Never Forget….

The plaque is only a small one, over in front of The South Ottawa Town Hall on 1st Avenue. The Hall is still used for occasional meetings, but 1st Avenue is pretty sleepy in that area, so I don’t know how many people actually ever see the plaque. But when I walk by, the words always compel me to stop. And think. And remember.

 “DEDICATED TO HERMAN KOEPPE. – WHO IS STILL AT REST IN THE BREAST OF THE U.S. BATTLESHIP ARIZONA – REMEMBER PEARL HARBOR”

Herman was 19 the day he died. A member of the Ottawa High School class of 1940, he also joined the Navy in 1940. The USS Arizona was his first, and only assignment. He was a ship’s cook and Petty Officer Third Class.

Was he serving breakfast that Sunday morning? Did he have the day off, and was he sleeping in? When the bombing runs started, did he move above deck to help defend the ship? We don’t know, and we never will. His life was cut short, along with 1,176 other crew members of the Arizona that day. Of the 2,403 that died from the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, almost half were on the Arizona.

The Arizona was hit 4 times that morning. When it sunk, only a few sailors were able to get off the ship. It went down with the crew, and everything on board. In fact, while the crew remains buried with the ship, fuel is still seeping out of the wreckage, 75 years later.

Interestingly, Ottawa, an Illinois town of 16,000 in 1941, had 3 people die at Pearl Harbor. In addition to Koeppe, Marine Cpl James McCarrens, 24 was also on the Arizona that day. And Seaman 1st Class Robert Halterman, 20, died when his ship, the USS Oklahoma was bombed. To recognize the three, the local Ottawa VFW Post was recently renamed to honor them – Halterman-McCarrens-Koeppe VFW Post 2470.

This year is the 75th anniversary of the 7 December, 1941 attack on Pearl Harbor, a day that has lived in infamy. I hope we take time to remember not only the historical event, but also the individual lives that ended that day. Herman Koeppe and the other 2,402 sailors, soldiers, marines and civilians that didn’t live to see the rest of their lives.  

Pearl Harbor. Never Forget.  

Old Roy….
My Grandpa Hall, by today’s standards, was an alcoholic. Grandpa was known as ‘Old Roy’, and he loved his Irish whiskey. While he had a ‘colorful’ life, he and Grandma had a rough life, and I’m sure the drinking didn’t help. Old Roy’s ingenuity, when it came to getting whiskey, brought both chuckles and tears to the family over the years. We often tell the happy stories about our family histories, but this isn’t one of those stories. It is however, a true story.

Grandpa was born in 1887, and wandered around more than a bit in his young life. We were always told that he was in the Army during the Spanish American war, but that took place in 1898. He actually was in the army, but not until around 1904, and was stationed in California. After his tour of duty, he returned to Illinois, and married my Grandmother in 1909. You would think he settled down then, but what he actually settled down to was drinking

Grandma didn’t like it when Old Roy drank, as it always caused some kind of problem. So, he became sly about it. In the 30s, he worked as a logger for the coal mines in Southern Illinois. They cut down the large trees used to stabilize the walls and roofs of the mines. Roy would give my cousin Pooch (his grandson) a couple of dollars, and tell him he could keep the change if he would buy some whiskey and get it to him by 10AM. Pooch of course, had to keep it secret. So Pooch would go buy the pint and ride his bike into the woods to make the delivery. Grandma couldn’t quite figure out how grandpa went to work sober and came home tipsy. I’ve always thought in retrospect, how is it no one was killed while cutting down the trees?

In the 40s, they moved to Ottawa (my hometown). Everyone said Old Roy was very talented, great at working with his hands, and could do anything. Instead, he worked odd jobs, did day labor during and after the war, and for awhile, was the janitor at the Roxy Theater. On paydays he would often disappear for a day or two, and go off on a bender. When he returned home, sometimes there was payday money still left, but as often as not, it was gone. Grandma washed and mended clothes on the side to make a little additional cash.

After World War II ended, my dad got back to Ottawa, and one day saw that Grandma had a black eye. She tried to lie about it, but dad knew what happened. He found Old Roy and decked him with one punch. He told him if he ever touched his mother again, he’d get hit worse. Grandpa never did hit grandma again after that.   

In the late 40s he developed TB, and was confined to a sanitarium to “get well”. Aunts and uncles would visit, and the kids would have to stay in another room and look through a big window at him. Grandpa would always wave and yell greetings to the kids. Later, Old Roy broke out of the sanitarium and the police found him in an apartment with a “lady friend”, drunker than hell. The police took him back to the sanitarium, with him cussing the whole way.

When he was old enough to get Social Security, he collected his first check and promptly moved out on Grandma Hall. He was going to live the high life downtown. About a week later, he moved back home, the money all spent.

His health continued to get worse, and at some point he was confined to the hospital. His children were called, and told he didn’t have much time left. My dad and two of my uncles (George and Mick) went to see him. They were talking among themselves, and grandpa told my uncle Mick he had something to tell him, could he lean closer? Uncle Mick leaned in, and Old Roy asked him to bring some Irish whiskey. Uncle Mick popped up and told his brothers “let’s go. If he wants whiskey, he’s not dying right now”. They left, and sure enough, grandpa was later discharged from the hospital.

Eventually, my Uncle Dave turned his garage into a little apartment, and Grandma and Grandpa moved in there. The one condition was that Grandpa had to give up drinking. He agreed to, and mostly did. His health was quite poor at that point, and he didn’t have many years left. He died in 1961, at the age of 73.  

My Grandma Hall was a saint. She didn’t drink and was something of a religious woman. One of the things people always said was that “they didn’t know how she put up with Old Roy”. It was a different time then and people did what they had to, to get by. They were married 51 years when he passed away. I have to believe that there were definitely lots of good times in those 51 years, and listening to the stories from dad and my uncles, I know there were. But there had to be a lot of hell as well. 

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I’d like to thank my cousin Janice Connell who provided some of the stories for this blog.

Dad, Me, and the ’82 World Series…….

The World Series for this year is over, and the Cubs have won. I’m thinking about my nieces and how they must feel as forever die-hard Cub fans. You remember this stuff over a lifetime, especially something like game 7 of this series. You think of fans/family/people in the past. And you remember things that were going on in your life at the time of the Series. I’m sure they will all be telling this story for years to come.

As a Cardinal fan, we’ve had many memorable series over the years – both wins and losses. I remember the win in 2006 and the great 2011 series. As a kid, ’64 and ’67 cemented me as a Cardinal fan for life. And I remember the losses as well – Lolich and the Tigers in ’68, and the “tarp incident” in ’85 among others. But the Series I remember the most, is probably the one I know the least about – 1982. This is a story about my Dad, me, and the ’82 World Series.

In 1982, I was a Captain in the Army, and stationed in Germany. I was a Company Commander in VII Corps. At the time the Cold War was very much alive, and having alerts and deploying to the West German/Czech border was a monthly occurrence. And this was also the post-Viet Nam Army, with prevalent drug and alcohol abuse problems. 

The Cardinals were in the Series with the Brewers. In Germany, we were six hours ahead of StL time, which meant a 7PM start was 1AM in Germany. You couldn’t get it on TV, and the morning paper, The Stars and Stripes, was a day behind. You would get the scores on Armed Forces Network (AFN) radio, but no details.

In any case, on October 20th, 1982, Cath and I went to bed. Around 4AM on Oct 21st, the phone range. Now in 1982, if you were a Company Commander in the Army in Germany, a 4AM call meant one of three things. Number 1, you were going on alert and maybe heading for the border; number 2, one of your troops had been arrested somewhere, and you had to go pick him up; or number 3, a family member in the United States had died, or had something serious happen.

I ran to the phone. 

     “Captain Hall, sir”…..

     “THEYWONTHEYWONTHECARDINALSWON!”

     “Hello? What? Say again?”

     “THEYWON!THECARDINALSWONTHEWORLDSERIES!” 

     “THE  CARDINALS  WON  THE  WORLD  SERIES!” …shouted Dad.

And that’s how I found out the Cards won the ’82 Series, 6-3 in game 7. We talked another 5 minutes or so, said our goodbyes and said we loved each other. I went back to bed for about an hour, before getting up to go in to work.

I’ve thought about that call over the years…. Baseball as something that binds us….The love between a father and a son….A memory I will never forget. 

With the Cubs win, I’ve been watching the posts on Facebook, and not surprisingly, many referred to a father, or mother, or brother, or friend who had passed away, and they were sure that special someone was celebrating in heaven. I know all the Cub fans will celebrate, remember and cherish the win this year, just as much as I’ve remembered that call in October, 1982.