A 'Greatest Generation' hero

"It is, I believe, the greatest generation any society ever produced."

-- Tom Brokaw, author, renowned journalist and television newsperson,  describing the World War II generation of Americans in his book, "The Greatest Generation."

 Charles Ray Whitaker passed away a few days ago. The reason I know of his loss is that he is A grandfather of a dear friend of Terry and mine, Melissa Whitaker. He was definitely a member of the "Greatest Generation." Whitaker was a veteran both of World War II and the Korean War.

I couldn't agree more with Tom Brokaw. America's WWII generation has to be the greatest any society, from anywhere, at anytime managed to produce. Our military consisted of citizen soldiers, the vast majority of whom never intended on having a military career. But they had no choice. And not only the soldiers battling the Germans, Italians and Japanese, but the folks, primarily women, who manned the factories that produced the needed military supplies and equipment were heroes too.

To me these folks were all heroes. They accomplished things believed by many (at least by our enemies) to be impossible. They produced record numbers of tanks, trucks, warplanes and other equipment and supplies for our valiant soldiers at a pace thought to be beyond the possibility of any nation, anywhere. They were the greatest generation. Our military, many little more than raw recruits, were the finest soldiers ever in my opinion. (And if you don't agree, just ask the German and Japanese veterans of this tragedy.)

But to me they were more than that. This was my father's generation. My dad idolized these people. My mom told me of how distraught my dad was when he was found to be physically unfit for any branch of service (and she assured me he tried to join each of them). The disease (severe diabetes) that would eventually take him from us at a far too young age, 52, also prevented him from going to war. He felt he had let his family and friends down. He did do everything he could for his buddies who were serving. For example, Paul Chapman, my good buddy Barry Chapman's dad, loved candy. But candy bars were rationed and so they were few and far between for soldiers. Dad's Uncle Charlie DeBusk operated the drug store that once sat where the BB&T Bank in Saltville now stands. As a retail business, the drug store did get a ration of various candies and such. Dad usually did the purchasing. He would always order an extra box of candy bars (sorry, I don't remember which ones) that he would then send to Paul for him and his buddies in his company to share. Mom once told me dad occasionally got mail from guys he never knew or their families thanking him for the candy.

To me, his buddies were not just heroes who won the war I had heard about. They were my buddies too. As I have mentioned before, my parents had a son born a year or so before me and a daughter born a year or two after me. Sadly, both passed almost at birth. This explains why dad was over-protective of me as a child. Mom said he was so afraid something would happen to me that he practically never let me out of his sight.
Almost everywhere Dad went in my early childhood, I was along. His buddies became my buddies. They were my playmates only a lot taller and bigger. Also as I have told before, they taught me what being a man was, at least their version. I learned things like proper vocabulary. (Mom said she had to watch me constantly since thanks to Dad and his buddies, I could cuss like a sailor.) They taught me things like always carry a pocketknife and how to use it. They even, at an early age for the times, introduced me to the taste of beer. (I think it was Black Label but may have been Blue Ribbon and only a tiny sip or two.) They also, unknown at first to either parent, gave me my first taste of what they referred to as "good red likker" (also a very limited amount). They were my guardians and playmates. I was buddies with them long before I had any real buddies my own age. But my buddies have told me they were raised much the same since all of us had fathers or uncles and on a rare occasion mothers who served during the war. They were and remain today "the greatest generation." And sadly they are leaving us rapidly, far too rapidly.

Charles Ray Whitaker was born in Jonesborough, Tenn., Aug. 21, 1923. Like most guys his age he enlisted in the armed forces at the outbreak of WWII.  This 18-year-old boy from rural Tennessee would turn out to be a hero, a real hero. As little more than a boy, Whitaker like thousands of his fellow soldiers hit Omaha Beach on D-Day,

By war's end Whitaker, who early on was made a staff sergeant, would earn a chest-full of medals. These included a Silver Star, three Bronze Stars awarded for heroism, two Presidential Citations, five Battle Stars, the French Citation, the Belgium Citation and his Combat Infantry Badge. Not bad for a fellow who had not yet turned 21. They don't give you this kind of stuff for nothing; ask any soldier.

The Army was not done with Whitaker however. In 1950 Whitaker was recalled into the Army. The 27-year-old from Tennessee, with a chest full of medals for bravery and heroism, would spend he the next few years as a master sergeant. He would remain in the Army throughout the Korean War.

I doubt seriously if any of you reading this column actually knew Charles Whitaker (although it is not impossible as he retired as postmaster of Mountain Home, Tenn.). For those unaware, Mountain Home, Tenn., is the location of the James H. Quillen Veterans Administration Medical Center in Johnson City and the accompanying veterans cemetery there. It has its own Zip Code designation. Some of you may have met Whitaker while seeking medical care there, as many area veterans do.

I regret never having the pleasure of meeting Whitaker. I'm sure I would have liked him. After all, his fellow soldiers were my childhood playmates, but that is not the only reason. His Granddaughter Melissa told us that Pap, as she called him, “when he first met you if he liked you, you immediately became his friend, almost like family. And if he didn't, well then he just wouldn't have anything to do with you."

Rest in peace Charles Ray "Pap" Whitaker. You can go to your final resting place knowing that you were a true hero who served his country and his fellow soldiers to the best of his abilities, even continuing to aid fellow veterans until your final days. You were and will always be remembered as a true American hero. May you be blessed for your service to your country and to us all.

A freelance journalist, Robert “Rocky” Cahill writes regularly for the News & Messenger. His Possum Philosophy column appears in each Saturday edition.