Woman in the Middle

At a time when we seem to be more divided than normal in this country, I have been thinking, instead, about what unites us. This Memorial Day I want to point out that what truly binds us together is those men and women who put their lives on hold, who found their lives changes forever, or who sometimes paid the ultimate sacrifice, by joining the United States military.

A photo of the Field of Honor held in a local park in my fair city a week ago.

We all know veterans. Whether our families have been in this country a few months or generations, we all know veterans.  We work beside them, we live on the same street as they do, we are even related to them.

In my own family my father and father in law were in the Navy. My uncle serviced airplanes in England in World War II. Men on my family tree served in the Civil War and I even have ancestors who fought in the Revolutionary War. But I also remember the stories I heard as I was growing up about people who were neighbors and friends and what they endured. There was my dad’s mentor and boss when he went into the real estate business who had a crippled hand that made him hold a pen in a funny way. When I asked my Dad about it, I found out this man had been in Pearl Harbor on the day that will live in infamy, and his injury came from swimming through water topped with burning oil. Or there was a friend’s father, who served on bombers stationed in England in World War II. For the rest of his life he would wake up screaming from the nightmares caused by what he lived through.

So, on this Memorial Day in 2017, I urge you to consider for a moment the many veterans you know in your own life and, just for a moment, feel yourself a part of the assembly, the gathering, the group, the crowd, the company, that we all are in this country – the people who know and support the veterans and the memory of those men and woman who have gone before, who played such a big roll in bringing us to where we are today.

I never knew my Great Uncle John Sampley. He passed away long before I was born. Because he never had any children, I made it my job to collect information about him so he would never be forgotten. I think it is fitting this Memorial Day to remember him.

John was born in 1893 in Alabama, the youngest of five children. By the time he was six years old both his parents had passed away.  Records show that he lived first with an uncle, and then later with an older brother. By the time he was 16 he was out of school and farming with his brother Charlie.

The first draft registration for World War I occurred June 5, 1917 when all men ages 21 to 31 had to register. John fell into that group. His registration card says that he was of medium height and build, had blue eyes and dark hair. He wasn’t married and was “engaged in farming.”

Family history says he served overseas during the war. His headstone says he was a private. Family members told me he was exposed to the toxic gas used by the Germans during that war but recovered and returned home.

When he returned from the war he married his wife Virgie. I asked my Aunt Ada about her Uncle John a few years before she passed away. She said  he would come in from town with a stalk of bananas and a big bag of candy. The nieces and nephews were allowed to eat all they wanted. “We just loved him,” said Ada. Ada remembers leaving a little ring at his house once, the kind that came in Cracker Jack. Uncle John always teased her that he was going to wear it on his big toe.

John turned 34 on March 5^th, 1927. Within a few days of his birthday he came down with influenza. The “flu” turned into bronchial pneumonia. John died at three am March 18^th at his home.  According to family stories, John’s lungs were weakened by his exposure to gas during the war and this contributed to his death at such an early age.

This Memorial Day I remember my Great Uncle John and all the men and women who sacraficed their health and their lives for the freedom we enjoy here in the United States and to help bring freedom to the many far flung parts of this world. The lives of all Americans are touched by their sacrifices.