ROLE MODELING LOVE

Winston Churchill, one of my distant relatives in the Spencer line, once quipped,

“I think history will treat me well …since I intend to write it.”

Well my readers, write it he did. 

My next door neighbor, an aged widow recently died, and as her daughters were cleaning out the house for sale, my wife and I assisted them in their efforts. 

As we were boxing up Mrs. Ude’s books, I came across several by my British relative of whom I initially alluded. 

The titles, “Their Finest Hour” and “Triumph and Tragedy” and “The Hinge of Fate” deal with the valiant resistance of the United Kingdom against the onslaught of Hitler and his military. And given that Old Winston was a cousin of mine, and I am a student of history, I wondered aloud whether the sisters would mind me adding the volumes to my personal library. Gini and Pam immediately acquiesced. (While I admit I haven’t read the books yet, I hope to begin in the near future).

Like Prime Minister Churchill, I have been busy writing about (among other things) history. And I cannot bid my eternal adieu’s without leaving a written record of something I saw on television last night, and which happens to relate to the war of which my relative was so well acquainted.

Days after representatives of what remained of the German government signed the surrender document bringing WWII to a long-awaited conclusion, American troops marched into the heartland of that defeated country. And unlike the reprehensible behavior of their Russian allies, our armed forces were instructed to exercise compassion and kindness; most especially towards the terrified children with whom they came into contact. I tend to believe the vast majority of our soldiers just naturally expressed heart-felt empathy towards the women and children of their defeated foe. 

At any rate, the documentary to which I have referred here included dozens and dozens of photographs, as well as testimonies of aged German men and women who were, at that time, the five and ten year olds of that ravished nation.

At least for me, one testimony stood out from all the rest.

A white haired, elderly lady sat in her rocking chair by the fire, and reminisced about the most poignant of experiences. While she possessed an obvious German accent, her English was, nonetheless, impeccable.

While I cannot hope to recount her testimony as well as she expressed herself on the film segment, I will attempt to paraphrase her story here.

“We had endured years of warfare and deprivation. We made do with the most meager of rations. We existed with the barest of earthly essentials. We often went without food, and my mother more so than her children. As I reflect on it now, she oft times went without meat and bread, so that each of her children would have at least a scrap or two. 

In spite of all we’d endured, we didn’t think of the Americans as our enemies, but rather our opponents. For you see, we knew what we had. We knew what these bastards were about. We knew whom we had served for too long. And we were so tired and ready for peace.

Well, as the American tanks lumbered in, and the sound of their treads echoed in our streets, we ran out of our houses with sticks in our hands and with white rags knotted about the tops. And while both we and our parents were afraid for what might come next, our sense of apprehension was stilled by the smiles of the men who came flooding out of the turrets of those tanks, and who marched behind them. And oh, how kind they were to us, as they stooped to pick us up, and they brushed the fear from our eyes.

Of course, in spite of the American troops’ initial behavior, my mother expressed some reservations and warned me to be careful. But she had often told me that you could always tell what someone was about by looking into their eyes; and I was determined to put her philosophy to the test.

I remember one man. One very special man. A Negro sergeant. 

Unlike the German soldiers, he let me climb up on his military vehicle. And I will never forget the first day I met him. For as I climbed up on the American Jeep, I immediately looked into his eyes. And oh, such kindness shone out of them! And I remember Sergeant William hung a bag of rations around my neck, and waved for me to take it home with me! And I have often thought that he went without some of his daily provisions so that my family and I might have a few morsels of chocolate, and bread and canned meat. And as long as the kindly sergeant was still in the area I would seek him out, and he would give me chocolate and other goodies to take home with me.

I will NEVER forget that wonderful American soldier; the first black man I’d ever seen. And I will NEVER forget what an ambassador he was of the occupation his country exercised over us after the war. No doubt, he has gone on to his reward by now, but he will always be my mentor and role model. Always. …Always.

I am old now, but I have never ceased to remember that good man and his kindness to me. And I have ALWAYS vowed to do as he did; to love people and to give my heart and provisions to those in need, and whom God has set in my pathway.”

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 45. Copyright pending 

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