Remembering A Hero



Lt. Col Georg A. Fisher

 My great-uncle Georg was one of my first heroes.  I loved hearing his stories from World War II, when he'd tell of Anzio and Sicily, to name but a few:

He was Judge Advocate of the 45th Infantry Division during the war, and had landed with a group of clerks.  All of a sudden, the word comes down the beach:  "The man's coming!"  Uncle Georg thought, "Terrific.  Patton is coming down the beach, and here I am with a bunch of clerks."  So he marched those clerks back and forth.  He told me it was the best he'd ever had men march for him, and it had to be the best they'd ever marched.  Patton walked by, and to him, if you wore the uniform, you were a soldier.  It didn't matter if you were a clerk or carried a rifle.  The general said, "Good soldiers.  Good soldiers."  Uncle Georg said, "General Patton, sir, these are clerks."  Patton replied, "Clerks hell!  They're soldiers!"

Also during the war, a soldier named Luther Eoff got drunk and stole an officer's jeep.  To boot, Luther and his friend wrecked it and were caught by the French Underground.  They heard his last name, which is very Geman, and were going to shoot him as a Nazi infiltrator.  They literally had him against the wall when the MPs came up, saying, "You know, we'd like to let you do it, but he really is ours."  Uncle Georg knew Luther's father, and asked Luther, "Do you think your father would be proud of you?"  "No sir," Luther replied, figuring that he was safe, as a Fisher would get him out of it. "That's all I wanted to know.  Uncle Georg then proceeded to throw the book at him.  Of course Luther was found guilty and could have received the firing squad.  The court martial asked Uncle Georg what he recommended for a sentence:  "We've scared them.  You want to punish them?  Send them to the front."  That's what they did, and Luther Eoff lived to a ripe old age, telling me Uncle Georg was a great man.

When the 45th had taken a town near the Kassarine Pass in Italy, they got a report on the radio stating the Germans would attempt to take it back via a parachute drop at midnight.  They dug in and heard the planes at midnight.  One landed behind Uncle Georg, who whirled, fired and hit the soldier - - - who was an American.  All the paratroopers were.  By 12:02, the fighting had ceased as the mistake had been realized and they were rushning the wounded man to the medic.  All the while, he's telling Uncle Georg, "That's okay, sir.  You didn't know.  It wasn't your fault."  He didn't make it to the medic.  At 12:05 another report came over the radio, stating those would be American paratroopers, and Uncle Georg had to live with that the rest of his life.

He served in Korea, and rose to the rank of Lt. Col.  After that war, the 45th had one of their first reunions.  They had gotten quite noisy, and the police were called.  The officers came in, telling the 45th to quiet down.  Uncle Georg, to put it politely, gave the police directions.  Each officer took him by an arm and as they were escorting him out, heard over 300 pairs of feet.  They turned around, and were told, "If you take our colonel, call the paddy wagons, because you're taking all of us."  This time, the officers asked them to be quiet.  Uncle Georg said, "We've made our point.  Shut up!"  And they did.

In 1980, I was his guest at another 45th reunion.  Looking at the photos, I was in desparate need of a haircut.  His men would come up and ask, "Who are you?"  I'd tell them I was Col. Fisher's nephew, and always get, "You're with the Judge?  Let me tell you about that rascal."  Uncle Georg would be watching out of the corner of his eye, and later ask, "What did he tell you?"  When I'd say it was interesting, he'd always tell me not to believe a word of whatever I'd been told.  He and his friends did their level best to disrupt the reunion's meeting - - - and succeeded.  I still have the name badge from that weekend, a photo of us, and handmade souvenir his closest friend gave me.  I wouldn't take anything for it.

When his son passed away, Uncle Georg wanted to have a service for him at the 45th Museum Chapel.  He called a handful of his men - - - none of them who had ever known Jim - - - and simply said, "I need you."  Every one of them came, and the Museum, which is closed on Mondays, allowed the service to be held on that day.  Anything for the Colonel.  When Dad thanked one of the men for coming, he was told, "Mr. Fisher, your uncle is our colonel.  We'd go to hell for that man!"  It was the 1980s, and they still felt that way about the man they called "Mr. 45th".

Problems?  My yes, Uncle Georg had them.  The war gave a lot of them to our veterans.  At the same time, those were the best years for a lot of men, and that is where many of them found their closest and dearest friends.  Uncle Georg was like that.  I am sad to say he passed away before the phrase the greatest generation had been coined.  He certainly was deserving of the title.

 I loved him, and miss him to this day.  Like many of the family members who have passed on, I think of him daily.

Thank you, Uncle Georg, for saving our country.

Well, Did You?

Remember the song "Did You Ever See A Dream Walking?"  If not, look it up on You Tube.  It's a nice song, and truth be told, just the title brings back wonderful memories of music from when we could understand the lyrics and the tunes didn't blast us out of our seats.

But I got to wondering:  Just how many of us, if we had seen a dream walking, would actually recognize it?  I remember my first semester of college in the fall of 1982 when I was exiting the Liberal Arts Building.  A woman was coming up the steps who - - - no joke here - - - took my breath away.  I let out a gasp that embarrassed me as she gave me a smile I haven't forgotten in twenty-eight years.  I went to the side of the building, let out a breath, and continued on.  I never saw her again, but at the same time, not a period of three weeks goes by that I don't remember that moment or the woman.

At the same time, I know she wasn't a dream.  No, she was flesh and blood, just like you and me.  But there are times when I've seen dreams while I've been on my feet, and I'm not talking about a beautfiul individual. 

Have you ever seen a Hawaiian sunset?  The ones here in Oklahoma are breathtaking, but in Hawaii, they are beyond description.  Photographs - and it doesn't matter how good your digital camera is - don't do them justice.  We talk about Van Gogh, but forget God is the master artist.  Ever paid close attention to a child taking their first steps?  It doesn't even have to be your own, just to watch them is a joy.  It's even more fun to watch the look on the parents' faces.  They've worked so hard with their child on this, they don't care they'll now have to safeguard everything within a hundred mile radius.  Listen to a piece of music that no one else seems to notice.  You'll be surprised how much pleasure it brings you.  It doesn't have to be a classical piece, or even a song.  It can be a theme from a show, or a child's tune.  You'll be surprised at the tunes that bring you pleasure.

Those are but a few of the dreams walking out there.  Take the time to enjoy them.

                                                                                                  

Look Before You Leap

My family on Dad's side comes from the Oklahoma National Stockyards.  A good portion of them are still out there.  As a matter of fact, my cousin Rob is the president out there.  We've met some interesting characters at the Stockyards, a good portion of them in our own family.  And I can honestly say the two best 'G-rated con artists' I've ever met were my grandfather Joe Fisher and Leland Wallace.

JoJo, as we called my grandfather, would make these ten cent bets with you.  If it was baseball season, he'd wager ten cents the Yankees would hit the first foul ball.  Naturally, they were the visiting team and batted first that day, and I'd be out a dime.  Come football season, he'd bet me that whoever received the opening kickoff would run for a touchdown.  I'd always lose, as he never said they'd score, only that they'd run for it.  (Actually, I won once, as the team called for a fair catch.  I felt guilty and slipped the dime back.)

As sneaky as JoJo was, I have to say Leland has him beat.  He's the one everyone goes to when they want to hear the stories about people out at the Stockyards.  As he tells the stories, Leland's eyes light up like that of a leprechaun.

When boxing was truly popular, people would pay money to watch it on closed circuit television in the arenas, then about a month or so later, the two fighters would sit with Howard Cosell on 'Wide World of Sports' and provide commentary when the fight would be replayed.  In June of 1980, the first Sugar Ray Leonard-Robert Duran match was held, with Duran vicorious.

Jamie, an eleven-year-old kid at the yards who worshipped Sugar Ray, was going on and on about how 'lucky' Duran was, and how he couldn't do it again.  Leland said that they would be fighting on 'Wide World of Sports' soon, never mentioning it would be a replay.  Well, Jamie started yammering about how Sugar Ray would clean Duran's clock this time.  Leland simply said, "I don't think so."  Jamie wanted to make a bet on it, and Leland refused to do so.  Jamie kept raising the stakes, and when Leland refused, the boy went to far as to call Leland afraid.  The man flat out told Jamie he didn't want to take his money, and Jamie finally upped the ante to fifty dollars.  All the while, Leland had that leprechaun's look on his face.  Finally, he accepted the wager, and went out to work with some cattle.

Jamie was chortling, while the rest of us were doing our best not to bust a gut.  He was talking about how he'd put one over on Leland, and finally - - - to shut Jamie up - - - Tommy O'Neal said, "Boy, don't you realize you've just bet on a replay?"  It was hard to tell what Jamie jumped out of first:  His skin or his chair, as he shouted, "Replay?!?"  The funny thing was, he kept insisting Leland cheated him!  Every one of us pointed out he was the one who nagged for the bet, he was the one who ran the amount up to fifty dollars, and he was the one who wouldn't let Leland be.  But Jamie, who was in a daze by now, kept saying over and over, "He cheated me."

When Leland came back in, Jamie ran up to him, insisting he'd been cheated, and Leland pointed out the same things we had.  He also let him know he had no intention of collecting.  But if he ever heard of Jamie making a bet like that again - he was going to collect.

You might think that's an awful trick for a grown man to pull on an eleven-year-old boy.  Think again.  Leland gave Jamie several valuable lessons, whether the boy realized it or not: 

1)  If you're going to bet, make sure you only bet what you can afford to lose.
2)  In all instances, look before you leap. 
3)  Never, ever, bet with a man who grins like a leprechaun.

The Most Remarkable Man I've Ever Met

Homer and Maude Hudson

Each of us has someone special in our lives.  I've been blessed to have quite a few.  One is my great-great Uncle Homer.  Growing up, I always knew he was special, but I don't know how much I appreciated him until after his passing.  Sadly, that's the way things generally are.

For a quarter of a century, our family used to meet at his small farm in Tipton, Missouri for our annual reunion.  Now, that may sound like an "Oh well, it's just a reunion," to you, but it's not.  Tipton was magic to us.  Homer had a horse and cart, he always had the tire swing ready to go, the yard was immaculate, he had a go-cart made from spare parts that we kids used to fight over (Homer would scold us for that, and organize us into a line.), and it was always the most fun weekend of the year for us.  He saw to it.  The trains ran by their yard, we would put pennies on the track and when our folks weren't looking, throw apples from Homer's orchard at the passing train cars.  (The one time I did it, Dad caught me.)  Homer had a penny that he had put on the track over and over and over.  It looked like one that had been put in a machine.  He knew how to keep us entertained.

One year Mom and I were playing badminton, which of course Homer had set up before anyone arrived.  The sun was starting to set, so we were playing the last few points.  The game was up by the front porch, and lo and behold, Homer stood on the porch rail, and set up a hanging light bulb so we could finish the game and play as long as we wanted.  Everyone was aghast, as he was in his eighties at the time.  Personally, I thought it was pretty darn neat.  Homer was never going to get old, and he was proving it.  People were telling him to get down before he got hurt, and to this day, I remember his reply:  "I've been doing this all my life.  The day I don't, I might as well die."  He was only in his mid-eighties.  Later that summer, he picked the hottest day of the year to get up on a tin roof to paint it.

Homer and Maude raised my grandfather, Harry Hudson.  All of the morals and common sense he had - which was a lot - he got from them.  One of my grandfather's favorite stories was of the time he spilled his milk glass at the dinner table and Homer chastised him for it.  In doing so, he shook his hand - and knocked over his own milk glass. 

Homer worked for the highway department, farmed, and was the school janitor.  He could put anything together, and over the years, became the most loved man in Tipton.  His brother Richard was a fine man and very well off, but Homer was the person in town that people cherished.

At the last reunion, Homer, who was in the artillery during the First World War, showed us a lamp he had made from artillery shells.  He then told us how he had been asked to speak to a class on the war.  Being the person that he was, he studied up on it.  Going to school in his uniform - which still fit - he started his presentation, and before he could even get into it, class ended.  The teacher told him to keep going as the next class came in, and he went on.  All of a sudden, school's over and he wasn't finished.  Homer wound up talking to the entire school for three days, and the kids were enthralled.  Had we known about it, we would have been there.

Homer and Maude eventually sold the farm and moved into a retirement center.  In no time at all, Homer was in a wheelchair and passed away.  His words as he was putting up the lightbulb came back to me.  I have three of his hats, and when I look at them, I remember a Godly, hard-working man who cared very much for his family and to this day assists me: 

Once when I was complaining about being a janitor  my father merely said, "Uncle Homer was a janitor."  Nothing more needed to be said."  Every so often, someone will come up to me and ask why I do what I do.  They'll point out I have a college education, etc., and ask why I'm not doing something else.  I just state the most remarkable man I ever knew was a janitor and I'm not even a patch on his sleeve.  If it was good enough for him, it's good enough for me.

Thanks for the lesson, Uncle Homer.

We All Need A Kick

One of my favorite children's books is Judith Viorst's Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day.  The main character of the book, Alexander, has the worst day possible.  His marble goes down the drain during his bath and the cat doesn't want to sleep with him, so all throughout the day he tells everyone within earshot that he's going to move to Australia.  It doesn't help that his mother fixes lima beans for dinner (Let's face it . . . Those are gross!) and there's kissing on the television.  But when his mother tucks him in at night, she lets him know that even in Australia, there are terrible, horrible, no-good very bad days.

True.  We all have those days, and whenever we have them, it seems like we want to shout, "Excuse me, God, I haven't recuperated from the last one!"  But you know, He could tell us, "Ahem!  You want to hear about my day?"

Everytime we have a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day we always run into someone else whose day has been rougher.  I call it a 'kick in the butt from God.'  We all need these kicks and get them whether we know it or not.  I heard a story of an entertainer whose name escapes me at the moment.  He was doing a benefit on the condition that he come on first as he needed to be able to make his radio show.  Well, he stayed on and on and by the time he left, his radio show had already started.  He'd missed the performance that he'd contracted for, although they'd tried to get him off the stage for a long, long time.  When he exited, he pointed to two soldiers in the front row.  One had lost his left arm, the other his right.  Together, they were bringing their hands together to applaud.  As long as they were doing that, he wasn't going to leave the stage.  A gentle 'kick in the butt from God', showing that entertainer what was truly important, and one he never forgot.

So when you tell yourself that it can't get any worse, remember . . . it probably can.  And someone else is more than likely experiencing it as you wonder.