by Randy Reynolds
When I think of veterans the first person who comes to mind is my Uncle Jewell Strickland. He was a teenager in
Strick and Arthur stayed together throughout the war, as
promised by the U.S. Army’s ‘Buddy Plan.’
Afterward, they came home to Gainesville
and built homes on the same hilltop on Pine Valley Road near Lake Lanier
They spoke of fear:
the fear of getting on a train at Gainesville Depot and riding day and
night to boot camp in San Antonio . They spoke of survival: surviving that damn
boot camp and then riding another train to San Diego for embarkation to the South
Pacific.
They served with MacArthur’s forces, beginning with a long
posting in New Guinea
where Strick and Arthur were highly impressed by the native women who wore no
clothing on their upper bodies. (Fortunately, they never got close enough to
find out that some of those females were cannibals.)
Both men agreed that the most unexpected thing about combat
was airplane parts falling from the sky as U.S. and Japanese fighter pilots engaged
above the combat zone. Strick said it seemed like debris would fall for five
minutes after a dogfight and the soldiers on the ground had to curl up and make
themselves small and pray they didn’t get crushed.
Strick never bragged about what he saw during the war (other
than the topless women.) In fact, his
favorite war story was a simple moment of serendipity: he was dog-tired, slogging
down a muddy track through the heart of some godforsaken jungle during monsoon
season when he and his unit had to get out of the way to let a line of troop
trucks pass. Corporal Strickland and his
buddies were shouting unkind things to the lucky guys sitting high and dry in the
canvas-covered trucks when suddenly one of those guys yelled out to him. “Hey, Jewell!” It was Jack Strickland, one of his 9 brothers. They didn’t even know they were in the same
hemisphere yet there they were meeting up in the jungle in a war
zone. 15 years later, beside me at the campfire
on the former gold mine on the hill, he still thought that was amazing.
When Strick was on his deathbed in 1990, he had another
moment of serendipity. A preacher who
stopped by to counsel and console him just happened to have an Army background. When Strick revealed the name of his South
Pacific unit and dates of service, the good reverend got in touch with the
Pentagon. I don’t know why—perhaps he
was getting a head start on Strick’s eulogy.
But it turned out that Strick had earned a medal that he didn’t know
about and the preacher’s fortuitous inquiry resulted in that medal finally
being awarded.
Strick and Arthur were heroes, with or without the
medals—everyday guys who put their lives on the line so they could someday come
back to create families and live in peace on their hilltop near the lake.
Ruth Southers Pirkle Thank you for that story. Have lived on that road all my life. Loved
Strick & Willene and Arthur was my uncle, my mother's brother.
Wilda
Southers I am Ruth's sister and we were a close neighborhood way back
then. Jewell Strickland was a well respected man and loved his family. I
enjoyed reading this and hope to see more of your blogs…
Jerry Dalton A
story worth reading about good men who did what they felt they needed to do and
did it well.
Debbie
Stevens Palmour Thanks for that story. My mother was Dorothy Stover,
Arthur's baby sister. I know the hill of which you write.
Debbie
Meeks Thats how hero's act!! It aint nothin, its just what they do!!
Real hero's!! May God bless them, and those they leave behind!! Thank you for
sharing!!
Maria
Thomas I remember both Strick, and Willene from church and their
daughter Sharon.
Robin Stephens
Pruitt Great story! Ty for sharing
Jeff
Woodall Enjoy reading your writings.
Lauri Dale Loved
Strick !
Betty Gooch I
knew Strick and Willene, Arthur and Everene. They were great people. I loved
reading this story!
ANOTHER STRICK STORY
STRICK: Despite all that fancy equipment he never caught a fish.
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