In a Soldier's Own Words

The Army summed up Oric Neelly's service during World War II in fewer than 100 words:

Radio Operator, High Speed. Served for 36 months in European Theatre of Operations: Africa, Italy, France and Germany, as Radio Operator with 1st Armored Signal Battalion. Received orders from Tank Commander and transmitted them to other tanks in the platoon. For 18 months, worked in Radio Control section of the 7th Army receiving and transmitting itinerary communications in Morse Code. Receives and sends Morse Code at the rate of 20 words per minute. Was also operator in Army and Navy Teletype Communications, which was set up to insure the safe reception and transmission of confidential and secret messages. 

Oric Neelly was my great-uncle, the youngest brother of my Grandpa Shelby Neelly. He was born February 12, 1919, and died June 5, 2014.

Several years ago, Oric's daughter, Brenda, asked her Dad to record some of his memories of World War II. He decided he'd rather write them in his own hand. She transcribed them and compiled them into a hardcover book, "Memoirs of World War II" by Oric C. Neelly.

When Oric died this past June, my brother, Kent, and I sang at the funeral. One of the songs we chose was "America, the Beautiful," in honor of Oric's service to our nation. On this Veteran's Day, I'm sharing just a snippet of his story from the book, which I was privileged to receive from Brenda.

The words of Oric C. Neelly are below:

We boarded ship at Norfolk, Virginia, on or about the 20th of October, 1942. We were at sea for about 18 days. We were dodging submarines or maybe just waiting for D-Day. D-Day being the day the invasion was to start. ...

(I'll insert here: This is not the D-Day we think of. As best I can tell, this would have been part of Operation Torch, the British-American invasion of French North Africa during the North African Campaign of World War II, which started on November 8, 1942).

Back to Oric: There were, I suppose, around six or seven thousand people on board. We were packed in pretty good, bunks stacked on top of one another. ...

The invasion took place on the 8th of November, 1942. The ship pulled in closer to shore and started unloading tank lighters, tanks, half-tracks and all the other equipment. Of course, the battleships and everything else were firing into shore. We were out on deck watching. ...

The ship was listing from side to side ... Being from dry Kansas, I didn't know how to swim. I thought this may be a problem. Anyway, I took off all my clothes and shoes, being just in my shorts and dog tags. I kept my billfold, which was a good thing because after I got into the water, it was a pretty good paddle. I went down a wood and rope ladder that was hanging down the side of the ship away from the fire, but the fire was on both sides of the ship. I got as far away from it as I could and pushed off into the water. My life jacket slipped up my back and stopped at the back of my head, but it kept me above water. Then I started dog-paddling away from the ship. ...

The waves in the ocean were high, not breaking over, but almost. ... I just paddled away from the ship. I never noticed the cold much, but I think it was. I was in the water for about 45 minutes, just getting away from the fire and the ship. There was a Frenchman in a small fishing boat that came along and picked me up and took me in to shore. That was at Fedala, eight miles north of Casablanca.

There were only a few on that little boat. I don't know what made that Frenchman pick me up. There were at least two or three thousand guys in the water at the time. ... The Frenchman took us to the dock and let us off. I regret to this day I didn't get that guy's name, but I didn't. When we got off the little boat, I didn't have any clothes on or shoes. My fair, eyebrows and mustache were all white, burned from the fire, so I must have looked pretty bad. ...

Now that I am ashore, I don't know where to go or what to do without any clothes or shoes. Someone told me to go to First-Aid and told me where it was. My sea legs were so bad I could hardly walk, but I took off. When I came to it, it was just a small house on the side of the road. I went in and there were guys laying everywhere, moaning and groaning really loud and blood everywhere. I looked in the next room. Two guys were throwing dead people out the window. ... I said to myself, "I am not hurt this bad, I am getting out of here." ...

After that, I wandered into a camp of GI's. I told them I was off that ship that was burning out at sea. It burned all night. They took me in and gave me some chow and a blanket. One of the guys was gone, so they gave me his cot to sleep on. I was fixed for the night and safe on shore, which was a good feeling. ...

Now this was just the start of the war. I was over there 2 1/2 years. I can't remember some of it too well, so that's why I'll just tell you the highlights now and again.

I want to insert some sayings and words of wisdom that I have picked up going through life, hoping you will find them interesting or amusing, whatever:

***

The book recounts other memories of Oric's service in the Army. For me, it is more powerful than a history book because I knew the author. 

An honor guard from Fort Riley played "Taps" at Oric's funeral in June.

And, Oric's words, written in his own hand, seem particularly appropriate on this Veteran's Day. 

This just a small portion of the book, but on this Veteran's Day, I thank my Uncle Oric and all the other brave men and women who have served our country. 

Thanks also to Brenda for making sure one veteran's story was told and preserved. It is quite a gift! (More thoughts from Oric's service are here: Who Has Seen the Wind?)

Who Has Seen the Wind?

Pastor Ben and Arlene spent a lot of time transforming the sanctuary at the Stafford United Methodist Church for Pentecost on Sunday. We have a gorgeous and historic sanctuary anyway. It was even more beautiful.

But the transformation truly isn't just about sewing together fabric and dangling precariously from a ladder to hang it from fishing line.

It's about discovering the transforming power of the Holy Spirit in my life today - not just in Bible times. Today.

When the Holy Spirit comes (as told in Acts 2: 1-21), it comes with a sound like the rush of a violent wind and in tongues of fire.

Our other Scripture lesson for the day was John 7: 37-39:

³⁷ On the last and greatest day of the festival, Jesus stood and said in a loud voice, “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me and drink. ³⁸ Whoever believes in me, as Scripture has said, rivers of living water will flow from within them.” ³⁹ By this he meant the Spirit, whom those who believed in him were later to receive. Up to that time the Spirit had not been given, since Jesus had not yet been glorified.

Living water ... rushing wind ... tongues of fire. Those aren't exactly stagnant images, as they?

As Pastor Ben said, "God's presence and the Holy Spirit change us."

It can happen slowly. Sometimes it's in an instant. But it's moving, not stagnant.

Living, moving water shapes canyons, moves boulders and changes the landscape.

Fire can be contained in a backyard fire pit, but its flames still reach up toward the night sky. Or it can race through a burning building.

We Kansans know wind. It can be a pleasant breeze on a hot summer day or a howling gale that thunders through trees and brings down heavy branches during a storm. It can be a dove kite gently rustling in air-conditioned breeze in a Kansas sanctuary.

As Pastor Ben shared, Pentecost isn't just a "story" that happened long ago. God isn't finished "moving" us and doing new things even today. The Holy Spirit comes to open our eyes and show us how to be more connected, have mercy, offer forgiveness and transform the world with justice and love.

But it requires movement. I have to leave a beautifully appointed sanctuary and go out into a messy, noisy, complicated world. As Pastor Ben says, "We have inherited the work."

The wind theme continued past church for me yesterday. At 2 PM,  the wind was blowing through a small Kansas cemetery as two young soldiers from Fort Riley honored a World War II veteran and his family. It was the service for my Great Uncle Oric Neelly, my Grandpa Shelby Neelly's youngest brother. Oric was the final one of the 10 children to be laid to rest.

Oric died on June 5, one day before the 70th anniversary of D-Day. He served for 36 months in the European Theatre in Africa, Italy, France and Germany. As a member of the Signal Corp in the First Armored Signal Battalion, he was aboard the SS Bliss when it was torpedoed off the coast of France prior to the invasion. He was rescued by a Frenchman in a small fishing boat. He rejoined his Army unit and went on to serve in the Invasion of Sicily. He was in Germany at the end of the war and helped liberate a concentration camp 40 miles from Berlin.

In the service bulletin, his family shared one of his favorite poems, "Who Has Seen the Wind?" by Christina Rossetti. It was one he recited often:

Who has seen the wind?

Neither I nor you:

But when the leaves hang trembling,

The wind is passing through.

Who has seen the wind?

Neither you nor I:

But when the trees bow down their heads,

The wind is passing by. 

Yesterday afternoon, the breeze picked up the mournful notes of "Taps" as another soldier was laid to rest. The final note gave me goosebumps as it softly drifted away into an overcast sky.

Whether being moved by the Holy Spirit or moved by the story of one of our nation's heroes, the challenge is there to live - not stagnate - and to make a difference.

Patriot's Pride

C. Melvin Fritzemeier - 1929-2002

Memorial Day has been around since 1868. Gen. John Logan, a Grand Army of the Republic commander, is given credit for establishing Memorial Day as an official holiday.

The day began as a solemn time to remember veterans who died in service. Families brought flowers and flags to decorate the graves of their fallen loved ones. Memorial Day - or Decoration Day - later evolved to include placing flowers and mementos on the graves of other family members.

Randy's Dad, C. Melvin Fritzemeier, served in the Army during the Korean War. I didn't ever hear him talk about it much. Though he was quiet about it, I know he was proud to have served his country.

He was following in mighty footsteps. His uncle, Capt. Robert "Bob" Hornbaker, was a 778th squadron pilot, 464th Bomb Group based at Gioia del Colle Airfield, Italy, during World War II. Uncle Bob was brother to Melvin's mother. Capt. Hornbaker had already received a medal for "his job in bringing home a butchered airplane despite heavy enemy opposition and a wounded co-pilot."

But on May 25, 1944, Capt. Hornbaker's crew, flying "Strictly from Hunger," a B-24, took off from Gioia del Colle, to strike the Givors' marshalling yards, 13 miles south of Lyon, France. It was mission No. 17 for the 464th Bomb Group and mission No. 12 for most of its crew.

During the mission, the plane received direct hits from enemy fire. Capt. Hornbaker was hit in the head and perished. All of his other crew members were killed in action that day or became POWs when the plane went down near Cannes, France.

Randy says that the family always referred to Uncle Bob as a hero. When we visited the Strategic Air Command Museum near Omaha last week, Randy was most interested in the planes and missions from World War II and Korea (more on our tourist visits later this week.)

Uncle Bob is buried in Peace Creek cemetery, just a mile north of Randy's boyhood home.

A couple of years ago, I interviewed 20 World War II veterans for a series of stories in a retirement facility's newsletter. Talking to those men and women was like a history book had come to life.

I talked to two men who had seen the flag raised at Iwo Jima. And while it was a poignant photo, the two said the fighting went on long after the Stars and Stripes flew from Mount Suribachi.

Another fought and was wounded on the beaches of Guadalcanal. After recuperating from the wound and from malaria, he again fought in the Battle of Tarawa. Another recounted his walk under a white sheet into the snowy Ardennes Forest and the ensuing Battle of the Bulge.

I talked to the widow of a man who had been a POW in Germany who eventually came back to Kansas to farm. Another had a piece of olive green tin from a kamikaze plane that bombed his Navy ship. The stories were as unique as the 20 brave veterans I interviewed.

It brought home to me how much our Armed Forces sacrifice for our freedom. That is true whether we are remembering veterans of wars past or the men and women who protect us today.

Our church's prayer concern list always includes the names of military with Stafford connections. It is amazing to see how many service men and women are from our little town. I think there are nearly 25 on the list.

So today, I would like to salute all veterans and current service men and women. I also thank their families who are left behind to worry and keep living life while their loved ones are in harm's way. I got the words in an email sent to me last week, and I illustrated with some of my own flag photos.

It is the
VETERAN,
not the preacher,
who has given us freedom of religion.

It is

the VETERAN,
not the reporter,
who has given us freedom of the press.

It is
the VETERAN,
not the poet,
who has given us freedom of speech.

It is

the VETERAN,
not the campus organizer,
who has given us freedom to assemble.

(Photo by Brent)

It is
the VETERAN,
not the lawyer,
who has given us the right to a fair trial.

It is
the VETERAN,
not the politician,
who has given us the right to vote.

It is the
VETERAN who
salutes the Flag,

It is the
VETERAN who
serves under the Flag.

Thank you and God Bless our veterans and those currently serving in our Armed Forces.