When I was growing up it was common for most kid's dads to have served in the military. When I would go visit my friend's homes there was usually a picture on a wall or mantle of their dad in his uniform. Kids of the 50's were proud of their dad's military service. Our dads taught us to be respectful of the flag and all that it stood for. I would watch my dad place his hand over his heart for the pledge, remove his hat for the National Anthem and salute when the colors of a parade went by. He also told us to respect our President, even if we didn't like the man, respect the office that he held. He is in fact, Commander in Chief.
My dad didn't talk much about the war when we were kids and we were somewhat timid about asking questions. We knew that bad things had happened and in our calm, quiet family way we didn't want to upset Daddy. In later years he began to talk about the war - he seemed to need to talk about it. I was privy to some of these stories but my Mom, Lou Ann Ott, told me much of what I am about to tell.
My Daddy was a Marion County, Arkansas farm boy. He had four older sisters and was born late in life to Blufford and Ella Ott. His Dad died when he was 9 years old and so it was mainly he and my Granny. My Dad was extremely smart and he told me once that he wished he had gone on to U of A and become a lawyer. But World War II happened and a lot of lives were forever changed. Daddy graduated from Yellville-Summit High School in 1943. He had gone to North Dakota to work the wheat harvest when he received his draft notice. He told me once that he was only a short distance from the Canadian border and the thought of stepping across that border did cross his mind - but my Dad was an honorable man so he came back to Arkansas and said goodbye to his mother and sisters. He boarded a train at Summit, AR and went to Camp Robinson at Little Rock where he was processed into the Army. He then went on to San Antonio, TX to a training Center, The next part is a little confusing for me, he somehow went to Fort Hood because he has a diploma that says "Killer College" Killeen, TX. (I have more research to do on this) After his training in Texas he was sent to Ft. Meade, Maryland. It was during his time at Ft. Meade that Franklin D. Roosevelt died and my Dad marched in his funeral procession. He told the story of how they soldiers were not allowed to smoke for many hours and once the procession ended they all lit up and huge plume of white cigarette smoke went up into the air.
After Ft. Meade he left on a train and traveled to San Francisco, CA where he boarded a ship bound for the South Pacific. It took 31 days to reach Lingayen Gulf, Phillippines. Over 200,000 soldiers, many young farm boys like my Dad, landed on Palo beach over the course of a few days. Daddy said that they were being fired upon when they reached the beach and they crawled on their bellies - many of them died on their first day of battle. While in the Philippines my Dad fought in the Battle of Leyte, Luzon and Mindanao. These were horrible, bloody battles. From here the 19th Infantry marched on for 17 days and 144 miles on foot, in the never ending rain - The Long March of the Philippines. Daddy said that they were never dry. They ate, slept, walked in the rain. He said that the jungle was so thick that they used machetes to clear the way. It was dark most of the time because of the canopy of trees. He said that one of the Japanese tricks was for soldiers to hide up in trees and wait for the US soldiers to march under them. They then would jump onto the last soldier and cut their throat. The routine was that every few hours the lead man would move to the rear of the line - no one wanted to be the last man. One night they were sleeping in their tent and a monkey got in the tent - the soldiers fearing it was the enemy were scared out of their minds. When my Mom was telling me this story I asked her if the soldiers killed the monkey and she said that they didn't and it followed their march for a while. My Dad received a commendation and a medal (among others) for his part in the Long March. He developed "jungle rot" on his feet while he was there and it plagued him for the rest of his life. One of the many horrors that he experienced in the Philippines was during a battle he had to drop into a fox hole to keep from being shot. When he got in the fox hole there was a dead soldier covered in maggots. It was horrible and terrifying for him. He would never eat rice because it said it looked like those maggots.
Following the Philippines Daddy was shipped to Japan. The bombs had been dropped and the Allied Forces were occupying Japan. At his point in time Dad's nerves were shot and he was sent to a rest camp in Nagasaki and later to Hiroshima. He worked as an clerk/typist and earned the rank of Corporal. It was during his time in Hiroshima that he got reunited with his first cousin, Fred Ott. He and Fred were very close and they were both fighting in the South Pacific and were not able to communicate with each other. Since Dad worked in an office now he learned that Fred was coming to Hiroshima but Fred didn't know Dad was there. When Fred got there they almost didn't recognize each other - they needed haircuts and to shave - but when they did recognize each other, they hugged and cried.
Daddy was discharged from the US Army 24th Division, Company M, 19th Infantry on Nov. 20, 1946 at Ft. Sam Houston, TX.
My Dad saw unspeakable horrors in the South Pacific but he didn't dwell on that. He came home, met my Mom, and built a life and a family. The war affected him though. His hands always had a tremor and he suffered from nightmares. Once he was dreaming that he was fighting a Japanese soldier and he hit my Mom while they were sleeping. As kids we had questions but we never asked (though I think Bruce might have tried a couple of questions that were off limits). This is what I came to realize. War is Hell. The things that a soldier sees and does are part of that Hell. Men, like my Dad, who would never lift a hand to hurt another, outside of war, are forced to become someone else during battle. Then it depends on the mettle of the man as to how they deal with that once they come home.
In spite of all he went though, my Dad was never bitter. He served his country proudly and never asked for anything. We went to the Branson World War II Museum shortly before he passed away and I held back tears the entire time. He showed me a machine gun like the one he carried and used - it was nearly as big as he had been during the war. I asked him how could he carry that gun and he said simply, "It was do it or die." He called the Japanese "Japs" and he had some swords that he brought home as "souvenirs." He talked about wishing that he could travel back to Japan to see how Hiroshima and Nagasaki looked after they were rebuilt. He didn't mention wanting to return to the Philippines - too much horror there, I think.
When Daddy died his funeral was a military service with the flag, taps, and 21 gun salute. He would have liked that. There are so many stories like Dad's story that need to be told. If you have a loved one that served in the military, get them to tell you their story so that you may pass it on to your kids and grandkids. They need to know how those before them served and honored the USA.
Saluting you Dad.
Daughter of a Soldier
