Beech Tree News Network

You'll not see this until November is gone . . . the month we always pay special honor to our veterans. And December 7th just passed . . . as FDR called it "A date that will live in infamy." My generation simply knew it as "Pearl Harbor," the Japanese attack that led the U.S. to declare war on the Axis powers of Japan, Germany, and Italy.

The U.S. Navy only had three air craft carriers in the Pacific Fleet when the attack on Pear Harbor came: Lexington, Saratoga, and Enterprise. All were at sea away from Pearl Harbor when the attack came. Fortunately my cousin, Harold V. Locke was on the Enterprise on December 7, 1941. Of course his parents rejoiced when they heard he was safe. My Aunt Christine always called him "Hairvee." Hairvee was safe. He went on to make a career out of the Navy.

Tom Wright had five boys, three of whom went to WWII: Willard, Thurman, and Lenord. Willard was the only one of the three who had an unfortunate incident. It was not actually a war wound, but . . . his company had secured a position and dug-in. They were trying to hold ntil two other companies moved up on their right and left flanks to lend support. They were taking fierce German rifle and machinegun fire. Willard's foxhole buddy looked over and saw Willard down and bent-over in terrible pain . . . moaning and crying. Willard's buddy, thinking Willard had been wounded, called for a medic. Shortly a medic crawled over to their foxhole and began to examine Willard, he could find no wound of any kind. But on further examination the sharp medic determined that Willard had an inflamed appendix. What to do? They were too far advanvced to get him to an aid station, they were under heavy fire. They couldn't move him.

The medic had never done surgery. But an inflamed appendix could burst at any time and cause death. The only things the medic had in his bag were: IV equipment, suture kits, bandage packs, blood plasma, sulfa powders, anticeptics, and morphine. Evidently medics didn't carry scalpels. There were no knives sharp enough for surgery. Finally, he found a new single-edged razor blade among the field packs of the soldiers. The medic disinfected everythhing, gave Willard a whopping dose or morphine and began to cut. He eventually got to the corruption-engorged appendix and removed it. After disinfecting the site and dousing him with sulfa and stitching him up, they finally got Willard back to the aid station. After recuperation, Willard went on through the War, came home and married his sweetheart, Ted Edwards (yes, that was her first name).

No one remembers the hero medic. He probably would have passed his heroics off as, "Heck, I was just doing my job."

Again, the passing parade.

Kindest regards . . .