telling more than I needed to know about the bible and everything else.

Although dad did not have book learning, he was common-sense smart and a jack of many trades.

He was a carpenter and built the family home. When I was a child, the house had only two rooms and did not have electricity or indoor plumbing. Seventy-four later, the place is functional and still standing.

My siblings and I have an ongoing joke that we all wear eyeglasses because we grew up reading with kerosene lanterns.

Farming and peddling produce around the neighborhood were dad’s passions. He said he liked to see things grow.

Dad knew how to live off the land. He constructed a root cellar and used it to store canned goods and vegetables stored during the winter.

We were economically disadvantaged, but I don’t recall lacking essentials.

After a full day’s work, dad would walk behind a mule tilling the farm until dark.

I recall selling vegetables at the farmer’s market in downtown Richmond, VA. I also remember the “Whites Only” and “Colored” signs posted on the restroom doors at the marketplace.

My siblings and I hated farm work, picking butter beans, and digging up potatoes. However, this work ethic was part of dad’s makeup, and it was instilled in each of us as children.

Dad was a truck driver and custodian. His last job was that of a plumber.

When it came to driving, he had a lead foot.

One car I remember is a white Plymouth station wagon called the “Ghost.” Dad would tear out of the yard, sometimes backward, dust flying everywhere.

The roads were not paved back then.

When we were traveling on the Interstates, dad would never like other cars to get ahead of him, and he would always try to catch the vehicle in front.

Dad had a temper. Mom said he was cross.

I recall him telling of an incident where he was dissatisfied with the services of a man who had delivered and spread asphalt for him. He said he was so angry with the man that he wanted to slap him and run. We laughed about it and wondered how he was going to punch someone and run because, at the time, he was in his eighties and could hardly walk.

I recall another story where dad said he was about to get arrested for something, probably speeding. Dad, unconcerned about getting arrested, stuck out his hands and told the policeman, “Let’s ride.”

That was funny but sounded like something he would say.

Dad was a perfectionist. In everything he did, he wanted it done right, whether it was nailing nails, plowing the fields, or planting vegetables (the rows had to be straight). Of course, his being a perfectionist made for difficult times for kids.

One of our chores as kids was to chop grass from around corn stalks. I say we were the tillers back then.

As kids do, we would often chop down some of the corn. Knowing that dad was going to inspect our work when he came home, we would try to cover the chopped corn with dirt, all to no avail. Other than a mean look, I don’t recall us getting too much punishment for that.

Dad was not a big saver. He had neither a checking nor savings account. Mom was the saver, and dad, the spender, said: “What comes around goes around.”

Speaking of money, one thing that could bring a smile to his face was cash.

Forget the cards, forget the gifts, and give him the cash.

As dad aged, he continued to reinvent himself.

At one time, when asked how he was doing, he would say, “I’m making it.” When asked the question during his last year, dad would say, “I am blessed.”

During his last several months, dad was in a nursing home. He hated that place and continued to ask when he could go home.

I was the last family member to visit him on the evening before he died. My youngest sister and mother had visited earlier.

Dad’s faith had wavered. He did not want to hear about the bible or scriptures.

However, he was in good spirits on that particular evening and sitting up in a chair beside his bed. I asked him if he wanted me to read some scriptures. He surprisingly said yes. I read the 23rd Psalm to him, and he nodded in approval as I read the scripture.

I asked him if he wanted to talk about his military experiences, his other favorite topic, he responded, “No, that was then, this is now.”

Around 2:00 A.M. the following day, the nursing home called me and said my dad was gone. Drowsy and not thinking correctly, I asked, “What do you mean he is gone?” They clarified that he had passed away in his sleep.

As I reflect, dad did the best he could with the gifts he was given despite life’s obstacles. He refused to allow how others labeled him to define him or how he chose to live.

Dad started each of his prayers with the following verse, capturing the essence of his life,

Must Jesus bear this cross alone, and all the world go free?

No, there’s a cross for everyone, and there’s a cross for me.

The consecrated cross I’ll hear till death shall set me free.

And, then home my crown to wear, for there’s a crown for me.

Thank you for allowing me to share this story with you.