Yesterday was a wonderful day. It was my first day off after twenty-four straight days of work. A good portion of those days were split shifts, which I have to admit, I'm not too fond of. They have a tendency to rank right up there with dental surgery.
During this time I went without a day off, I had several people asking why I didn't contact the labor board. "After all," they were telling me, "everyone's entitled to a day off." I thanked them for their concern, but explained that the company was shorthanded, and was doing their best to rectify the situation.
I also knew that if I did anything like what they suggested, the next bit of thunder I'd be hearing would be my ancestors howling up in Heaven. You see, they understood what work truly was like. From listening to stories about them, I know just how easy I have it.
During the Great Depression, my grandfather worked three jobs at once in order to feed his family. Then, he would come home at night and weep, as he was always afraid he'd failed in his mission. He never did. One of these jobs had a dye that he was allergic to, and it turned his arms blue all the way to his elbows. He also put his younger brother through college, buying him a car while this was going on.
My great-great-uncle, whom I've written about earlier, was one of those men who could take what you and I would call 'pieces of junk' and make a go-cart out of it. Not like the ones you see in the store that is returned after a few weeks, but one that would run for more than two decades. He worked for the public schools, the highway department, and had his own farm. An artilleryman in the First World War, he could fit into his uniform when he was in his eighties.
Contrast these two men with people from our generation: A woman was on FOX News recently. She had an impressive resume, but couldn't find a job. She had put out over three hundred job applications, and had yet to be hired. When asked about trying flipping burgers in order to find employment, she stated she wanted to keep her resume 'pure.' In short, she didn't want a job too badly.
I worked with some people who were aghast at the fact they'd been transferred to another department. Didn't the bosses know they didn't want to work in that particular department? I wanted to shake them, pointing out 1) You're not the boss, and 2) If you don't like it, quit. Eventually, they did the latter without my telling them to, but I had to listen to their complaints for months on end.
We are a spoiled people. Things have come too easy for us. And I have to admit, I shudder to think about what the future generation is going to be like. In this day of instant popcorn, the Internet, iPods, etc., we want everything quick, if not now. It's like that stupid commercial where those performers (who really need to take acting lessons) are shouting, "It's my money and I want it now!" When these kids get to work, what a shock they're going to have when they realize not everything is instant.
I miss my grandfather and great-great uncle, but at the same time, I'm glad they're no longer with us. They would be appalled at the lack of work ethic in Americans today. Had they known I worked twenty-four straight days, both men would have simply said, "Good. It'll build your character. But why did you take the twenty-fifth off?"
No wonder I miss them.
http://goodolthisanthat.blogspot.com/2010/10/most-remarkable-man-ive-ever-met.html
Showing posts with label Greatest Generation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Greatest Generation. Show all posts
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Remembering A Hero
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.
 |
| Lt. Col Georg A. Fisher |
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.
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