Hauling Secrets

The other day Django and I did a job where the landlord had thrown all of a previous tenant’s possessions into the backyard. When we arrived, the new tenant came out to greet us and asked if we were there to get rid of the trash in the back. We were.

Only it wasn’t all trash. (Though you wouldn’t know it from the way it was all heaped in a pile.) There in a pile of old frames was a typewritten letter from the Air Force Headquarters of the U.S. Army, dated September 22, 1945. The main body of the letter read thusly:

In accordance with Par. 1d, letter Hq USAF CBI, file 200.6 dated 3 June 1944, subject: “War Department Awards Policy”, the following is the citation for the Bronze Star Medal awarded to 1st Lt., Roger McGregor, Signal Corp by Par. 2, General Order 355, this headquarters, dated 13 September 1945:

“For meritorious service from 1 April 1944 to 1 February 1945. This officer established and maintained a series of ground observation posts in forward areas, which were instrumental in preventing enemy aircraft from penetrating allied territory without being detected and reported to intercepting forces. To establish some of these advance air warning stations he frequently pushed deep into uncharted, enemy-held territory, and often narrowly escaped contact with Japanese patrols. His daring, stamina, and superior qualities of leadership enabled this officer to guide and direct his men in their hazardous undertakings. His accomplishments were substantial contributions to the success achieved by his organization.”

In the frame next to the letter was the actual bronze star, hanging by its little ribbon.

Then, in another frame, a handwritten letter:

Dear Mr. & Mrs. McGregor,

This is a belated reply to your reply to your letter concerning your son James. I would have liked to have writted sooner but being hospitalized, I found it difficult to do so.

I know that any poor words of mind can never lighten the burden of your sorrow. Only our Blessed Lord can do that. But in your grief you can be so very proud of James – pround to have been privileged to be the father and mother of one so close to God and his Blessed Mother.

God gave him to you knowing well that in your loving care he would grow and flower into that great Christian gentleman that he was. Now your work is over and God has reclaimed the great gift he gave you. If there is anything that will ease the ache in your hearts it will be the knowledge that God must love you both so very much to have entrusted such a one to you. May God bless you both.

I knew James for more than two years, lived in the same tent with him, slept and ate with him. As a priest I could never have asked for a better companion. He is loved not only be my but also by his men. They will never forget him.

I jumped from James’ plane often. Always immediately after him. It was a rare privilege. Many a laugh we had whether it was he who pulled me out or I who pushed him out. Now it is all over. But my fondest recollection of James is he and his battalion commander, Major Kellem, serving the last Mass we had for taking off for France. (James often served my Mass). The men often talked of it afterwards. The sight of them serving the mass, receiving Holy Communion, the last Blessing, was a sight that filled the men with a calmness and a fearlessness that comes from knowing we are in the presence of God.

James saved my life that night. I was injured on the Jump. He dragged me to safety. A few hours later he was dead. I shall always remember hi at Mass. It is the best way I know how to express my gratitude. I did not bury him, but two days later I blessed his grave.

I know you both are heartbroked at your loss. You always will be. If there is one who can and will ease the ache in your heart, it is the Mother of Sorrows. She also lost her son. May she comfort you in your grief. I shall remember you and yours in my Masses.

Sincerely in Christ,
Chaplain Mark O’Connor

I held on to these two letters for a few days, intending to post them here. Then, on my day off, I got an unexpected call from Bossman telling me he’s got someone on the phone claiming to have lost some valuable family heirlooms in a cleanout his landlord did. At first I didn’t think anything of it, but then Bossman said, passing along the pleas of the person in front of him at the office, “Something about a bronze star?” Apparently this guy was the nephew of the war hero from the letters. I knew that I had to return them.

And when I did, I recieved a third letter:

Smidge,
Thanks for your kindness and consideration! I am (was) the family historian. The barn was loaded with historical family things. My family is devastated by our loss. Your thoughtfulness will be well received by our family.
John McGregor

If I ever feel sketchy about looking through people’s discards and posting about their treasures here, I can think about this and remind myself that a little curiosity mixed with obsessive hoarding/archiving can be a good thing.