Forms. While I was lying awake last night, trying to go to sleep, I was thinking about the form I received in the mail earlier that day. It was the copy of my father’s separation papers from the Marines. Amazing how sloppy the typing was, but, it was done on an old typewriter, with the cloth ribbon that advances a bit at a time. There on this form, with details about dad, enlisting at the tender age of 20; seeing combat in Korea; weighing 220 lbs. when he got off the bus in Canton, SD to be met by his parents, there, on this form were four medals that dad received, none of which we ever knew a thing about.
On that June day in 1954, dad stood taller, six feet. That made me laugh a little, as dad had shrunk to be about oh, five foot eight or nine. I recalled dad telling me about his homecoming that June day, when he got off the bus and was met by grandpa and grandma. He was stinking drunk, as were all of the other Marines on the bus. His brothers, David and Rolfe, were waiting at home and were going to play music for him. Little grandma was not pleased with his condition and smell (the same clothes for two days, on a bus). But, as is common in our family, not a word was said. Just pursed lips.
Dad was in Korea for one year and seventeen days. I think that if dad were standing here with me now, he would refute that. “Oh, no, it was more like four years.” I imagine him saying. But, the devil is in the details. This form says one year, seventeen days. It must be right. It’s a form.
Dad was given $316.40. And, as I have discovered over the last two weeks since he died, I suspect he didn’t have fourteen cents by the second or third day home. Again, the facts, man.
Dad had been offered $10,000 in life insurance. He declined. Nuf said.
According to the form, Dad replied that he was interested in Science as a major course of study. Dad’s first dream was to be a doctor. But, dad was not a disciplined student. When mom and dad got married the following year, mom knew just what to do to help dad figure out what the heck he should do with his life: she marched him down to an employment agency and had him take an aptitude test. The winner? Social Work, not Medicine. Again, the devil is in the details of that form, that, and forty years in the mental health field.
I see dad standing there, in front of ‘Officer J.C. HUDOCK’ who was the discussing officer, spelling out his last name as the Officer annoyingly typed it out:
“E…. I….E….S…L…A…N…D…”
But back on those four decorations, medals, citations and campaign ribbons. Dad never mentioned one of them. In fact, up until just the last few years, dad never spoke of his combat experiences to any of his surviving daughters. From talking with my son, it seems that he did not censor himself with his grandsons. I don’t know if having a penis was equal to being able to hearing the truth of war, or, dad just didn’t want to upset his girls. Hard telling.
Korean Service Medal with 1 star. United Nation Medal. National Defense Medal. Good Conduct Medal. Those were his medals. I wish I knew more about them. So, I’ll do a little research. Given dad’s love of patches and hats, I am surprised he did not celebrate these commendations with a patch on a jacket or ball cap.
These forms are all I have right now of dear old dad, who spent the last few years watching ‘Law and Order’ and finishing crossword puzzles and reciting the rosary every morning and drinking caffeine free diet coke and driving too slow in his Ford Focus with the two U.S. flags flying on each side….
It has been two weeks, and five days since I spoke to dad. I guess the devil is in the details, there, too. Boy, I miss you, dad!
