Missing the opportunity to record the stories of my parents and those of my husband’s, I made a decision to record the experience of one of my seasonal campers. Inky has been camping here for many years and although I knew he was a P.O.W. in the Korean war, I never knew the extent of what he went through. I wanted his children and grandchildren to have a written record of the man they knew.
When I am committed to something, there is no one who can get in my way. I decided one night that I would not let Inky's story go untold as I had with our parents. Therefore, against the advice of well-meaning friends I ventured alone into Walmart at 10pm. Our local Walmart does not have the best reputation for safety, especially at night, but my visit was quick and uneventful. Procuring the desired cassette recorder and some spare cassettes, I went home and wrote down a few questions to ask Inky to get him started. When he came into the office for coffee the next morning, he was a little surprised at what I had intended him to do. After a crash course in the use of a cassette recorder, I sent him back to his site with questions in hand. I suppose I never gave him the option of refusing to do this little project, but I like to think the result was enlightening for us both. He came back the next morning to tell me he’d finished. He answered the couple of questions and thought he was done. He apparently didn’t know me as well as he thought!
Over the next several weeks I prodded and pushed until I had a more complete account of his experience. It was difficult for him to remember the atrocities he had tried for so long to forget. I inserted some of the words of a fellow P.O.W. that was with him at the death camp.
As I put his words to paper, I thought of how much I disliked history class when I was in school. I learned more from him than any text book I was forced to read. I marveled at this man who should have been bitter and angry for what he and the other soldiers had to endure. But if you could meet him, you could not find a more quiet gentle man. I find his faith, tolerance and forgiveness inspiring.
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Several other seasonal campers became aware of what I was doing and were anxious to read about his time in captivity. When Inky came home, his neighbors and friends gave him a watch as an expression of appreciation for what he went through. Somehow over the years, the watch was lost. That summer we replaced his watch as a symbol of our admiration and appreciation for him as well as all those who serve in our armed forces so that we can live our lives as we do.
There are an amazing number of unsung heroes all around us that need to be kept in our prayers. Below, is a small glimpse of one man’s experience, unedited and in his own words as he spoke them into the tape recorder.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Protecting the property...
Back in the 1970’s, there were no regulations about having a certified lifeguard on duty at the swimming pond. When I first started dating my husband, I laughed when I saw that his father was the one guarding swimmers. He was at that time over 70 years old. Though he was in pretty good shape for a man that age, I would not have considered him as being capable of rescuing a drowning victim. Lucky for them, they did not have a lot of people that waded in the water deeper than 3 feet. In reality, he was a “water watcher”, although in truth, “bikini bystander” would be a more accurate description. “
As the campground grew and got busier, a new regulation went into effect that required a certified lifeguard. A pretty 16 year old girl applied for the job. She was blond with a very nice shape in her bikini. Dad felt an obligation to “help” her lifeguard since she was so young.
I do believe he just liked what he saw when she removed her cover-up and slathered herself with sunscreen. He would spend the better part of each day sitting on the beach with her. Finally, unable to keep his thoughts to himself, he imparted an observation to the young girl. You know” he said, “that bathing suit is a lot like a barbed wire fence”. When he saw the puzzled look in her face he continued, “It protects the property without obstructing the view”.
Dad had a very unusual lifestyle by today’s standards. He had been trapping since he was three years old, was a sample boy for the Edison Cement Plant, worked in hosiery and finally got a job as an animal control officer for the State of New Jersey. He was also a dowser and would find wells for many people in the area. At the young age of 14, he bought an old swaybacked horse for $30 from a local farmer and with the permission of a relative with a nearby farm, he built a log cabin out of American chestnut trees. He used the horse to drag the logs to their location. It took him two years to build his cabin and at the age of 16, he moved in and so as not to have to pay to feed the horse, he returned it to the farmer. He was active until a short time before his death at age 91. He always lamented about growing old. He’d constantly say “there’s no crime in getting old, it’s just damned unhandy”. When I think about the life he led, I realize the stories that were never written down on paper. I had at one time given them a recorder to just talk about the old days, but unfortunately I never pushed, and the recorder sat collecting dust. We celebrate his birthday now that he’s gone by having a Founders Day at the campground. We drag out the old slideshow of animals in new Jersey and show them to the campers as Joe did when he was alive. We put out many of the animal pelts and different types of traps from his days as a trapper along with the dowsing rods and sticks he used. There are photographs and many newspaper articles about him, including an old National Geographic from the 60's that referred to him as the Paul Bunyan of New Jersey. It is sad that when we are young we don’t spend time with the older persons we have around us. Their experiences and wisdom would probably have prevented some of the regrets we ourselves develop as we get old.
As the campground grew and got busier, a new regulation went into effect that required a certified lifeguard. A pretty 16 year old girl applied for the job. She was blond with a very nice shape in her bikini. Dad felt an obligation to “help” her lifeguard since she was so young.
I do believe he just liked what he saw when she removed her cover-up and slathered herself with sunscreen. He would spend the better part of each day sitting on the beach with her. Finally, unable to keep his thoughts to himself, he imparted an observation to the young girl. You know” he said, “that bathing suit is a lot like a barbed wire fence”. When he saw the puzzled look in her face he continued, “It protects the property without obstructing the view”.
Dad had a very unusual lifestyle by today’s standards. He had been trapping since he was three years old, was a sample boy for the Edison Cement Plant, worked in hosiery and finally got a job as an animal control officer for the State of New Jersey. He was also a dowser and would find wells for many people in the area. At the young age of 14, he bought an old swaybacked horse for $30 from a local farmer and with the permission of a relative with a nearby farm, he built a log cabin out of American chestnut trees. He used the horse to drag the logs to their location. It took him two years to build his cabin and at the age of 16, he moved in and so as not to have to pay to feed the horse, he returned it to the farmer. He was active until a short time before his death at age 91. He always lamented about growing old. He’d constantly say “there’s no crime in getting old, it’s just damned unhandy”. When I think about the life he led, I realize the stories that were never written down on paper. I had at one time given them a recorder to just talk about the old days, but unfortunately I never pushed, and the recorder sat collecting dust. We celebrate his birthday now that he’s gone by having a Founders Day at the campground. We drag out the old slideshow of animals in new Jersey and show them to the campers as Joe did when he was alive. We put out many of the animal pelts and different types of traps from his days as a trapper along with the dowsing rods and sticks he used. There are photographs and many newspaper articles about him, including an old National Geographic from the 60's that referred to him as the Paul Bunyan of New Jersey. It is sad that when we are young we don’t spend time with the older persons we have around us. Their experiences and wisdom would probably have prevented some of the regrets we ourselves develop as we get old.
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