Hearing Aids and Pearl Harbor Day Remembrances

/ Operation Meatball/

USS Arizona survivor, Lauren Bruner

Today is Pearl Harbor Day and I've seen some pretty wonderful and moving stories to commemorate this historic day. A couple of my nonagenarian dearies are currently over in Hawaii with Beyond the Call and I highly recommend you go follow their page. Tracie Hunter does simply wonderful things. 

This morning on my way to work I was going through my mental rolodex of all the spunky and tenacious Pearl Harbor vets I've known over the years. I specifically choose those two adjectives as a descriptor because I've always felt like there was a certain extra quality and mettle to the veterans who survived the bombing of Pearl Harbor.

Many of them had signed up in the late 30s as a way to care for family, earn extra money, and have a bit of fun. My great-great Uncle, stationed at Clarke Field, Philippines, saw it as a way to escape a difficult home life and perhaps find some purpose.

Then tragedy struck, a "sneak attack."

They witnessed and experienced horrific things, (I remember my friend Lauren Bruner who suffered 70% burns on the USS Arizona), shaping the rest of their lives. But they were no quitters, responding with vigor and alacrity, the attack at Pearl Harbor gave them a drive unlike any other. In it to win it, they were the original fighting men of WWII.

uss arizona memorial. 81 years after the bombing of pearl harbor - the arizona is still leaking oil

Four years later, after fighting in fierce battles all over the Pacific - Guadalcanal, Bougainville, Tarawa, Peleliu, New Guinea, Iwo Jima, Okinawa, and more, what do they identify as? "Pearl Harbor Survivors." It's a striking thought. 

Now they are in their hundreds, and still returning to Pearl Harbor.

What menschen.

Some of the stories I've collected the last 15+ (really closer to 20) years would send the tears down your cheeks with LAUGHTER. The Pearl Harbor Veterans were among the first to teach me that that age has nothing to do with the maturity level. Which makes sense considering I've been called "Mom" many a time by a nonagenarian. 

 
 

Donald Long

Pearl Harbor Survivor, Donald Long

"Stu, I think they should hook up a swing to float across the lobby and you should swing back and forth on it singing 'Remember Pearl Harbor' in your white uniform for all the hotel guests to hear." This was a suggestion made by 98 year old PBY Radioman, Don Long.

Full of as much charm, elegance, and humor as he had as a young 20-something in the war. Stu, the PH Survivor in question, responded only if Don would join him. 

 
 

Ira “Ike” Schab

One of my favorite memories ever was a few years (and a different haircut) ago when I was privileged to go with the Best Defense Foundation as they took Survivors back to Hawaii for the anniversary of that Day of Infamy. One of the veterans I became closely attached to was Saxaphone player and member of the USS Dobbin Navy Band, Ira 'Ike" Schab. At the time I believe Ike was about 99 years old. His eyesight was very poor and unless you were very close, he could only make out colors and shapes generally. But he was determined to return to the island where his life changed forever.

To help him distinguish me from the rest of the blurry crowd, I made sure to wear a bright yellow watch every day so that he would know it was me. From there we struck up a great friendship. One afternoon in particular we were sitting together in the van en route to the next event. Because of his background in music I was eager to know his favorites.

"I know he's a little overrated at times, but I do love Artie Shaw." I told him. I took my phone out to play "Begin the Beguine" (my favorite), but 99 year old Ike beat me to the punch. Taking his hearing aid out of his ear and sticking it in my own ear, he proceeded to pull up Pandora and play the Artie Shaw channel.

I was dumbfounded.

The dichotomy of the moment, the anniversary, and "modern technology" in the hands of an almost centenarian musician. It was phenomenal.

 

K. P. Platt

 

Last Halloween at one of my monthly breakfasts, 101 year old K.P Platt (Schofield Barracks), presented a plastic spider ring to me and said, "With this ring I thee WEBB." 

"K.P., I'm flattered, but what would Lorena say? You've only been married 76 years."

"True." He said. And gave Lorena a pinch.

 
 

Anyways, I run long and wax elephants at this point. But these are some of the memories I have for Pearl Harbor Day. Not just the tragedy and loss of the day, but also the character, optimism, and humor that was formed - BIRTHED that day, on December 7, 1941.

And for that, and their sacrifice, we are eternally grateful.

B2H

Bridge to History‘s inaugural Children’s World War II Boot Camp is complete! If you followed along on Instagram or Facebook and saw any of the photos and videos, you will have a glimpse of just how fantastic it was. These kids – my students - were enthusiastic and engaged and articulate and so much fun! I’m so proud of how hard they worked and what great energy they gave to everything they saw, and everyone they met.

If you have been encouraged or inspired by what you have seen, and if you would like to see this program continue, would you donate to Operation Meatball today? This is a volunteer run nonprofit organization. No one takes a salary. Everything goes to cover our expenses. Whether it’s $20, $200, or $2000, every penny will help us get the next program rolling!

They Showed Up: The 75th Anniversary Iwo Jima Reunion

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It was a whirlwind week in D.C. for the 75th Anniversary Iwo Jima Survivors Reunion, and even though it was a few weeks ago now, I can still hardly believe it's over.

The reunion had a record number of Iwo Jima veterans: with the final count being over 55.

The reunion had a record number of Iwo Jima veterans: with the final count being over 55.

It was a different type of reunion for me this year. Many of the friends whom I had become close with over the years passed away in the last 15 months. It was a weird feeling not having them present, and there were several moments when I half expected one of them to just come walking through or be wheeled in, laughing and declaring the attention of the room in a bellowing Marine Corps voice.

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But on the other hand, meeting so many new veterans who were making their VERY FIRST REUNION absolutely blew me away (and is literally bringing chills to my arms as I write). At one point, I was standing in the lobby of the hotel, and EVERYWHERE Iwo Jima hats were walking around - with some of the wearers looking too young to have even served in World War 2.

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But they had indeed.

Fighting in one of the most iconic battles in American history, 75 years later they showed up.

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A little older, a little hard of hearing, a little more wobbly on the knees, but with the same enthusiasm and Esprit de Corps; ready to share memories with one another, and remember the comrades they had loved dearly and left on that island of Volcanic Ash.

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To the veterans of Iwo Jima: Thank you for showing up. You showed up in 1945 when it mattered most, and you showed up in 2020 because - 75 years later - it still matters.

Iwo Jima Veteran Highlight

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Norman L. Baker

Iwo Jima Survivor

Submitted by Suzanne B. Baker

Beloved husband, father, friend, war hero, scientist, publisher and historian. Norman courageously volunteer to defend our country in World War II and bravely fought in the Battle of Iwo Jima, later on the front lines of the Korean War. Professionally, Norman was an accomplished aerospace engineer who worked on the Bomarc Missile Program and the Space Shuttle Program. Sought-after historian and guest lecturer, Norman author the number of books on the American Colonial Period. 

Week of Iwo Jima 75: Cecil Burlingame USMC

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Sent in by his daughter, Marie Hampton

This is my Dad.  He turned 21 on the day he enlisted. He said the other guys called him "Grandpa". I wasn't born until he was 54 but he had one hell of a life before my brother and I came along. 

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“He was at Guadalcanal and taken off that island by JFK. He told us he was up to his knees in the ocean before the boats came along. 

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He received 2 Purple Hearts.  Never did get the bullet out of his calf.  He was also at IWO JIMA.  (Our personalized license plate said that for years).

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He loved his reunions and all of his buddies. He was the best.  I miss him every day and he was gone way too soon. Semper Fi

If you have a family member who served on Iwo Jima, we would love for you to send in a photograph and short paragraph telling their service story. You can send it to:

OMVeteranStories@gmail.com

We will be sharing stories and photographs highlighting our Iwo Jima Veterans over the anniversary month an would LOVE to include you family’s hero.

A Chosin Marine

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I’m always on the lookout for Chosin Reservoir vets. One of my very best friends was a Chosin Marine, so they hold a special place in my heart.

I met Ken yesterday at the Marine Corps Museum in Quantico. I had noticed his cap while going through the “Cold Room,” and was pretty sure he was “one of the few.”

If you aren’t familiar with the museum, the cold room (I don’t know if that’s it’s name, but that is what I know it by) is in the Korean War exhibit and is literally like walking into a refrigerator. There are wax figures depicting the Marines surrounded at Chosin, and audio to give you the experience of being there. The detail is incredible down to the tootsie roll wrappers under one of the GI’s shoes (that’s a story for another time). Did I mention it’s cold?

I asked Ken what he thought about it. He said going through there was emotional, but worth the whole trip up from Florida.

“I lost a lot of guys”

Ken told me that he’d joined the Marine Corps in 1948, fresh out of high school. He had hoped to be a Marine Aviator, since he had earned his pilots license at 16. But by the time the Marine Corps finished up with him at Paris Island, the Korean War had broken out and he was shipped overseas.

“I was a squad leader... and I lost a lot of guys. When they started sending replacements over, I would tell them to only give me their first name. I didn’t want to know their last name. I didn’t want to be friends with them. Because I knew they weren’t going to last long... And a lot of the replacements were killed a day or two after arriving.”

"Marines sit covered with ice and snow in this handout photograph taken at the Battle of Chosin Reservoir in North Korea in December of 1950.” - Frank Kerr/US Marine Corps/AP

"Marines sit covered with ice and snow in this handout photograph taken at the Battle of Chosin Reservoir in North Korea in December of 1950.” - Frank Kerr/US Marine Corps/AP

It’s been a long life since Chosin… Ken is now 90. But the memories are still really fresh for him, as with so many other veterans of the Korean War. I asked him what he thought about the fact that a lot of people skip over it. It’s something that he feels very personally.

“When they talk about wars, they say World War I, World War II, and the Vietnam war. They just forget there’s a Korean war.”

But thankfully Ken knows he’s not forgotten. Twice he’s been over to his old battlefields with the Korea Revisit Programs and the gratitude he felt and received from the people of South Korea brought tears to his eyes.

Exploded like a mortar

This last story I’ll leave you with is a humorous one. As said before, the temperatures at Chosin were unbelievably cold, down to -40° temperatures. This meant the food was in a constant state of being frozen.

Once in a while, Ken told me that he would procure a little lighter or kerosene tin to heat up his canned goods... he would cut the lid off his can, and then put the heat underneath it. When the heat came through, the food inside would explode from the can “like a mortar” - and he would have to go running after to catch it.

I’m so grateful for the short meeting with this sweet man. I really recommend y’all take a few minutes to look up the Chosin Reservoir and study the Korean War a little bit in case you ever run across one of these dear veterans. It’s 100% worth it.

The Patch Bag

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T H E • P A T C H • B A G || Last April, I did a post on Instagram about my "patch bag." I rarely leave the house without it, and it's one of my favorite conversation starters with strangers. Since I've just finished cleaning and updating the patch bag, I thought I'd share a little of it's background.

Several years ago my English Gramps sent me his Royal Navy patch to wear. I didn't have anything to put it on at the time, so I ended up keeping it with his letters... shortly after, I started receiving so many patches from other veterans that I decided to sew them onto an old canvas Soviet surplus bag that had been sitting under my bed for too many years (my attempt to redeem the bag from it's communist background).

I currently have 16 patches on the bag (with more in the queue) including ones from an Iwo Jima Marine, a Chosen Reservoir Marine, an 83rd Infantry Division (and ex Cavalryman), 2nd ID (2nd to none!) and 82nd Airborne

Besides just being a great way to show off my patches (yeah... I'm afraid I'm pretty proud of this ole bag), it's an awesome way of sharing stories about the wonderful veterans I've known with complete strangers, and getting them interested in history or even hearing about their own connections to WW2!

One of my favorite questions, though, came from a 6 year-old little boy who asked if I had done really well in the Boy Scouts. Not quite little fella.

So there's my story. It's not the fanciest bag ever, but it's been so much fun to travel the world with.

Donate

Currahee!

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Last week the girls and I were up in Toccoa, Georgia, for Currahee Military Weekend. 

In my experience, Toccoa is one of America's most delightful hidden gems. It's one of the only places I can think of in our country where you can literally walk in the footsteps of the WWII Paratroopers and (for a brief time), re-live how it was during the war.

Local veteran, Dewitt Loudermilk holding a newspaper clipping about his service as an Engineer in WWII.

Local veteran, Dewitt Loudermilk holding a newspaper clipping about his service as an Engineer in WWII.

If you are up for it, you can run the mountain where our boys trained; visit the original barracks (currently being rebuilt), the depot where the fresh young men arrived, the museum with remarkable and historical artifacts; and talk to the wonderful folks who were kids at the time and grew up watching the paratroopers make their arrival, train, and depart for overseas... for some of them, never to return.

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The hospitality and genuineness of the people and the wonderful celebration they host each year remembering the paratroopers who trained at Camp Toccoa comes together to make it one of the happiest weekends of the year for me.

Faith and 101st Airborne Veteran, Vince Speranza.

Faith and 101st Airborne Veteran, Vince Speranza.

Thank you to all our Toccoa friends who work so hard to put on such a splendid event!

Recap in Photos

A Special Sort of Crusty

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Hanging out in the airport with Mr. bordeaux (centre) and his lifelong friend, wayne pricer.

“I’m going to push your wheelchair through the museum for you, Mr. B.” I announced.

“No, no, no, honey.” He protested. “You don’t need to do that.” 

“I’m happy to!” I exclaimed.

“No really. I’ll just be fine here.” He settled himself for the wait.

My friend’s response was typical. He was independent and would be the last person in the world to put someone out. 

We were both a part of a large group of WWII veterans and guardians who had traveled from Fort Worth, Texas to New Orleans, Louisiana to visit the National WWII Museum. It was most of the vets' first time, and after a swell evening the night before being serenaded by the trio at BB's Stage Door Canteen, everyone was excited to tour the museum for the day. 

just a "few" of the ww2s on our trip!

Unfortunately, stepping off an elevator the day before, Mr. B. had collided with one of the other vets and didn’t quite feel up to a strenuous day of walking. True to form, he would rather have spoiled his trip than have to depend upon someone else. 

But I was prepared for this. 

I walked around to the front of his wheelchair, “Mr. Bordeaux, do you seriously think you came all the way from Texas to New Orleans just to sit in a chair in the front of the museum all day?? I think not!!”

He attempted one last pathetic protest and then realized it was pointless. “Oh, okay.” He smiled. He was won over. 

Everyone you meet has a different impact on you. And what you take away from one friendship may be completely different from the next person.

I didn’t know Mr. Bordeaux as long as some folks, but I like to think that over the several years of our friendship, I was able to see a different side of Mr. B. than the one he regularly presented.

For those who didn’t know him so well, one might have put Richard Bordeaux down as a possibly cute old man, always good for a laugh, with a somewhat impossible amount of orneriness left over from years of being on his own.

In a way, that is true. Each extended trip to the hospital proved he was too tough to be overcome. And it’s true, his self deprecating jokes could be really cute ...

“How are you doing, Mr. B.?” 
“Fine… They said I need a lobotomy, but I doubt they’ll be able to find anything there.”

… But I also saw a side to him that (along with his adorable crustiness) was interesting and even brilliant. I would like to share that with you here - the Mr. Bordeaux I knew.

Until he got too sick, we would talk regularly on the phone. Oh the miles of conversation we would cover. Sometimes we’d compare notes on our Civil War relatives. His insight into a war, so far in our past, but still so hotly disputed, was clear headed, honest, and intelligent. Over the election year, his political commentary, though far from PC (Mr. Bordeaux and "politically correct" were just two things that never went together), was again very insightful and oftentimes hilarious.

His retention of information and knowledge on many, many subjects continually impressed me. 

One day, I was talking on the phone with him. 

“Mr. Bordeaux!” I exclaimed. “I finally got to see the Grand Canyon!” 

“Just a minute honey,” he said in his raspy Texas drawl. “Let me turn the TV down.”

He had one of my favorite smiles!

I smiled and waited on the other end of the phone. He refused to wear hearing aids, despite having lost most of his hearing as a Navy Gunner during the war.

“Now what was that?” He said picking up the phone again. 

“I finally got to see the Grand Canyon!” 

“Oh now, that’s fine. That’s just wonderful, honey,” he replied, “Did you get to see…” And he listed off a couple of places. We kept chatting about it, and he told me about the history and geology of the canyon. His descriptions were breathtaking. 

“I should be taking notes for next time,” I laughed. "When was the last time you went??”

“I’ve never been,” he said. “I’ve just read about it.”

“Well, if you ever decide you need a job,” I told him, “you should apply as a tour guide of the Canyon!”

He chuckled a bit.

A few years ago, I had told him about my brother hiking the Pacific Crest Trail. Had he heard of that before? Most certainly!! And he proceeded to tell me about this famous 2600 mile hiking trail. “How did you know about it?” I had to ask, amazed (I’d never heard of it before my brother announced to the family his intentions of making the hike). “Oh, reading somewhere,” was his reply.

The following year, I told him my brother was commercial fishing in Alaska. 

“Alaska!” He said, getting excited. “That’s one place I have wanted to visit my entire life.”

“Really?” I said. “Tell me about it. Why?” 

And he did. For the next ten or fifteen minutes, he went on to tell me about the gloriousness of “The Last Frontier.”

Again I asked in amazement, “Where did you learn all this? No! Don’t tell me…” I knew where this was going.

“I’ve read about it, watched a lot of documentaries… you know. Not much.”

“Goodness, Mr. Bordeaux!” I chuckled on the other end of the phone. Would there ever be a subject he didn’t know anything about?

Pushing my crusty sailor around the National WWII Museum that day, I saw yet another side to this interesting individual. 

“Where do you want to go?” I asked. 

“I don’t care. Wherever you want.” 

“Let’s go through the Normandy exhibit then. I know you were in the Pacific, so it might be interesting for you to see the other side.” 

I wheeled him through the many exhibits, chatting a bit, reading some of the displays, asking questions about the Navy crafts, and watching him in those moments where he was thoughtfully silent. 

explaining how the landing crafts work.

explaining how the landing crafts work.

We finally arrived at the Invasion of D-Day when he suddenly blurted out, “I lost my two best friends on D-Day.” I stopped. He had never talked about this before. 

Coming to the side of his chair, I knelt down, “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr. Bordeaux. You were close with them?”

“One of them lived next door to me. The other one was a few miles away, but we were always together. When he died, his mother moved to the house next door. Her younger son had been killed by a street trolley, and it was just too much for her to lose another son. She never got over it.” 

As he reflected on these things, his eyes became moist, his raspy voice grew a little more raw. “I haven’t thought about them in over 30 years.” His voice trailed.

“Thank you for telling me.” I said taking his hand, trying not to tear up myself. This was one of those moments I knew I’d never forget.  

Last Memorial Day I was able to get him a photo of his two friends' graves. You can read more about it here

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But if I thought that was the last emotional moment of the day, I was wrong. 

During our tour of the Warbirds exhibit, we ran into an old friend of mine, Lt. Colonel Art Arceneaux, a Marine Air Corps Ace during the war.

The meeting of my two friends was another moment I will never forget. 

After the usual, “Where were you?” they realized they had both been in the same general area during the Battle of Okinawa. Except Col. Arceneaux was fighting the Kamikazes from the air, and Mr. Bordeaux was fighting them from the guns of his ship. 

"Remember how the Kamikazes swarmed at us like flies to honey?" said Mr. B. ”I admired you guys in the planes. I wouldn't have traded places.” 

“I felt sorry for you guys on the ships," responded the Colonel in his soft Cajun accent. ”I didn't want to be in your position." 

So handsome! He never lost the smile.

I stood there in awe listening to them swap battle stories. I knew Mr. Bordeaux had served in the Pacific and had experienced things he’d rather forget. But he didn’t talk about it much, even when I pushed him. Okinawa was his one big battle. Compared to other WW2 guys, his combat experience was limited. But who’s counting the battles? I’ve seen sometimes that the vets who were only in the rough for a short time didn’t have the chance to become battle hardened, and they are left raw with lasting memories that cannot be shaken for anything. 

A few hours earlier our group had watched the Museum’s 4D short documentary, “Beyond All Boundaries.” Despite being in good spirits before the show, when the kamikaze attacks came on the screen, Mr. B. couldn’t handle it. “Make it stop, make it stop.” He cried out. “Do you need me to take you out?” I asked. “No… No. I’m fine.” He said. But soon the sounds, the vibrations, and the visual imagery intensified. My hand was on the elbow of his chair. He grabbed it and held on. Tight. My eyes became a bit dewey.  

After the film, Mr. B. told me how he had watched a nearby ship go down in flames. The crew members jumped into the ocean on fire. There was nothing he could do but watch. 89-years old at that time, and that image haunted him still. 

Pulled back to the moment, I looked at Mr. Bordeaux and Mr. Arceneaux chatting away. These men had never crossed paths during the war, but yet they had fought side by side. 70+ years later, here they were swapping war stories. I was a merely a fly on the wall.

a special meeting between war veterans: dick bordeaux and Lt. colonel Art arceneaux.

Saying our goodbyes, both vets thanked the other for their protection during the battle. They would never meet again, but they would forever be friends.

I was grateful for this meeting with Colonel Arceneaux, for Mr. Bordeaux’s sake. There is something intangible to the looker-on, and so meaningful to the veteran that comes out of a conversation with someone “who was there.”

Over lunch in the American Sector Restaurant, we talked about the day and the museum. So much to take in and process. We talked about his family, goofy stories from the Navy, growing up, events that had hurt him as a child and ended up shaping his life.

In many ways, his story was similar to another friend of mine. Both of them had grown up in the school of extra hard knocks. Both their fathers had left home at an early age, and they were forced to raise themselves without that important figure in their life. “A boy needs his dad,” Mr. B. told me. “But I didn’t have mine.” 

lunch date at the museum!

The difference in my two friends came when one took the path of indifference to hardships and a perspective that life would not be allowed to run him down. Mr. B. did not choose that path. There were many things in his life he wanted to be or could have done… He knew that. But sometimes life just hit him too hard to get around it.

Having the two examples of my friends, such similar lives with such opposite outcomes, I was struck by the fact that here I had an opportunity to see into the future. Life throws an awful lotta curveballs at us, and how we respond to them may change the course of the rest of our life. Through the example of my other friend, I saw the blessings of what it would look like at 90+, having taken the high road of positivity at age 20. And for Mr. B., sadly, I saw the outcome of having taken the road of frustration and discouragement. It’s a hard lesson. 

But for all the somber moments of the day, Mr. Bordeaux still had his wonderful sense of humor. After we pushed the serious life matters out of the way, he was back to his old jokes and humor, including cracking a comment that made me hide my face behind the menu and caused the next table to look up in surprise. Yup, Mr. B. always had something tucked up his sleeve ready to pull out when you least expected. 

“Here, have my fries,” he said.

- - - -

When we landed back in Fort Worth, I looked to say goodbye to Mr. B. But he’d already gone. Calling him up the next day, I pretended to be mad, “Mr. Bordeaux, what did you mean by running off yesterday without a goodbye? After all I did pushing you around the WWII Museum!”

“Oh honey,” he said, “I’m sorry. I just hate goodbyes.”

I get that.

The story of our visit to the WWII Museum is just an excerpt from all the stories I have to tell from dear Mr. Bordeaux. An excerpt though it is, it nevertheless remains one of my favorite experiences with a WW2 veteran since starting Operation Meatball.

one of our impromptu visits after an event in fort worth. 

Yet, WW2 veteran though he was, my family’s friendship with him grew to be more than that. He became a regular fixture in our visits to Fort Worth and a treasured friend. Over the years, we accumulated many hilarious anecdotes from our time with him.

The first time Mother met Mr. Bordeaux, he asked her bluntly, “Why are you wearing BLUE toe polish?”

Sometimes I’d call him up and say, “I’m in town. Can I come over for a chat?” Forever worried that he would put us out, or embarrassed that his little flat wasn’t clean, he’d make some excuse. That is when I had to learn to say, “I’m in town. I’m coming over in 30 minutes.” Of course, he was happy about it, and we would talk for hours… “Come back soon.” He’d say. 

One afternoon, when he didn’t show up to a luncheon where he was a regular, I called him. “Where are you??”

"a quick hi and a hug"

“I’ve been waiting for the mechanic. My car has issues, and they were supposed to be here at 10am.”

“But it’s 2 o’clock!?” I said. 

“I know.”

“Can Faith and I come by and give you a quick hug?”

“Well now, honey, you don’t have to… But you can if you want.”

He was out by his car when Faith and I got there. Our “quick hi and hug” turned into a lengthy discussion on how to solve world problems (sailor style) and the best way to sleep during a Typhoon in the Pacific (educating!). Periodically, one of the folks living in his apartment complex would walk by with a trash bag for the dumpster, staring (not-so-politely) at the little party gathered around his old truck, chatting and laughing in the (Texas style) freezing weather.

Another time, it was his turn to remonstrate when I was out of town for a while and hadn’t called.

“I’ve been looking for you!” He said in his North Texas manner. “But I didn’t find you in any of the local pool halls or bars.”

I died laughing. “Goodness. Mr. Bordeaux. You must have been looking in the wrong pool halls then.” What else could I say?

jubilee and mr. bordeaux at the National wwii museum.

Surer than the sun setting, I could always count on Mr. B. to end his phone calls with, “Now you be safe, honey. And stay off the streets.” 

This last part always baffled me. “Why would I be on the streets??”

"Now, now, you just never know. Be safe now.” He would always answer.

“Well, all right then. I’ll try.” I would tell him.

ice-cream, okinawa, and architecture 

Another time, we were out for ice cream and ended up discussing Frank Lloyd Wright and Architecture (a passion of his) until the ice cream ran out. That was after someone had come up to thank him for his service, only to not be heard (remember, he was too independent to wear hearing aids). The fellow was a little awkward not knowing what to do… “It’s okay.” We told him, “He can’t hear you, try again.” We tugged Mr. Bordeaux’s sleeve, “Someone’s trying to talk to you.” I still don’t know if he ever heard what the guy was saying…

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On birthdays, I’d always call him a day or two after. Why? Because of this conversation: 

“Hey, Mr. Bordeaux! Your birthday is coming up soon!”

“I don’t believe in birthdays. Anyways, life goes downhill after 21.”

“But I’ll be 21 in a couple of years!”

“Well, then… you know.”

“I’m going to send you a card on your birthday.”

“Now, now, now… don’t go doing that.”

“And I’m going to call you.”

“Now, now… Listen here, young lady, I told you I don’t believe in birthdays or holidays. They aren’t for me.”

Two days after his birthday: “Mr. Bordeaux! Happy birthday. You said not to call you on your birthday… and I’m not!”

- - - -

I wasn’t able to say “goodbye” to Mr. B. before he passed. I wondered if I would. But I never got the chance. However, thinking back to that conversation on the phone when he told me, “Oh honey, I’m sorry. I just hate goodbyes,” it’s probably okay. He hated goodbyes… and really, I do too. Anyway, he’ll always be my sailor who was a special sort of crusty.

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