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My Dad participated in the 1941 US Army GHQ Maneuvars in Carolina as part

of VI Corps, 26th Infantry Division, 181st Infantry Regiment under Major General Karl Truesdell. VI corps was the Blue Army battling IV Corp (the red Army).

 

I thought some of you might be interested in this excerpt from US Army's 50th Anniversary

Commemorative Edition of the book about the Maneuvars. It's pretty funny and concerns the

VI Corps engineers and the Maneuvars Umpires.

 

"Umpires also supervised the construction of obstacles and the execution of demolitions.

Since General Headquarters considered it impractical to actually block roads and blow up bridges, engineer units were required instead to simulate such operations in detail. In the

case of roadblocks, real obstacles were to be constructed at roadside. To demolish a bridge,

GHQ required the engineers to assemble the necessary materials and to place similar charges on the span. Bridge replacements involved the actual construction of a new bridge beside the

theoretically destroyed one. The umpire who watched over demolitions was required to leave with a sentry a signed declaration stating that the bridge had been properly destroyed so that umpires with other units encountering the obstacle could then prescribe appropriate repair measures. Col Dwight David Eisenhower related the following tale involving such circumstances:

 

An umpire decided that a bridge had been destroyed by an enemy attack and flagged it accordingly. From then on, it was not to be used by men or vehicles. Shortly, a corporal brought his squad up to the bridge, looked at the flag, and hesitated for a moment; then resolutely marched his men across it. The Umpire yelled at him:

 

"Hey, don't you see that the bridge is destoyed?"

The corporal answered: "Of course I see it's destroyed! Can't you see we're swimming?"

 

 

Don't you all think that's a great example of why we won the war??? Ingenuity!

 

BTW - today would've been my Dad's 95th birthday, so would you all give a salute

and a tip of your hat to him today? T4 SGT Francis Howard - a good son, brother,

husband, and father who served his country well and with honor.

 

Mary Ann (his proud & grateful daughter)

I know you can't see it, but I am tipping my engineer's cap to your father. Here's to you sir, proudly sitting with all the engineers in heaven including my dad. Will also tip a beer to him today too. Just uncapped a Corona!

 

I love the reply:

 

"Hey, don't you see that the bridge is destoyed?"

The corporal answered: "Of course I see it's destroyed! Can't you see we're swimming?"

I absolutely laughed out loud upon reading that section. I was wondering what the heck was coming.

 

Here's to engineers. Essayons!

Thanks Marion! Wasn't that funny? There's lots of other amusing detail in that

book. I've got lots of photos of my Dad "on manuevars". I have one which I didn't

recognize as him at first because he & his buddies are all covered in some white

substance. I killed myself laughing after I read that bags of flour were used as unrealistic

grenades during the manuevars, and the men often got carried away "killing" each other

with them. Must've been sort of a GI pillow fight. They were supposed to hurl the flour

grenades at Patton's tanks and an umpire would declare the tank "blown up".

 

I'm very certain that your Dad Walt and my dad Frank are nudging each other

in heaven & saying: "that's my girl Marion!" and "that's my girl Mary Ann!".

I wonder what kind of beer they have in heaven. When I was a kid, my Dad

drank either Schlitz or the local Carling Black label. He'd have a beer after mowing the lawn,

and my brother Fran & I would ask to try some. After a sip, Fran always made a disgusted face,

but not me! I wanted another sip which my father always got a kick out of, but my mother

would be APPALLED & remonstrate with him not to offer me any more.

Ha! Too late! To this day - I do love beer!

 

Shortly after my mother died, I dreamed that I was with her in a house and

I heard footsteps on the 2nd floor & asked: Is Daddy here, Ma?" and she rolled her

eyes in mock annoyance & smiled & said: "Oh YES, dear. Your father IS here."

I woke up at that moment & laughed! I think it was my mother's way of letting her know

they were together again.

 

Here's a photo of me as a baby with Dad. I was born in 1953 - their first born 13 months

after they were married.

 

Mary Ann

Mary Ann:

 

Not only the fact we have similar names and are engineer's daughters, but I certainly feel a kindred spirit with you. I LOVE your writing style and your great sense of humor. I can see myself sitting around the living room, sharing a few beers and laughing and crying about our dads. I sure hope we will have the opportunity to meet someday.

 

The photo of you and your dad was just precious. I'm sure that has a prominent place in your heart and house.

 

Every time I look at a bag of flour now...

Marion,

 

That would be grand! I think you are right - we are kindred spirits.

If we got together, we'd likely talk ourselves into a stupor. Ha!

We'd enjoy THAT immensely!

 

I've come to realize that there are folks in the world that are, what I call

"present" and those who are "NOT present". We are definately in the first

category. People ask me all the time: "Mah, how do you know so much stuff"

and I tell them "I'm a fount of vast amounts of useless information".

"Useless" only to the general populace, not to me. We acquire information because it genuinely interests us, not because it leads to specific ends or attainments.

It also has mostly to do with love, don't you think so MarionIf you love someone or something, you want to "know" and you can't really "know/understand" truly

unless you love.

 

It may sound crazy, but after I did the research on my Dad's army years - I had

this overwhelming feeling of his love for me. I don't think it's that he loves me more,

but rather that something has changed in ME, enabling me to receive it/feel it better.

I think that love & understand & appreciating, condition you somehow to give & receive

more of same. That's what this journey is all about after all. Just like boot camp, except

the conditioning is on the inside.

 

I'll bet that when you began all this, you never imagined all the wonderful roads you'd

travel and people you'd meet. C.S. Lewis once said that good books are like maps - you never

know where they'll take you. YOU did that, Marion! We're all out hunting for our people

with only bits & pieces of maps & here you've created a highway for us. What a great thing!

How very proud your dad must be of you!

 

I also think that there is no time with God, so whenever I look at that photo of the baby

who was me, I think that no matter how old I get or how much earthly time passes,

my Dad still has his arm protectively around me. I do wholeheartedly believe that - and

for you & your Dad too. Besides, I call him my "patron saint of household & car repair".

Ha! There's very little that my father (as with most WWII vets) couldn't repair or alter

(whether you wanted them to or not). My mother used to call this capacity "Tinkering" as

in "Your father's on the roof tinkering with the antennae". I've asked him for help in big

things & small & he always comes through. There was the time when I had to shut off

the electricity to the attic and I said: "Now listen Daddy, I'm down here in the cellar in front of the electrical box and Ma is recovering from surgery, so I don't have to time to spend

all day turning switches on & off trying to find the right one. Which one is it? OK I'm goin'

with #12". Of course, that was the right one & I thanked him.

 

mary ann

Oh my God, have I professed my love for you yet? Damn if you don't sound like me being PROFOUND!

 

We are definitely kindred spirits. It's the same with my buddies AlaskanGal and Irishmaam, amongst a few. There are certain people whom you meet upon your route through life, and you happen to pass, clink glasses and say, aha, let's stay and have another... You hit it off immediately, and feel that you could sit down and chat for a 24-hour mega session without any effort at all. It's the same for men and women, no different. It's like you have known each other in another life. You simply pick up where you left off...

 

When you talk about your dad being there as I say, "in the background", I know where you are coming from. I have done some things, and felt that he was right there beside me leading me by the hand. Some may claim that we are full of you-know-what, but I swear he is my guiding hand and guardian angel in so much that I do and say.

 

Passion is THE WORD for it. I have an over abundance, if there is such a thing. It carries me through my days, and weeks and months, and makes my life even better. And no, I had NO IDEA where any of this would lead me. Sometimes I get so sad when I think of how he was taken away from me so young, then I have to put myself on the other side and I shudder when I realize that if he hadn't gone so early... Do you see where I am going? I hate to even put it in words. It's almost too cruel. Sigh! It's like, would I even be doing ALL of this, or at least as passionately, if he hadn't been taken from me so young? How can you answer that?

 

Well enough of that this evening. I am starting to wax philosophically.

Hey Marion! Isn't it Shakespeare - "Sweet are the uses of adversity"?

When bad things happen, some people just roll over - but we dig in.

Somehow we must have that in our natures.

 

My mother used to say to me: "You're just like your father!" (Ha! Not always meant

as a compliment). I eventually had to admit she was right. I think I'm like my mother only by

training & like my father by nature. There's an element of intensity/ferocity that is our fuel -

for the passion you speak of.

 

For awhile, my Dad was on a lamp-tinkering kit. He'd retrieve castaway lamps from

the town and rewire. My mother finally had to put a stop to it & say: "Frank! Don't you dare bring one more lamp into this house!".

 

After he died, I assumed the care & maintenance of his beloved yard & garden not knowing

a weed from a perennial. I'd catch sight of myself in a window, marching by with his big

pole lopper, covered with dirt & pine needles - and think:"Oh Crap! I've turned into Daddy!".

The neighbors noticed it too, because they'd yell out their windows: "Hey "Frank Howard #2"!

Do you think you could possibly stop one or two seconds for a cup of coffee?".

Strangers passing by the house have asked me: "Who did your landscaping? It's fabulous."

and when I tell them I did it - they look at me in disbelief.

That's another example of joy from sorrow. After Dad died, I couldn'r bear the thought that

his yard would be neglected - so, for his sake, I "dug in" (literally). I found out that I loved

it just as much as he did & it's now one of my greatest joys.

 

I was 29 when Dad died (he'd just turned 70). How old were you Marion when you lost your Dad?

 

mary ann

Woman, you make me shake my head in wonder! Are you sure we aren't related? Geez oh Pete, every time I read another one of your posts I think, Oh my God, that's ME speaking. I SWEAR IT.

 

First off you are absolutely correct; that is Shakespeare. Here's the whole quote for all:

 

Sweet are the uses of adversity, Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head; And this our life, exempt from human haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in everything.

 

I already told you that I love your sense of humor, but I can also tell that you are intelligent and well-read. These things I really admire in a person. Be they male or female. A good head on one's shoulders is very cool in my book.

 

My mother used to say to me: "You're just like your father!" (Ha! Not always meant

as a compliment). I eventually had to admit she was right. I think I'm like my mother only by

training & like my father by nature. There's an element of intensity/ferocity that is our fuel -

for the passion you speak of.

 

Okay I have picked myself off my chair. My mother used to say that same exact thing to me ALL the time. And no, it wasn't always meant as a compliment. She even said it much later in life, and one time a few years ago before she passed on, she echoed that same sentiment in front of my husband, and this time he retorted, "Well I guess that's a real compliment Ann, because everything I've heard says Wally was a wonderful man." She didn't say a thing. I was so proud of my hubby. Way to go babe!

 

My mother taught me many good things and I DO reflect them and am grateful that she did what she did, but I AM my father's daughter by spirit. We are both very outgoing, love to laugh, and are very, very passionate about all we do.

 

I am also a gardening nut. I occasionally display some of my flowers, etc., for all to see, and will share them with you in the Shooting the Breeze section later. My dad didn't garden, so I don't know where I got that from. Mom had a green thumb in the house, and had many beautiful plants inside, so I guess I just carried that out to the yard.

 

I was just 12 and a half, when my dad passed on. That was probably the worst day of my life.

Marion! We are kindred spirits indeed!

 

My mother's training says: "Be nice!" , while the inherent nature of my father

wants to say "that so-and-so is a BUM!" HeeHEE!!!

 

My mother (God bless her!) was truly a living saint. People would come up to me all the time & say : "do you know that your mother's is the nicest person I've ever known". She was an elementary school teacher (a BORN teacher!) when she met Dad and left teaching to be wife

and mother. My Dad admired her intelligence & loved her for her sweet & patient nature.

Everyone who knew her loved her. She was so caring, and had tremendous

Faith & inner strength. Dad used to always say that after he took her to meet his mother, Grandma Marion said: "Francis, be good to Helen. She is a VERY nice girl!"

Indeed she was and also the perfect counterpart to him. Where her loving nature was

readily apparent, Dad's love need to be "understood" (sort of like reading Morse Code).

 

Whenever we got sick as kids, Ma would take care of you - but Dad did NOT want you to

be sick. If he came in from work & you were in pajamas on the couch, he'd peer silently

at you for awhile and then demand to know: "Are you SICK, dear????". I quickly figured out that there was

one or two responses that you could give to Dad's question. If you answered "Yes, Daddy",

he'd peer at you intently & then hollar "Helen! HELEN! Is she SICK???" and while

my mother replied from the kitchen: "Yes Frank she has a cold", my father would continue

to stare at you as if he expected you to keel over any minute & then finally go in search of Helen (his Rock Of Gibraltar) in the kitchen. Despite all evidence to the contrary (kleenex boxes, runny nose, rash etc), if you answered "No Daddy", he'd nod his head & say :Good!

GOOD, dear!" and appear completely satisfied. So funny!

 

My father's chief expression & offering of love was his work for us. He worked 3 jobs and never asked for a single thing for himself. There's a wonderful Gaelic

prayer that says "For my father who raised me by the work of his bones".

I know of no other sentence that expresses it so well. As a child it's not understood or

appreciated as it should be, but eventually you come to understand the full truth of it.

And the cost.

 

You were SO young when you lost your Dad, but oh how proud he must be of you!

Look at how much you've given to so many people because of him.

Sweet ARE the uses of adversity, indeed. I could tell you a million stories about

that in my own life.

 

We DO need beers! When do you think that the net will progress to the point where

we can click on "beer" and get it? We'd order BEERS all around for VI CORps buddies!".

 

Mary Ann