What Did You Do In The War, Dad?

“What did you do in the War, Dad?” Many kids have asked this question. World War II had been over for less than twenty years when I started elementary school; plenty of parents, uncles, aunts and even older siblings who had served in the military were still living at the time. My Dad’s answer was merely, “I was a supply sergeant. ” When he admitted he had not participated in active combat, I must have decided that his war experiences were of little interest, and went on burying my nose in books about Paul Revere’s Ride and King Tut and the Wars of the Roses. You know, “real” history. What a self-centered knucklehead I was . My Dad and and my uncles Bob and Ed Cape (who’d been “hurt in the War” and wore a leg brace to support his paralyzed right side) were right there but I completely missed the fact that I had walking, talking history lessons within reach. And now, sadly, they’re all gone. But I’ve been given a second chance; among my mother’s possessions I found Dad’s letters from a tour of duty that began in December 1942 in Fort Moultrie, South Carolina, and ended three years later in Okinawa, Japan. Reading his words makes me feel as though I’m peeking through a window to a chapter in my parents’ lives that played out long before I was born. There are several hundred letters. I’m putting them in chronologic order and sampling a few at a time. It’s like reading the best of novels: there is love and longing, mystery, pathos, humor and of course wartime drama. Dad describes seeing dead soldiers, both Japanese and American “stacked up like old tires on the side of the road.” A soldier next to him was shot in the head by a sniper. I discovered what he meant by “supply sergeant” - he was responsible for provisioning over 5500 American soldiers rescued from Japanese POW camps. “Some of them look pretty good, “ he wrote succinctly, “others do not.” Some things, could not be said in letters, since wartime correspondence was subject to the shears of military censors. I’ve been consulting the Internet and as many other sources as possible – including the rapidly decreasing number of living WWII veterans – to flesh out exactly what Dad was up to in those bygone days. Which leads me to this statement: If you’re interested in military history, the coolest museum you’ve probably never visited is right under your nose in Germantown, Ohio. The Veterans’ Memorial Museum began in the 1990’s as a private collection assembled by curator David Shortt, CWO, U.S. Army Ret. It now fills, spills and overflows out of an old tobacco warehouse at 123 S. Main Street. You never saw so much military stuff in all your life. Uniforms on mannequins standing at attention, display cases filled with letters, medals, and memorabilia. Tattered, faded flags waving gently in the breeze from the open door; the big red one with the swastika still has the power to send a chill down the spine. The place vibrates with stories told and untold. While the majority of items in the museum’s collection date from the WWII era, a sizeable number of displays address more recent conflicts. There are also treasures from WWI, the Civil War and even the American Revolution. Minutes slip easily into hours in the quiet aisles as you look, read, think. Several generations of veterans drift in to drink coffee and reminisce. In the area housing artifacts from the Pacific Theater, I experienced a jolt of recognition. Familiar uniforms and postmarks, trinkets and mementos like items Dad sent to Mom: a pressed flower, a Japanese cigarette, “scrip” currency with the ink still as bright as if it had been printed yesterday. If I’m lucky, during some future visit I’ll come across information on the 282 Coastal Artillery Batallion, shipped north from New Caledonia to participate in the invasion of Japan. So look out Dad, I’m tracking you down, and remembering you one picture, one letter, and now, thanks to the Veterans’ Memorial Museum, one exhibit at a time. Happy Veterans’ Day, Dad. And thanks.