This was written by my Granny a few years before she died. She was an excellent writer and that is no doubt where I learned my love of writing, penmanship, calligraphy, and reading. All things she cherished and taught me about at a young age.
Proud to Be an American
I’m a fanatical, loyal, flag waging American and mighty proud of the title. Five times in my life I have felt such love for my country that I wept.
The first time was at the age of 10. The year was 1935 and President and Mrs. Franklin Roosevelt came to the small town in Idaho where I lived. Americans were beginning to recover from the dreadful years of the depression. All week we had studied about the President, the responsibilities and duties of that office. We waited in great anticipation for the day the Roosevelts would be visiting. At last it was time. School children were dismissed and we lined the streets and waited, and waited, and waited. Excitement filled the air and finally we spotted the motorcade and then the President and Mrs. Roosevelt. That wonderful couple looked exactly as I’d expected, the same as in all their pictures. The President with his strong jutted jaw and that familiar smile. Eleanor, homely beautiful. Eleanor was smiling her toothy smile. Both waved at all the cheering children.
Soon they had passed our viewing area but we knew that the motorcade route would eventually bring them back our direction but it was several blocks away so off we ran. We caught another glimpse of the open touring car with the awesome couple. Never mind that I fell in the stampede of children and reached my spot with both knees skinned and bleeding, because I’d seen the President and First Lady–not once, but twice!
The second time I felt such a fierce love of country was 1944. World War II was on and people were struggling. Ken and I had been married just one year. We had food stamps, gas rationing, and all that goes with the war effort on the home front. Three of Ken’s brothers were in the various services, two serving overseas. On Ken’s 19th birthday, he joined the Navy, enlisting in Boise, Idaho.
During the war years, it was customary to hang a banner in the front window of your home with a star for every son in the service. Ken told his parents of his enlistment by buying his mom a banner with four stars.
The first time I saw my handsome, young husband in his brand new Navy uniform with his short bootcamp haircut, I wept with love and pride.
The third time was in 1945. I worked for the telephone company as a long distance operator, living in Medford, Oregon with my parents. Paula, my daughter, is six months old and the apple of my eye. Ken is serving on the Troop Transport San Saba in the South Pacific Theater. We had been hearing for some time now that the war in Europe was nearly over. The newsreels show the terrible condition of the people there. I was just completing my 8-hour shift when the word was received in our office that the Germans had surrendered. The war in Europe was over!
When people have news to share, they do it by telephone, and this was no exception. Every available telephone operator was called in to handle the traffic coming through the switchboards. Some even came in too drunk to help as celebration was everywhere. We worked standing up because we were too excited to stay seated. I worked a 16-hour shift and could have worked more. One of our engineers rigged a connection up through the switchboard so that we could plug in and hear the news bulletins. Everyone wept with pride of country that day.
The fourth time was July 1984 Seattle, Washington, the day is sunny and bright and forecasted hot. Ken and I decided to take our grandchildren, Jackie and John Jr., to see the Olympic Torch go through our city. Ken knows the perfect place. The highway is wide and lots of good places to park and even some shrubby trees to provide shade while we wait.
As we wait, we watch the people. In spite of the crowd, we are all subdued, each with our own thoughts of the event. John Jr. climbs a light standard and perches like a long-legged bird. He has the best view of all.
A vendor comes by and Ken buys small flags for the kids. There are all sorts of trucks, vans, and cars that belong to the Olympic relay team. One big mobile is their traveling kitchen. The vehicles, over 40 of them, are all parked in a lot next to where we are waiting. They are all painted the same colors: red, white and blue.
At last, John Jr. gives the cry. He sees the motorcycle police that precede the runners. It is only about two blocks away. The young lady runner passes by carrying the torch high. She has a proud and beautiful smile on her face. The designated P.N.B. runner with her is applauding. We too cheer and clap and I see many people with tears in their eyes, including me. I cannot fully describe how I felt that day. I knew that I’d die for my country should it be asked of me. I was so thankful to have been born in the United States and have the privileges of calling myself an American. I breathed a prayer of thanksgiving as we climbed back in our car for the ride home. America is indeed the land of the free and the home of the brave and I love my country dearly.
The fifth time when my heart swelled with pride was when my mother and I were summoned to California to see my dad. He was in the hospital in critical condition. The Chaplin at the hospital got my son, Monty, on emergency leave from the Navy. Monty’s ship, The Canberra, a heavy cruiser, was temporarily in port home from Vietnam. I was to pick him up at the Los Angeles airport.
There he stood, tall, so handsome, so young and in the same uniform his dad had worn in World War II while serving aboard the troop transport San Saba in the Pacific theater. A tailor made the uniform with all new insignia and rank. I couldn’t have been more proud and honored to be the mother of such a fine young American sailor.
So now we have three generations of Navy men. My father, Reese Gentry, served in World War I aboard the battleship Arizona in the Atlantic theater. The same ship that is now the Pearl Harbor memorial.
Is it any wonder I love my country and all that serve our wonderful nation? The daughter of a Navy World War I veteran, the wife of a Navy World War II veteran, the mother of a Navy Vietnam veteran, and a mother-in-law of an Air Force Vietnam veteran.
What a blessing and honor…Heroes all!
That Infernal Itch 