Uncle David, Grandma and World War II

My father was not a big talker and there are only a few things he said about his past, life before my brother and I came along. So I treasured these memories. My father was one of five children: three boys and two girls. Their names were: Jimmy, Charles, David, Susan and Marie. Dad was born in 1919 and I have no idea when the others were born, aside from the fact that David was the youngest boy and Marie was the youngest girl. Originally, everyone lived in Newark, New Jersey and it was not until after World War II that everyone seemed to go their separate ways.

The only time I ever saw my aunts was during Thanksgiving during the mid-to-late 1970s, when they would frequently come to Howell, New Jersey for a long weekend at my father and mother's house. My Aunt Susan would show up with my Uncle Danny and Aunt Marie would show up alone, as she was a widow, or with her son, Jimmy, who was older than David and I by a few years.

The story I am telling was told by Dad, Mom, my aunts, and to some degree also confirmed by my grandmother, Agnes, who lived with my Mom, Dad, my brother David and myself. I never saw Uncle Charlie: All that was ever said was that he and Dad had a falling out and that was it. And, to the heartbreak of all of these people, my Uncle David perished while serving in the United States Navy as a gunner's mate second class off the shore of Italy during the Allied invasion there. This is one of the two stories I have of him.

My grandmother showed me a newspaper clipping from the Newark Star-Ledger, yellowed with time and fragile, talking about an upcoming memorial service for David at a Catholic church. The announcement included a grainy black-and-white picture of him in his dress blues. He was a handsome boy. He joined the Navy in 1942 and, apparently, was killed by the winter of 1943 and was having his memorial either in late 1943 or early 1944 (my memory of the clipping fails me and the family dickered about if it was '43 or '44 when the service was held). Initially, he was reported missing in action. However, thanks to eyewitness accounts of his death, the Department of the Navy declared him killed in action. My father and aunts said he was ferry soldiers back and forth to a beachhead and his boat was struck by artillery, killing him.

My paternal grandmother, Grace, was a heavyset woman, who was strong and distinctive by her black hair and blue eyes. I saw a photo of her, but again it was black and white so I had to rely on those who knew her. She scrubbed floors to support the family after my grandfather, a postal worker in Newark, died years ago. My father became the man of the house and helped however he could, which could not have been very much as a child. Apparently, though, David was that one in the family with an easy smile and reportedly a joke on his lips at almost any time. He was a peacemaker too, who often kept a fragile truce in place between my father and his brother, Charlie. Both men apparently loved David very much and did it for his sake. This is not to say that Uncle David was without fault, as the next part of the story arises.

My grandmother was dressed in black, mourning terribly at the service for her fallen son, of course. At her side was my mother, who was engaged to my father. My father was overseas, fighting as a combat engineer in Europe. I am not sure where my aunts were for this, but I believe they would have been there, considering their great love and admiration for David. Friends of the family filed in, as did my uncle's friends and those who knew him, well those that had not gone off to the service. My maternal grandmother and my mother's side of the family also filed in to pay their respects. It was all the usual suspects, so to speak. But slowly, almost without noticing at first, my mother saw random women, dressed in black (some with veils) filling in here and there and dispersed through the sanctuary's pews.

In all, Mom said between 5 and 7 young ladies were mourning my late uncle, and neither my mother nor grandmother knew who they were. My mother said Grace stopped her crying for the moment and she just looked. Then, her eyes still wet with tears, she began laughing her very hearty and loud laugh. My mother didn't understand at first, so my grandmother set her straight. She reportedly said, "Well, if he didn't get killed in Italy he sure as [heck] was going to get killed back here when he got back."

Apparently, my uncle was dating these several women before he left and during the leave he got from the Navy before he was assigned to a ship. My mother truly understood the nature of this when these girls started speaking to one another and shouting and minor pushing matches began to erupt to the side of the church sanctuary. My grandmother could not help but have a good hard laugh as these young ladies were arguing vehemently about who was David's fiance and who was not. Apparently, even in death, David found a way to get people laughing again.

Yet, Grace was a woman who bore much, by all accounts, and lived with a lot of heartache. Certainly, David's death was a terrible loss for the entire family, still felt decades after his passing. But, life is a gift and so is laughter. While not disrespecting any of the young ladies involved in this, even I think it is pretty funny more than 60 years after it happened.

I do wish I knew my grandmother Grace, but she died during the 1950s. My father was devastated by it. Her life and death were not talked about because it injured my father still, many years after it happened. She must have been someone very special.

In the meantime, not usually known for their cohesion normally, my aunts traveled to Italy, near the area where their brother had died, after the war, to see if they could find anything of him at all to bring back to Newark. The women, usually a bickering duo who constantly slighted one another in little jabs, had tears moving down their cheeks as they recounted the trip one Thanksgiving, after the meal was over and everyone but my mother and I were gone from the big dining room table upstairs. If David was brought up around my father, he would have ceased eating and went to his room upstairs without a comment, not wanting to be bothered for the rest of the day. He grieved David as well, very badly, even after all these years.

I truly suspect that, aside from my mother and her mother, Dad's mom and brother were the center of his world. Losing that center disrupted him quite a bit and he never did seem to get over it. I do hope wherever he traveled after this life he has the chance to be with them again, along with my Mom and her mother. I think it's the thing that would make him the happiest.