Submitted art by Milton Rogers: Drawing of  the USS Hamlin

It was during my war-time years, my ship had gone through some of the hardest fighting in he South Pacific, in Iwo Jima and Okinawa, which we called the Baptism of Hell from the Japanese suicide planes. I was called to the chaplain’s office when the war was just a few months away from the Japanese surrender. I ran up those steel steps to his office.

When I arrived there, I saw he had a Western Union telegram in his hand. He began to read to me about my loving and caring grandpa that had just passed away. The chaplain kept on praying while I kept on crying. I was lost because I could not be there to say good-bye to my loving grandfather. He was my father figure.

It was my grandpa who sent me to my first Sunday school. It was my grandpa who enrolled me in the first grade at Magnolia Elementary School in Valdosta. Fannie Lomax was my first-grade teacher. She asked me what my name was, I told her, “Willie Frank Wade.” She enrolled me into the class and sent me to my seat with a boy named James Davis, not knowing that he was the brother of the actor, Ossie Davis.

My grandpa was a chef-cook in his day. He had three trades. He played in a band on the weekend with his friends at parties. He was also a yard man, and I was his yard boy. He also kept a secret record of our family roots, which I did not understand at the time. He said there were soldiers, and I thought he was talking about World War I.

Grandpa taught me how to sacrifice in time of need and in hard times. He would save a little money in a cigar box, setting an example to me on how to save money. We had to save money. We had little money and little food.

He would take me by the hand to the fair. I remember we would buy a box of red suckers and sit on his front porch, he was rocking in his chair. I would pass the suckers out to the neighborhood kids. That was another example he taught me, how to look out for all the children.

I enjoyed spending my life with him. He taught me how to hunt. I loved watching him hunt with his 22 rifle. He said when I became of age, about 13 or 14 years old, he would buy me my first 22 rifle. I was so excited to get out there and use it just the way he did. We would share our hunt with the neighborhood. That was another example he taught me on how to help the adults. He taught me how to obey and respect the older people in a Christ-like manner.

My mom and dad decided to separate at my young age. My dad was a chef-cook and my mom was a factory worker. My dad took me to my grandpa’s house after the separation. The first time I looked at Grandpa, I knew he was going to be a good father figure. Grandpa would wait until the midnight hours when he thought I was asleep, then I would get out of bed and kneel beside him and we would pray together. He was always teaching me to do the best that I can.

We were working in yards together and would sing Negro spirituals together. We used to work for a man named Mr. Morgan, we worked in his yard. We would always sing songs like “It’s Me Oh Lord” and “This Joy that I Have.” They used to always leave a little bit of food out for us on the back porch for lunch.

One day, we got done working and we noticed that there wasn’t any food out on the porch. I asked Grandpa what we should do. I walked up the back steps and looked in the house. Mrs. Morgan said, “y’all come on in here and get some food! We set up a nice lunch for you!” We went and had lunch in the house with them. Mr. Morgan prayed. Later, I remembered telling Grandpa that I don’t think I ever ate with a white person before.

Grandpa went up to the train station when I left for boot camp. I just remembered seeing him and he was crying. They sent me to Point Magoo in Oceanside, Calif. I got back from target practice and wrote to Grandpa. I told him that “I shot the hell out of that target!” He wrote me back and said, “I knew you would do good with that.”

When the war was over, we traveled 10,000 miles to get back to California, then I got back on a train and traveled back to Valdosta. I cried a lot because I missed Grandpa and I couldn’t be there when he died. I got to the same train station I left from, where I saw Grandpa cry for me. Then I stopped and cried for Grandpa.

I buried my mom and dad. I took care of all the people. That’s what Grandpa taught me. With Christ in your heart, you need to help everyone.

This joy that I have, Grandpa shared that with me. God gave it all to me, and only God can take it all back.

I can remember those darkest hours on the battlefield. When my life was almost gone. The sun turned dark from our gunfire. I remembered being in that dark room at night, being down on my knees next to Grandpa praying. He helped me make it through the night.

I would like to dedicate this article to my wife, Betty, son Lawrence, Meagan who helped me write my articles and to the Marshall family. 

The Rev. W.F. Wade is a resident of Valdosta