My Dad didn't die in battle, nor did he die while on active duty. He passed away just eight years ago, at the age of 80; that was almost four decades after his retirement from active military service. Nonetheless, there were those who, in keeping with a common custom of the American South, referred to him as "Colonel Morgan" until the day he died.
Most folks think of Memorial Day as a time to remember those who gave their lives in war, but just a few years ago, I heard someone say it slightly differently..."to remember those who gave their lives in service to their country."
Once I heard that, I knew that Memorial Day would always belong to my Dad, but not because of the uniform he wore for so many years or the wars in which he served.
Follow me below the fold, and let me tell you about my dad...
It IS Memorial Day, so I'll start by describing Dad's military career in a nutshell: he enlisted in World War II, served in the European Theatre of Operations (primarily the Italian Campaign), and was mustered out as a Staff Sergeant. While using his GI Bill to earn a BS in Electrical Engineering (and, not incidentally, meeting and marrying Mom), he completed ROTC training and was commissioned as a Second Lieutenant in the US Army Signal Corps. A very few years later, he was leading a front-line signal unit in the Korean War. Other tours took him to posts across the US, Occupied Japan, Germany, Thailand, and ultimately Vietnam. He retired from active duty after Vietnam, with 24 years to his credit...but his service to his country was only beginning.
When Dad retired, we moved to the rural Kentucky county of Appalachia in which he had been born and raised. He basically didn't do much of anything that first year; after WWII, Korea and Vietnam, I don't think anyone begrudged him that year. On the surface, he was just another retired guy; he spent many an afternoon sipping coffee at the "Liar's Table" of a local restaurant, kept track of what we three kids were doing, did a ton of reading (he was ALWAYS reading), and spent time reestablishing himself in the county of his birth.
Then, it started...with a garden. He took a small plot on one side of the house and started growing the basics: corn, tomatoes, potatoes, and onions. The next year, he doubled the size of his plot and added cabbage, lettuce, peppers, and more; after that, he started working another plot at the bottom of our hill; we were well over an acre's worth of "garden." It was around this time that I started seeing cars and trucks pull into our driveway every so often; folks would hop out, grab some tomatoes, potatoes or whatever, and leave. When I asked Dad about it, he simply said, "well, we're growing more than we need, so why not?" Later, I discovered that he had specifically put the word out that anyone who needed food was welcome to take what they needed. Looking back, I suspect that we fed dozens of families with that garden. That, however, was only the opening chapter of this story.
Dad instilled a love of reading in all of us.
Dad seemed to become particularly close with a local fellow; every few days, we'd be eating dinner and Dad would say, "I think I'll go see how Bill's doing." As was so often the case with my Dad, there was far more going on than he let on; he was actually teaching Bill how to read. Bill was only the first of Dad's students; over the next 20 years, he would become active in adult literacy and teach many adults to read. At the same time, the periodical section of our small-town public library kept growing; Dad was basically supplementing the library's budget by purchasing magazine subscriptions...and an entire county gained access to
The Atlantic,
Harper's,
National Review,
American Heritage,
The Nation,
The New York Times Review of Books, and more.
In order to be closer to their new grandchildren, Mom and Dad moved to Berea, Kentucky. Now, Berea is a remarkable town in many respects, but the "headline act" of Berea is undoubtedly Berea College; I'll just point out that Berea was both coeducational and racially integrated at its founding--in 1855--and tell you that everything you might suspect from such a beginning remains intact today. Well, Mom and Dad became involved with the College almost immediately; they became Patrons of the Berea College Theatre, and Dad was soon a guest lecturer in the Department of History, particularly where his lifelong passion of Civil War history was concerned. Dad also continued his work in adult literacy with Students for Appalachia.
It was at this time that Dad first become involved in Habitat for Humanity. Not only did Dad work on several building projects, but he and Mom served as a
partner family; Dad was teaching again, but now it was the skills of daily life--budgeting, financial management, the intricacies of home ownership--that he was teaching the next generation. Advancing age claimed Dad's ability to climb ladders and do the heavy work of home construction, so he simply shifted gears and took over the licensing and permitting work required of every Habitat property. When Mom and Dad's 130-year-old church needed electrical renovation, Dad handled the design side of the work so that the church could free up funds to better support Habitat. He and Mom had the privilege of meeting President Carter during Habitat's
1997 Jimmy Carter Work Project.
In the meantime, Dad kept giving back; not only did he continue to occasionally lecture at Berea College and Eastern Kentucky University, but he also participated in Civil War Round Table symposia and presented the history of Civil War medicine to several local medical societies. His lifelong passion for reading continued to play a central role in his relationship with his community; he was a volunteer at the local public library and became the "go to" guy for interlibrary loans. When the new county library facility opened shortly after Dad's death, the fireplace and reading area were dedicated to his memory. His personal Civil War library became a 300-volume donation to another Appalachian school, Alice Lloyd College.
It was also at this time that Dad was appointed to the city's Planning Commission, and he spent several years helping to guide Berea through a period of challenge and growth. Local government is one of our passions here at Daily Kos, so I'll let a local reporter's words speak to Dad's thinking on that subject, as expressed in a column after Dad's funeral:
I knew Mr. Morgan as a very good friend of the press. In observing his tenure on the Berea Planning Commission, I found Jim to be very earnest in his attempts to make decisions and find solutions that would best serve his community for years to come. He trusted people and he revered democracy. It's no surprise then that Mayor Steve Connelly recalled that Morgan was so insistent that local government must be as interactive and transparent as possible.
Over the years, I’ve known some public officials who seemed to have contempt for the intelligence of their constituents. Jim wasn’t like that. He was very Jeffersonian in his belief in people, and, I think, he felt that given enough information, citizens would make the right decisions about their government.
For me, that is what will always make Jim Morgan’s brand of patriotism special. It wasn’t about a hollow worship of flag, the Star Spangled Banner, or even necessarily about place, though I think Jim loved his country. Instead, I think Jim Morgan’s patriotism was grounded in his core belief in the dignity and worth of people - and that his country's system, warts and all, was best suited to protect that dignity.
We laid Dad to rest in Camp Nelson National Cemetery, wearing his dress blues and the decorations he earned in 24 years of enlisted and commissioned service. The bugler played Taps, the honor guard folded the flag, and the city's Mayor presented it to Mom. I think, though, that his greatest service to his country took place after he hung that uniform in storage almost 40 years before. The real "service honors" of his life were the people who were fed, the families who gained homes, the adults who learned to read, the students who were taught...in that sense, his influence will touch generations to come for whom Anzio, the 38th parallel, the Berlin Wall, Nakhon Phanom, and Da Nang will be little more than historical footnotes.
My oldest daughter graduated from university last Saturday. Dad didn't get to see his "little punkin" walk across that stage, but I sure felt like his proxy as I sat next to Mom. Today is Memorial Day, and I don't yet know if I'll go to Camp Nelson and look at that simple, white headstone that cannot begin to describe Dad's "service to his country." I'm certainly proud of his military service, but I think I'd rather think about all the folks whose lives he touched, and I think I'd rather look at my kids and see--as I've seen so many times--his expansive intelligence, love of learning, and most of all that "belief in the dignity and worth of people" reflected in their eyes, their compassion, and their lives.
I miss you, Dad.