Remembering a Decorated Veteran-Turned-Gardener on Father's Day

As I remembered Dad on June 15th that marked his 98th birthday and this Father's Day, I chose this passage from the military account of his years serving during World War II.  He recalled in Chapter 4, based on his experiences in 1944, a unique responsibility given to him following his return to the States after completing his tour of duty in the European theater.

Dad earned the Distinguished Flying Cross in February of the same year, when he completed 25 combat missions as an upper turret gunner/flight engineer on a B-17 bomber crew. He then began training young airmen since he had been recommended for a direct commission as a gunnery officer. However, his course drastically changed when his crew went down as the lead plane over Berlin after taking a direct hit. He was quickly processed to return home. More about this time in his life can be found in the posting entitled Neither of Them Got Over March 6, 1944 and accessed at: bernadeanjgates.blogspot.com/2017/02/neither-of-them-got-over-march-6-1944.html

By May of that year, he had arrived in Oklahoma. Against all advice, Dad requested to be based in Ardmore, Oklahoma. Much to the surprise of his advisors, he was assigned to Gene Autry Air Base, exactly as Dad had hoped. This section lifted from his memoirs details his new assignment.

Edmund’s superiors made a unique request of Edmund based on his prewar agricultural experience. He was asked if he would be willing to supervise German prisoners of war as they worked in the huge base victory garden of four to five acres. Edmund was put in charge of seventy-five to one hundred twenty-five German POWs. The number of garden laborers fluctuated. 

One German prisoner of war was fluent in English and served as Edmund’s interpreter. In a time of relaxation, as Edmund and his German interpreter were resting, three or four B-17s flew over the Gene Autry Army Air Base. As they both glanced upward, Edmund casually inquired as to whether he had ever seen B-17s fly over Germany. Immediately his German interpreter responded, “Some days we didn’t move for hours until those bombers flew over.” Edmund mused within himself of missions when the bombers could have numbered as many as 1,500 planes in the German sky. He thought it prudent not to tell his German POW interpreter that he flew twenty-five missions over German-controlled territory on Flying Fortresses exactly like those roaring above them. The divulgement of Edmund’s previous military exploits might have damaged the otherwise cooperative and amiable working relationship between the two of them.

The enormous victory garden, with Edmund as the overseer, was in the midst of harvesting vegetables like carrots, potatoes, cabbage, cauliflower, and turnips. The German prisoners were diligent, exemplary workers. Edmund never sensed any action that could be construed as complaining or insubordination. Perhaps the fact that he wore simple working fatigues as opposed to a uniform may have contributed to the German prisoners’ willing compliance in this horticultural endeavor. Edmund communicated only work directives to the laborers. Other casual exchanges of cordial friendliness were impossible since Edmund must rely on his interpreter to communicate for him. Edmund focused on his basic duty of simply insuring that all workers continued doing the task assigned to them for that day.  The prisoners he supervised were physically larger and of a stockier build than Edmund. His height was only five feet eight, and his weight was about 165 pounds. His imposing physique was obviously not the reason for Edmund’s achievement as the overseer of the productive victory garden. Edmund contributed the success of the agricultural venture to the work ethic instilled from a young age in the industrious German prisoners of war.

 This assignment of being in charge of the German POWs working in the base’s victory garden seemed uncharacteristic for a decorated airman who had recently returned from his flying exploits over enemy territory in Europe. Now he had been asked to supervise workers from the enemy country where his buddies had given their lives. 

At this point, Dad had been informed that all of his crew were missing in action. He had received a letter from his pilot’s wife earlier in the year. Dorothy Rabo, the young bride of Fred Rabo, felt in her heart that Fred, Dad’s pilot and dear friend, was alive. (Later, Dorothy's intuition proved correct, with Fred surviving as a POW, along with three others. The other seven crew members were killed.)

With uncertainty in his heart, Dad returned to the soil. From his earliest days,  Dad had been trying to grow young things from the soil along the Arkansas River. Here is one of his first recollections of planting, along with a photograph of him as a child:

I remember “working” or “playing” at working up (tilling) 

and planting a little crop of corn as a kid. 

Boy! I got mad at the little kids for stepping on my crop, 

but the chickens pecked at my corn crop as soon as it came up! 

My mother mentioned as we discussed this juncture of my father’s life that Dad readily followed orders. He learned that as a little boy on the farm due to the discipline his parents instilled in him. For this reason, overseeing a large “truck patch” did not seem beneath his ranking as a Tech Sergeant in the newly formed Army Air Force. He was merely obeying a directive and being subordinate.

Dad’s friend and dentist, Dr. Gary Henderson, indicated that he knew all the military stories in Dad’s memoirs. He expressed surprise that Dad had earned the Distinguished Flying Cross. Never had Dad mentioned that to him. This same understated attitude about accolades received during his World War II service, made it easy for him to remain tight lipped with his German POW interpreter about his combat activity in Europe during 1942-1944.

Perhaps Dad renewed his inner strength as he witnessed the production, growth, and harvest of the enormous garden, much larger than any his mother had raised in the Big Bend. The slow pace of gardening and the interaction with capable German soldiers who much like him had chosen to serve their country. Unfortunately, their homeland was led by a power-crazed, maniacal leader.

The agricultural setting removed Dad and the German POWs from the volatile situation that placed them, previously, in adversarial positions. Their common goal to successfully raise vegetables from the earthy bed united them in their efforts and purpose. Dad, especially, must have experienced healing by letting go of his sorrow and loss, realizing nothing would be gained by allowing it to be a driving force in his life.

Much like Dad, many of us can find healing and renewal in tasks that appear mundane and even, mindless. Seldom do we realize that it is God’s way of removing us from the harried pace with its frustrations, failures, and disappointments to rejuvenate our souls.

Jesus even told His disciples at one point to in Mark 6:31, Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.

How important it becomes for us to yield when a slower pace enters our lives! If we fight against it, we may circumvent the Lord’s plan for refreshing our body, mind, and spirit. King Solomon, the wisest man who ever lived, wrote in Ecclesiastes 3:1, To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under the heaven.

As my father did, over seventy years ago, may we find God’s purpose and His peace as we choose His pace. May we cease striving and know that He is God; He will be exalted among the nations, He will be exalted in the earth as David so eloquently penned in Psalm 46:10.

Lord, be exalted in the lives of the fathers in our communities. In turn, may Your Name be honored by godly families and in the lives of precious children, with Your promise that our community will flourish. Thank You for strong men. Bless these men as they live out Your principles.

Dad Telling About His Best Potato Crop Ever!

photograph taken on July 4, 1989        

Remembering a Life That Loved Beauty

This posting was completed on Thursday as a way of working through my grief for my aunt. On Friday, I attended her funeral only to hear Pastor Gilchrist use the word "impeccable" and the phrase, "was put together" in describing Aunt Mamie. Her funeral folio had printed the scripture passage from John 14:2-6,19. My one regret about this posting is my inability to make it possible for readers to hear the beautiful violin duets performed during the service by Levon and Elliott Eudaley, Mamie's beloved grandsons. Nothing would have pleased her more.
My Editorial Timeline Doesn’t Always Work Out

                As a blogger – really a storyteller – I have developed an editorial timeline after a fashion. I planned a tentative posting on October 29, 2017, to be a tribute to Mamie Marie Gates Judkins Tice on her birthday. Aunt Mamie was my father’s youngest sister to whom he usually referred to as – “Mame.” Dad and Mamie retained a sweet, big-brother-little-sister relationship. Dad was 19 years old when his baby sister entered this world. Mamie was only three years old when Dad volunteered for the Army Air Corps in December of 1941.

Mamie, Dad, and Julia

                Mamie enjoyed a close relationship with my mother when my parents were newlyweds. In one of our telephone conversations this year, Mamie told me she had kept a small keepsake box given by my parents many, many years ago. Sometimes Mother indulged Mamie, making trendy accessories of the 1950s, for her youngest sister-in-law.

                Mamie’s sensitive nature caused her to sorrow deeply for her dear step-grandfather (the only grandfather she knew) when he died suddenly. His kind, gentle nature had touched her young life. Mamie was only 12 years old when Robert Thomas Black passed from this life.

                Mamie married Dewey Judkins, a Korean veteran and an OU fan and graduate of Oklahoma City University. She and Dewey reared their three daughters to pursue their own interests, capabilities, and professional goals.

Dewey and Mamie at their wedding
shower.

She realized her marriage to Uncle Dewey, an electrical engineer, afforded her a more affluent lifestyle than some of the rest of the family. Since Mamie had lovely homes, she expressed genuine concern about me dwelling in a mobile home during my teaching career. I truly appreciated her apprehension each time I sought shelter as the tornado siren blew! Thankfully, I survived my days living there.

                After Uncle Dewey’s death, she married her friend and neighbor, also grieving the loss of his wife. Jack Tice brought joy and comfort into her life. She said they traveled at the same pace. Jack could fix almost anything for her.

                On September 19, 2015, Mamie and Jack traveled to Olathe, Kansas, to participate in the Induction of Elizabeth Studebaker Gates into the Kansas School for the Deaf Hall of Fame. This evening proved to be a highlight that fall for Mamie, since she was the youngest granddaughter of the inductee who had been the first student of the Kansas School for the Deaf when it began in 1861. Mamie shared the milestone evening with her niece, Claudia Gates Lentz, and her great niece, Kimetha Mitchell Bennett.

Mamie and Jack

                Mamie and I spoke by telephone more frequently during my father’s stroke recovery and after his death. Invariably, we would discuss gardening - the reseeding of her beds in the fall, in early summer our conversation turned to vintage roses, or her vegetable endeavors. I recall her launching into such an informative explanation about numerous rose species along with specific treatments for various maladies that often strike the fragrant plants. I thought to myself, Why aren’t you taking notes on this?

                Our last telephone conversation occurred prior to my late purchase of tomato plants to plant in the back beds. She told me emphatically her personal favorite type of tomato was the Celebrity. When I browsed the plants at Fairfax Feed Store and spotted the tag labeled Celebrity, I thought of Aunt Mamie and chose six healthy-looking Celebrity plants. Ironically, lovely yellow blossoms emerged this week on every plant but one.

                Mamie described her father, Edmund Gates, Sr., as a man of principle. Some people defined him as hard-headed. Others said, “He knows his own mind.” In the same way, Mamie knew her own mind. Much like Grandpa, she could delineate her likes and dislikes. Frequently, she had solid reasons for the opinions she held.

She was a woman of faith. She lived out her faith in morally-upstanding behavior. The last time she saw my father before his final debilitating stroke, just before she and Jack left, Dad prayed. His strong prayer provided the confidence she needed that he was content and felt comfortable even in his stroke recovery.

                Mamie loved beauty. She loved beautiful music, and I often envied her since she attended regularly symphonic concerts in the Oklahoma City area. Aunt Mamie loved color. Using color masterfully, she always “was put together” impeccably in her makeup and her clothing choices. Seldom do I use absolute words, but I cannot recall one time seeing her appear disheveled or unkempt (Wow! I wish that could be said about me!).

                Only in the last few years, did I realize she was a cat lover. When her daughters, Sheryl, Jill, and Lisa were young, the family usually had a poodle. I guess I deduced that she was a dog lover. Once I learned about her Himalayan feline, she and I enjoyed discussing our cats. In her compassionate manner, she commiserated with me when Bob, our orange and white Manx cat, disappeared earlier this year.

Jill, Mamie, Lisa, and Sheryl with the family dog

                As soon as I heard of the serious accident injuring her great nephew, Justin Gates, I called Mamie as well as my other aunt in Oklahoma City. Aunt Mamie and her husband, Jack, made plans to go the hospital. Even though I told her not to feel obligated to contact me, she insisted she would. The day after as they returned from the hospital, she called to share about Justin’s condition. Mamie was a person of her word.

                She loved family history. Mamie reveled in sharing the same German ancestor, Johannes Stutenbecker, with the famous car makers of the 20^th century. When Johannes Stutenbecker's sons arrived in the colonies in 1737, they changed the spelling of their name to “Studebaker.” Peter, from whom we descend, and Clement, from whom the renowned wagon makers and later automobile designers came, were blade makers in Germany. Mamie knew more about this connection than anyone else in the Gates clan.

                 Aunt Mamie pursued membership in the Daughters of the American Revolution since we descend from a lieutenant, Jacob Snider. However, his son-in-law refused to provide fresh horses to the continental army. So Mamie’s great-great-great grandfather, Jacob Studebaker’s conscientious objection to the American Revolution dashed her hopes of entry into the DAR.

                Her passing from this life, on June 4, came too soon for me. In a recent conversation, when I lamented coming into possession of vintage family photographs with no information, Aunt Mamie assured me that she and Jack planned a trip to the Bend, and she would try to assist in identifying the photograph subjects. After her death, Jack reaffirmed their plans for a trip to southwest Osage County to “decorate” graves at Pixley, but Mamie wasn’t feeling “up to it.”

                When death comes, we can reflect on “what might have been.” We can rejoice in past cherished times, but primarily, I focus on the loved one’s preparation for eternity.

The following morning after Mamie’s death, my mother, based on Mamie’s hope and trust in Jesus, said, “There’s a big Gates reunion in heaven.” We can be assured of taking part in the heavenly, family gathering someday, if we have embraced the promises of Jesus from John 14 with which He assured His disciples just days before His crucifixion:

Let not your heart be troubled; you believe in God, believe also in Me. 
In My Father’s house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. 
I go to prepare a place for you. I will come again and receive you to Myself; that where I am, there you will be also. And where I go you know and the way you know.”

Thomas said to Him, “Lord, we do not know where You are going, and how can we know the way?”

Jesus said to him, “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.”

May each of us, whether in the Gates family or not, be certain of our relationship with Jesus, trusting Him alone to forgive our sins, and living each day to invite as many as possible to enter a restorative bond of forgiveness through Jesus. Not only will each individual find a more fulfilled life here on earth in Him but will join in that heavenly reunion someday, too.

The Orange Blur on the Farm

How Striker, the Kitten, Got His Name

                Last year, we had three male ginger kittens born. The smallest of the three proved himself to be gutsy early on.

                One afternoon I glanced out the window to discover this small, orange feline snatching a large rodent from his mother. As I stepped out on the back-porch stoop for a closer look, vicious, low-pitched growling sounds were being emitted from the tenacious, tiny kitten.

                This little tom cat seemed to always be on the move. In late summer of 2016, I was shocked to find him on the screened-in back porch with Bob, our beloved orange and white Manx cat. The frantic kitten was frenetically running, jumping, and leaping around the porch. Bob observed the behavior in his nonchalant manner, appearing to be unfazed by the frenzied activity of the “orange blur.”

                I tried unsuccessfully to coax the frightened kitten from its self-imposed incarceration. Finally, my only choice was to leave the ginger kitten with Bob overnight. Bob didn’t seem care.

                The next morning the kitten zipped off the porch when he heard the cat food pinging on the containers outside. His stomach propelled him into the great outdoors.

                But from that morning on, the orange kitten would get as close as possible to me and strike at me with one of his front paws. I always wore gloves so he never scratched me, but it was as if he was retaliating for what he had experienced the night when he was imprisoned with Bob.

                Are we as humans ever like little Striker? Don’t we make choices, getting ourselves into predicaments with unpleasant results? Yet how many times do we blame God for the distasteful dilemma and its disappointing consequences? In Numbers 32:23, He warns But if you won’t do so, look out! You will be sinning against the Lord. Be certain of this, that your sin will catch up to you!

                Secondly, many times we meet human Strikers, people who are dealing with the disagreeable effects of poor previous decisions. These individuals appear to be “striking out” at anyone who gets within arm’s reach. In Isaiah 57:20, we read, “But those who still reject Me are like the restless sea, which is never still, but always churns up mire and dirt.” We shouldn’t  be surprised when these people seem to keep things stirred up.

                In truth, we are all like the cute, orange kitten. Paul wrote in Romans 3:23, “All of us have sinned and fallen short of God’s glory.” Then three chapters later, he states the uplifting words, “For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.” What a remedy for our sinfulness and a promise for our day-to-day living and our eternal future!