Journey to War: The Thomas Stewart Story
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About this ebook
World War II has left an indelible mark on the fabric of human history. The exploits of men like Hitler and Mussolini, Roosevelt and Churchill are chronicled in countless books and movies. Their names and their actions will never be forgottenand for good reason. To gain a deeper understanding of the wars impact, however, we must look beyond the names that grace the pages of textbooks and recognize the sacrifices of the anonymous soldiers who risked life and limb to serve the country they loved.
With each passing year, their storieswhich persist only through the oral history passed from generation to generationfade into the ether of time. As a boy, author William S. Murray listened to his grandfathers stories about training as a pilot during World War II with rapt attention. In an effort to preserve these memories, Murray sat down with his grandfather, Thomas Stewart, to record these stories for posterity. Stewart shares memories both happy and bittersweet, from his beginnings in Byhalia, Mississippi, through his experiences as a pilot during the war years.
Journey to War is not the story of familiar heroes like Eisenhower, Patton, and MacArthur. This is the story of one ordinary man doing his part to serve his country during extraordinary times. This is the story of Second Lieutenant Thomas Stewart and the men with whom he served.
William S. Murray
William S. Murray wants to encourage others to document the experiences of their senior relatives. This is his account of his grandfather's experience during World War II. You may have a piece of history right in your own family, but never knew it. Sit down with your loved-one and a video camera and capture a family treasure!
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Journey to War - William S. Murray
Foreword
When I was very young, which seems like a hundred years ago, my family would gather on the porch in the afternoons. Some rocked in rickety rocking chairs and others would slowly swing back and forth. The older folks would start talking, and pretty soon an older uncle or grandparent would tell what I call porch stories. I never remember having a seat, so I would sit on the steps and lean my back against the post and listen.
The people in the stories were real. The events were real, and the stories would go on late into the evening, and I never wanted them to end.
The thoughts would stay in your mind as you went to sleep that night, and years later you would find yourself retelling them. This book, this porch story, captivates and stays in your mind. The time, the places, and the people are all worth repeating while rocking on the porch.
David A. Wright
Author of River Rock
Preface
By
William S. Murray
When I started this project a few years ago, I had no idea how involved it would become. I had always wanted to see my grandfather’s interesting stories of World War II saved for posterity and to truly understand his small place in history. I did not realize the vast repository of volumes that represent all of that history. To find one’s place in it requires a lot of research and a degree of intrepidity to get it right. The amount of information and wealth of experience is staggering to wade through. I had always wished to put my grandfather’s story into a book, and I soon learned the meaning of be careful what you wish for.
This is in light of the fact that World War II is one of the most written-about events in history, only surpassed in volume by writings about Jesus Christ. The realization is that everyone has a story, especially those who have lived through such an enormous crisis. To find that place in history where each man fits takes a lion’s share of time when you attempt a project like this one. It was important to know what was happening in the overall picture of the war during the training events that are chronicled here. After living this process for several years, I earned a new respect for every book I picked up. Each represents a dedication of work by someone that I have the privilege of holding in my hands.
In the following pages, you will become somewhat familiar with Second Lieutenant Thomas Stewart and the captivating stories that defined a generation. As a World War II fighter pilot from the class of 44K, he served in the Army Air Corps from 1943 to 1945. It is like a front-row seat to history and is an education that no curriculum could duplicate. The family enjoyed listening to him over the years, and suddenly I realized that many other families heard similar memories, but they would never be widely shared and would never be added to the body of knowledge that is the history of World War II. To remedy that on our end, I persuaded him, at the age of eighty-six, to sit down with me to officially
document his slice of history. At first publication, he is nearing his ninetieth birthday. After four years of writing and research, the result is the book that you are holding. It is not the story of familiar heroes like Eisenhower, Patton, MacArthur, and Marshall. Rather, it is the unfamiliar heroes and the progress of the war from their own perspective. While I do reference the familiar names in this work and their thoughts for winning the war, I also tell my grandfather’s story with deference to so many who will never be heard but probably deserved books of their own. If such heroes are part of your family, please think of them and their sacrifice as you read this one. Without people like them, the famous leaders would have had no tools with which to run the engine of our military and secure our place in the world.
It is especially a tribute to thousands who paid with their lives, and to others who paid by having their innocence stripped from them at an age when they should have been slowly growing into their adulthood instead of being thrust into a world war. It speaks for those already gone and for the dwindling numbers of those remaining who still wake with painful memories as if it were yesterday, even though almost seven decades have passed. Their generation lived through more radical change than any before them and more than any who will follow. They began their lives relying on horse and buggy for transportation. By middle age, they would see men walking on the moon. They fought a bigger war than any previous generation. As they symbolically walk off the stage, we would all be wise to learn what we can from them. For every book there are really two stories, the one between the end covers and the one beyond. Imagine the library of books about the boys of World War II that were never written. This is my effort to pull at least one of those books from the shelves and present it to you.
87760369.jpgIn the days following the attacks of 9/11, the nation saw patriotism sweep over it like it had not seen for a generation. I remember asking my grandfather if the patriotism we saw then was stronger than after Pearl Harbor. His response took no hesitation: It was stronger after Pearl Harbor because at the time we didn’t know if we were going to win it.
He made a journey to war, and so did the world; I try to show how they are forever intertwined.
Acknowledgments
It is an honor to recognize others who contributed in some way to this project. Some influenced the book directly and some indirectly. I am grateful for their influence and support.
First and foremost, thanks to my grandfather, Thomas Stewart, for letting me turn his family stories into a book and for checking through many rewrites.
Thanks to Shawn Leonard and Della Grant for helping with interviews of Thomas Stewart. Thanks to Lillian and Dorothy for traveling at Thomas Stewart’s side all those years ago. Thanks to Dell Moore for teaching the right way to gather notes, references, and information all those years ago in eleventh-grade English class.
Thanks to David Wright, author of the novel River Rock, for creating the right title for this book and for his feedback and review.
Thanks to Diana Gill, PhD., author of How We Are Changed by War, for her valuable feedback, references, and review.
Thanks to Sally Spencer, author of In the Door, Out the Door, for her reviews.
Thanks to my other reviewers, Sandy Wright, Lillian McDonald, Julia Hughes, Kara Province, Ken Spencer, Donna Taylor, Sam Haskins, Gertrude Moeller (PhD), Judy Watters, David Brooks (PhD), Maniso Harrison, and Darin Harrison.
Thanks to the iUniverse staff, namely Amy McHargue, Larry Dale, Andrea Long, and Krista Hill.
Thanks to my wife, Ann Murray, for all her support. Thanks to my dog, Daisy, who served as a great foot warmer under my desk as I wrote.
Special thanks to all veterans who served us but never had a book written about them; their sacrifice is remembered and appreciated.
Introduction
By
Thomas Stewart
It was the spring of 1974, and I owned a liquor store at Highway 78 and Airways Boulevard near the Memphis International Airport. After doing some routine business at the bank, I was leaving with a sack of money to be used to cash checks over the next few days. As I was climbing into the driver’s seat of my green and white Chevrolet pickup truck, a man suddenly appeared just behind me and shoved a .38 Special into my left side, pointed at the sack of money and said, I’ll take that!
Like any reasonable person, I handed over the money in hopes that he would lower his gun, take the money, and just go away. Instead, he shot a single round into my legs as I sat in the driver’s seat of the truck. The bullet entered my left thigh, exited the other side, entered my right leg below the knee and lodged, protruding from the outside of my lower right leg.
Presumably, he shot me to prevent being chased, and it worked. The femoral artery is one of the largest in the human body and bleeds profusely when it is compromised. I learned this firsthand as blood pooled between my legs and ran onto the floor of the truck and out into the street.
As the assailant hopped into a waiting car driven by another man, I reached for my own revolver, tucked under the seat, now bloody from my hemorrhaging wound. I had trained for two years during World War II and had fired many shots, though never in combat. Today was different. It was combat, but not in Europe or Japan. It was on Highway 78 in Memphis, Tennessee.
How ironic that I had trained to defend the freedom of a thug who had just shot me.
Realizing that it was possible that I was about to bleed to death, I did my best to take my new acquaintance with me. The getaway car had already pulled away, heading down the street.
Unable to stand, I raised my .38 revolver over the top of the truck and fired four shots at the fleeing car but hit nothing. God forgive me: how good it felt to shoot back.
No one dumb enough to rob somebody in broad daylight is going to stay at large for very long. Accordingly, the assailant had the brains to drive to his own house and leave the getaway car parked out front. The police arrested him just an hour later.
The ambulance arrived and transported me to Methodist Central Hospital. Concerned about the bullet’s path, the doctors tested for feeling by sticking needles in the bottom of my feet. After a few shouts of pain from me, they declared me the luckiest man alive. The bullet had passed through both legs but had severed no major nerves.
After spending a few days in the hospital, I was sent home for a few weeks to recuperate. I recovered fully, although my legs would never again feel quite as strong, and they would give out more easily after that time.
Getting shot hurts pretty badly but not as badly as I had thought. Of course, it depends on the nature of your injury as to how much pain you feel. For me, it felt like putting out a hot match against the skin. All of that is a memory now, but I have many more that linger more strongly in my heart, soul, and mind.
Chapter 1
My Roots in Byhalia, Mississippi
Into the hands of every individual is given a marvelous power, the silent, unconscious, unseen influence of his life.
William George Jordan
My parents, George Marion Stewart and Cora Adella Downer, were married on January 8, 1896. He was twenty, and she was sixteen. They moved from Stonewall to Byhalia in 1903 and ran a hotel on Main Street. Cora did the cooking for the hotel because she was an exceptional chef and could make anything. George did everything else. One of only two hotels in town, it was usual to host traveling salesmen, who they called drummers.
After the drummers would come to town via the railroad, George would personally take them to surrounding areas to rent horses and buggies. Few people knew the way to the small town, and streets back then were not exactly the same thing as they are today. Gravel roads with no names were not uncommon. When the guest’s