Everyone has a story...
A PROUD VETERAN
By Carolyn Pierce, Editor
As you drive to work each morning and you see the same woman waiting at the bus stop, do you wonder what's her story? Does she choose to ride the bus or use it as a necessity? The angry kid who sacks your groceries, is he mad at his parents about a trivial thing or is he mad at the world because he has no parents? Ah... everyone has a story.
Recently, my husband Mickey asked me to attend a picnic given by his friend Sherri Johnson. You guys know how it is when your partner invites you to a gathering where you don't know anyone and you're not sure if you even want to go. Since my husband has been to so many "postal" activities where he knows no one, I was feeling guilty. I happily went to his function.
After arriving at the picnic and introductions were finished, I started searching for someone to talk with. At a table close by, I saw a guy with an old Nalcrest baseball cap on. Nalcrest is a retirement complex about 12 miles east of Lake Wales in Central Florida. Most of the residents are retired union members of the National Association of Letter Carriers. The gentleman under the baseball cap was Herbert Johnson, father of my husband's friend who is hosting the picnic. Herbert told me he was born in 1913 in Gardner, Mass. I admit he had the clear eyes of a knowledgeable man who could tell a story despite his 88 years.
And so his story goes... I loved being a carrier. I was walking down the street in Hyattville, Maryland when I saw a sign on the door that read, "Postal Carrier Exam Given Inside, Walk-Ins Accepted." I started the next week as a substitute letter carrier. I walked the worst route in town which was 9 miles long. I measured the route once and it was the length of two trips up and down the Washington Monument! The last five years of my Postal career were on a city route full of apartment houses. I gained sixteen pounds eating at the local donut shop but I really missed interacting with the customers on the walking routes as well as the exercise.
I asked Mr. Johnson if he was a veteran. He sat straight and said with a clear, strong voice, "I was a member of the Army's 574th Anti-Aircraft Artillery Battalion. I was a radio operator in World War II and my battalion was credited with seven planes being downed in Germany. We were attached to Patton's Army. Later, I was assigned to a security patrol which worked three police stations outside of Dachau, a Nazi concentration camp. The camp had been closed down and the German guards had gone underground. All of us had been shown pictures from the death camps so we knew what had happened. One night a young polish man who had been displaced by the Germans came to me and said he recognized one of the guards from the camp. The man led me to him and I was able to capture him. I gave the Polish man a bottle of whiskey and a carton of cigarettes for helping us. It was all I had. A few months later the young man came to me again and said that he had seen another German guard. My partner and I were able to pin the guard to a barn with our jeep until we could arrest him. Again, I gave the man whiskey and cigarettes as a reward. It wasn't what I gave him but that I thanked him for his help. If the informant is still alive, I'm sure he is as proud as I am for helping to place these German guards behind bars."
I asked Herbert what made a good soldier. He told me that you must give yourself up for dead. You must realize that everyone is as scared as you are and you must not care if you're going to make it back home. Losing your nerve is a victory for the enemy. "I wa so proud to serve my country."
Yeah, everyone has a story and I am proud Mr. Johnson told his to me! Ask someone about themselves today. You may be surprised at their great story.