Lady Luck would continue to be a friend to the young Airman for in the early years of the 1940’s the specter of death had come knocking for him time after time but never succeeded. He had witnessed first hand many of his buddies in the "Great War" blown away while he remained unharmed. There one second and gone the next, it had all seemed like a bad nightmare to him. Visions of whole crews plunging to their deaths in a fiery blaze haunted him many nights since then, waking him up in a cold sweat. The thought of men strafed in their parachutes as they bailed out of planes just seconds before breaking up obsessed him for years after the war.
He thought about Albert Salazar, his friend from the 15th Air Group stationed at Foggia, Italy. Shep and Al had been friends from the minute they met, although there time together was short. Al would have loved this day, but his plane went down over Austria on his very first mission cutting short the life of a good man. Al’s plane had inadvertently drifted out of formation and was struck by bombs from their own squadron. Shep could still see the plane breaking in half taking ten souls down to a fiery death. The crew didn’t even have enough time to bail out as the Liberator went down with all hands on board.
As the adoring crowd slowly passed by on this cool November day, Shep smiled and waived for he knew almost every face in the crowd. It seemed the whole town had turned out including his devoted family, school buddies and local townspeople he had known his whole life. They were all there to pay homage to all of the World War 2 Veterans living in and around the small southern Missouri town. There were also news crews from local newspaper, radio and television stations all jockeying for position trying desperately to capture the tender display of warmth and affection being showered on the men.
The crowd the saw gray haired men, whose faces were wrinkled by the marching of time as hero’s, but to Shep and his fellow compatriots they had merely done what any other man would do…their duty. His country called on him in its time of desperation and like hundred of thousands of men of that generation he gladly responded. Men had fought and died horribly in battle since the beginning of humanity and every time it happened it was unfortunate but then, as throughout time, there were those in the world that hated us. They hated us for our comfortable way of life, they hated us for our pride in our country and they hated us for our unwavering commitment to our friends around the world. Peace through intimidation was, and continues, to be the only way to maintain our way of life from the Hitler's, Osama's and Saddam's of the world. Shep knew it then and his fathers knew it before him. Until someday when we rid the world of such men, many generations will continue to offer the ultimate sacrifice for their beloved country.
The youth of today grows up idolizing comic book characters, action movie stars and pro wrestlers as heroes but for the men and women in the crowd who were old enough to remember the sacrifice and dedication of the men who placed their life on the line for their country this was not just another day. This Veterans Day was special. It was the 50th anniversary of events played out long ago but definitely not forgotten. This day was nearly perfect if only his friends killed in action could have been with them to accept the affectionate gratitude of a thankful nation everything would have been right with the world. However, at the ripe old age of 71, Shep could only thank God as he rode along with his fellow comrades in arms who did survive and humbly accepted the honors and accolades bestowed on them by their hometown friends and family.
Shep thought to himself, life had been good. After the war he fell in love with, and married a good woman who stuck by him through thick and thin. She had given him a son who was the apple of his eye and later in life had joined the military himself as a Sonar Technician on board nuclear submarines. Shep had lived out the remainder of his life after the war on his family’s farm as the fourth generation of Shepherd’s to own the land. He had caught so many fish out of his beloved Bear Creek that he couldn’t begin to count them all. Life in the magnificent Ozark Mountains had truly been good to him and he felt blessed.
World events after the war had been good and bad, but with the help of his friends and family they had weathered the storms of Korea, Vietnam, Presidential assassinations and the cold war together. They had rejoiced in our nations triumphs and cheered as Neil Armstrong stepped off from the ladder of the Eagle into the powdery soil of the moon. Huddled around their black and white T.V. they watch as he broadcasted those immortal words "One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind."
The Rotary, with help from the families of the men being honored including Shep’s loving wife Sue, had organized the whole thing in their honor. Months of planning and preparation by the townspeople had culminated into the patriotic spectacle displayed before him. Red, White and Blue bunting on the floats rippled in the cool breeze as a sea of American flags in the hands of every man woman and child fluttered like butterflies on a bed of roses. Looking around, Shep realized there were a lot of people in his life he cared for who had also left the security of their small town and headed off to war. They too had made it through that terrible time in history and were there with him modestly accepting their just rewards.
There was Dick Kiefer, who along with his brother Jack, both served in the Army Air Corps and, like Shep, had seen action in the European Theatre. Jack, however, had been captured early in America’s involvement and spent the remainder of the war in a German POW camp in France. Dick spent most of the war wondering where his brother was or even if he was alive until one day fate would lend a truly amazing helping hand.
While assisting with the evacuation of Allied Forces in Europe shortly following VE Day , Dick was assigned to an A-26 troop transport and tasked with searching for survivors throughout the former German occupied France. One night while evacuation a make shift tent city of soldiers, Dick struck up a friendship with one of the POW’s. As they shared a hot cup of coffee around a blazing campfire Dick discovered something that he could not believe. The usual military pleasantries were exchanged like names, where they were from and what command they were assigned to when the soldier informed Dick that there was a guy in his tent with the same last name! Could it be Jack? What would be the odds that this would his long lost brother he had been searching for? Dick had almost given up hope of finding Jack believing that he had been killed. With this new information his hopes were again rekindled. He asked the stranger to lead him to their tent and there sitting around another campfire was Jack. He was a little skinnier and dressed in the dirty ragged clothes of a long time POW, but when he looked up from the fire even in the faint light there was no denying Jack’s grin as he saw his big brother. After that day, the brothers were inseparable and never again took each other for granted.
Jack was not able to attend the parade, as his health was worse than Dick’s. Jack suffered from cancer and counted every blessed moment he had with his brother, as their time together on this earth was growing short. Dick thought to himself, "Jack would have loved this!" as he motored along beside the slow moving float in his own personal chariot. He looked up at Shep and smiled as if to say, "I’m glad you’re here."
Dick’s body had long since succumbed to the horrors of Multiple Sclerosis and he was chair bound. However, thanks to the local medical supply store who graciously donated his motorized wheel chair, he proudly wheeled along proud to with his fellow brothers in arms. After all, even if he had to push himself, neither Heaven nor Hell would have stopped Dick from being there today. Like many of his generation who had seen the horrors of war he had always felt grateful to be alive and to live in such a beautiful part of the world. Dick never took his friendships for granted and he demonstrated is love and appreciation in the form of photography. The walls of his real estate office were now lined with the pictures of his friends. Some were recent and some were of friends no longer with them. He had taken so many pictures over the years that room on his walls was now at a premium. Every available square inch of every wall was full of familiar faces, for you see to Dick the human face was God’s canvass.
Hershel Glover, another long time friend of Shep’s was there too. Hershel had been a gunner on board a destroyer in the South Pacific and was present in Tokyo harbor in September of 1945 for the surrender of the Japanese Fleet. He could still fit into his Navy Cracker Jack’s and was proud to wear the uniform he had all those years ago. Now Somewhat faded and dingy from the years spent hanging in the closet, he had it pressed and cleaned just for this occasion. He chose not to ride on the float but to march along side in his best military form. Proud as a peacock Hershel was still the squared away, ship-shape model of a Navy sailor tried and true. Although now, a few extra wrinkles and gray hair were added for extra effect.
Also riding along beside Shep on the float was Junior Ardell. His WW2 experiences were vastly different from Shep’s, as fate had dealt Junior a different hand. Like Shep, he had joined up with the Army Air Corp but wound up as an engine mechanic stationed clear across the world in the remote Hotan Valley in India. High up in the Himalayan Mountains, the Hotan Valley Army Air Field was a primitive duty station designed as a last stop layover for planes and crews as they headed over the mountains with needed food and supplies to fighting troops in China. A fleet of Douglas C-47 Skytrain’s were the workhorse for this effort and Hotan Valley was their oasis in the wilderness for gas, food and repairs.
Junior’s tour of duty had been uneventful and far from any real action but he and his crew felt that their contribution to the war effort was just as important as the flying crews they tended to. Affectionately known as "Gooney Birds" the C-47 cargo planes were a constant source of aggravation considering the age and mechanical shape of the fleet in their care. That complicated by the altitude and the sheer rise needed to clear the high mountain peaks made the mission a dangerous one for the planes and crews as they took off for their assigned drop zones.
A continual source of entertainment for the ground crews was the numerous pools and bets that took place every time a "Gooney" took off. The men would watch with binoculars as the planes struggled under the weight of their cargo to gain the necessary lift to clear the snow covered summits. No plane had ever crashed into the mountainside and the men were always thankful for that despite their constant gambling on the flyboys emanate demise. The rules for the wagers, however, also included whether or not the pilots could retract the landing gear in time before they reached the crest of the mountains. Many bets were lost while watching as the telltale swirl of snow would signal that the gear had indeed drug through the snow as the loaded down C-47 barely cleared the peaks. The cash influx was usually short lived though, as the victorious airman would almost always loose it that night at the base club in the form of alcohol and poker making the whole thing a moot point. But the hours of entertainment it provided was a rare commodity and was a welcome change to the humdrum existence of everyday life here.
Later, after the flyboys would return from their missions they would take the gambling at the expense of their lives all in good fun as they regaled the ground crews with stories of white-knuckle rides while barely clearing the mountaintops. With flaps on full rise and the two Pratt & Whitney R-1830s engines on full throttle, the pilots and co-pilots would always catch themselves holding their breath as if that would actually make them lighter until they had cleared the peaks. With the twin engines pumping out a combined 2400 horse power and a maximum speed of 232 MPH there would not be much left to rescue if they didn’t successfully clear the mountains. Even the battle-hardened experienced pilots who had done the now infamous "Snowball Run" over and over again found their heart racing and pulses jumping each time they flew the missions.
One thing Junior always promised himself was that when his duty was up he would not allow himself to be shipped out on the "Goonies." If anyone knew what a heap those flying rust buckets were it was Junior and flying out on one of the "Snowball Runs" was not an option! In his minds eye he could see himself meeting his maker as they plunged full throttle into the side of the Tianshan Mountains and that was just not going to happen.
When the day came for Junior to ship out he was packed and ready early. Standing near the flight line, he waited for his ride in the location where he was told to wait. While sipping a cup of strong mess hall coffee he noticed a "Gooney Bird" on approach but something was wrong. The landing gear was not deploying and the plane was reaching its final phase of approach landing. Probably stuck from the icy cold of the high altitudes or perhaps from being drug in the snow on take off too many times the landing gear was definitely not going to deploy in time for a normal landing. To his horror and everyone else present the plane was forced to do a belly landing. After countless minutes of screeching metal and grinding gravel of the runway it came to a fiery halt not 100 yards from the horrified young airman. As the damage control crews scrambled to contain the blaze and remove the crew to safety, Junior’s Division Officer came up behind him and said, "There you go Sergeant Ardell, that’s your ride home!" Not really sure if he was serious or not, Junior did not wait around to find out. After a lot of string pulling and cashing in on favors he finally lived up to the promise he had made to himself and was granted alternate transportation home.
After weeks of busses, boats and ocean liners Junior Ardell finally pulled into San Francisco Bay only to discover that his intuition was indeed correct. It seems a C-47 Airtrain carrying troupes home from Hotan Valley had indeed crashed into the Pacific killing everyone onboard. Like Shep, Lady Luck had been kind to him and he also felt blessed to be alive.
The high school band lead off in the parade and got everything started off right by playing a medley of patriotic songs. The fire department showed their appreciation to the men by showing up in full force with lights flashing and sirens screaming. As the precession rounded the square to the town gazebo built on the city square near the old court house, Carolyn Luther, head of the Rotary, read off the names of each honored guest. One by one they stood, if they could, waived and smiled to thunderous applause.
Born in January of 1924 John W. "Shep" Shepherd, son of Frank and Minerva Shepherd, he had grown up during the depression and spent his entire youth as a country boy in the rural Ozark Mountains of southern Missouri. His thought about his youth spent fishing and hunting on Bear Creek, but in December of 1941 even the sheltered Ozark Mountains were rocked by the cruel and vicious attack on Pearl Harbor by the Japanese Empire. In the wake of this fateful day, Shep would soon be heading off to war along with many other young men all across America. Each man would fulfill his destiny and together they would define our world and all future events. They would stand up arm in arm and, although many were lost, they would eventually come home and would forever be remembered as the "Greatest Generation!"
