A man of Integrity
Some friendships seem preordained, and I suppose, in reflection, that this was one of them. All it took was the sign “Grapes For Sale” to persuade me to turn up the dirt road that made its way through the acres of orchard land that hot summer afternoon in 1983. A crude sign painted on wood by the front porch of the two story house at the end of the lane stated, “Give your horn a toot if you want fruit,” so I did…and that is how I met Gus. He was a retired Army Chaplain, Baptist pastor, and an official “farmer”. His clothes were worn, baggy and faded, but his smile was sincere and welcoming as his handshake. Like the antique farm equipment that sat off to the side in his orchards, he was up in years. Most folks called him “Gus” or “Mr. Gus”. In the war they called him “Chappie”. With time, as our friendship blossomed like the mustard under his walnut trees in the orchard, I would learn to call him that too. It was a way of paying homage, somehow, for what he’d seen and been through. Gus was a wonderful storyteller. It wasn’t that he actually “told stories”; it was more like he pondered them in his soft-spoken pensive sort of way. He was a true shepherd who had walked among wolves, both in and out of sheep’s clothing…and he was wise. He had seen history in the making at the Battle of the Bulge and Normandy with General Patton. He had felt the freezing bitterness of cold, and as he shared his history and made it part of my own, I found myself moved to tears at times, and wondered at the intensity of emotional pain one is expected to endure in battle. I asked him about it. Gus said that his sorely missed and much loved wife, Dolly, had stated that he wasn’t quite the same person when he returned home from war. A little part of your spirit dies somehow, and things just look different. I think that’s the way it was with Gus.
Gus was what I call “book smart” too. He had two master’s degrees. He’d worked his way through the University of Illinois as a mailman…delivering mail to Al Capone, no less. During prohibition, Capone had left a bottle of liquor on the doorstep for Gus at Christmas time. Gus told the houseperson, thanks, but he didn’t drink, and returned the gift. Later that week he was to receive an alternate gift, a two dollar bill in a Christmas card from the Capone house as a replacement. Gus was an older man when the war broke out…nearly 40…but he felt it was important to go. He was a mother, God and country type of man, but not necessarily in that order. The troops would need someone to encourage them and pray with them during this lonely and devastating time. He felt it was important to do what he could. I’m sure Gus made a big difference to the men he served.
A moving story Gus shared concerned Thanksgiving day during World war II in Metz, France. Two Army troops were in a metal storage shed that served as a shelter protecting them from the snow, but not the bitter cold. Hearts were heavy, longing for loved ones back home. Ammunition boxes were stacked in rows, make-shift tables for the occasion. On each side of the shed was a colonel, his head quarters company, and his troop. Then the discouraging word came that the rations were scarce due to the harsh weather. Supplies would not be coming through. There was not enough turkey for all the men. The first colonel, hearing the news, demanded the turkey be served to himself and his headquarters company, leaving canned rations of beans to his enlisted men. Gus asked if he might give his portion to an enlisted man, and the first colonel barked back at him, “Eat your food!” The second colonel, however, ordered the cook to pass the turkey out among the enlisted men as far as it would go. He and his headquarters company would eat the canned rations. The first colonel was despised by his men. Bitter words were spoken behind his back, and he lost the loyalty of his soldiers. The second colonel, however, was held in high regard by his troops. One young soldier was overheard to say he would do anything for his colonel in combat.
Gus told a story about a hundred Russian soldiers that had been captured and were on a death march for execution during this bitter winter. There had been no place to put them. As one soldier passed by Gus, he took off his coat and handed it to him, telling Gus he wouldn’t need it anymore. It was a final act of compassion Gus never forgot. The coat hung for many years inside the back porch of his farmhouse.
At the Battle of Normandy there was debris and carnage everywhere. Gus observed a woman walking through the rubble seeing what she could salvage. She picked up an iron pot, then proceeding on her way, took note of a geranium that bloomed by itself in the midst of the rubble on a small hill. The woman walked up to the plant. Gus thought she was going to take it and put it in the pot, but she didn’t. She just looked at it and walked away, turning back one more time to look again, perhaps leaving it as a bit of encouragement to the next weary soul.
Gus had pictures of Hitler visiting the elderly in hospitals and patting children on their heads in orphanages…propaganda. He had carbon copies of letters he’d written home to family members who had sons die in the line of battle, and letters of reply from families. One fellow had escaped from a tank, but went back to rescue his friend. This cost him his life.
During Viet Nam, Gus and his wife Dolly had housed over a hundred Viet Namease men in their home in Pleasant Valley, which had dormitory type quarters on the second level. The men had been sent to Travis AFB to be trained for battle. After the war was over, Gus said most of them were executed as traitors. He had a guest book with their signatures in symbols.
Gus had spirit, even in his late 80’s. At Christmastime, as many as 30 people would gather at Gus’s home for caroling. Kelly and Jim, his tenants who rented a cottage on his property and helped him maintain the land, would have the house beautifully decorated with a spread of goodies to go with the cheer of the night. Kelly and Jim were wonderful people. The Christmas gathering was a wholesome event that took place at a pace other than that of most of society. Gus always had his list of people in need of cheer, and a caravan of cars would proceed on its way down the little dirt lane to carol in the cold of the evening. Sometimes it was hard to get motivated for me, but Gus never complained. Once Gus found out I played the accordion, I was “inducted” into the group.
I miss Gus, and his stories, and his encouragement. I miss the steadfastness of his unconditional friendship. I miss the way he’d pray for me and my concerns before leaving his home, without shame or embarrassment, as he did other visitors, and how he’d allow me to bring friends out to share the beauty of the valley and walk the acreage of his hillside. I appreciate the emotional pain and grief he suffered in serving our country at a horrible time in history in order to be there for “our boys”. I appreciate, as a woman, the kind words he always had to say about his wife and his mother. I appreciate the fact that Gus “kept on keeping on” in spite of everything, and was there for me and many, many more when they most needed someone to be there for them. In general, I suppose it is best said that I appreciate Gus for who he was. He was a man who walked his talk, or simply put, he was a man of integrity.
Jennifer Grant