PhillySpeak.com

This blog is mostly about Philadelphia things, but I reserve the right, at times, to yammer, or comment about other stuff.
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Growing up, my mother and her family had a distant relative that adopted a boy. His name was Richard. They were distant in blood but not geography, living in the same small South Philadelphia neighborhood.

My mother and her two sisters became like Richard’s sisters. During the times of no money, no jobs, no food, little hope, families helped each other to survive. They learned to trust each other in ways that no longer exist in most of our lives.

Aunts and Uncles, Cousins, Brothers and Sisters, were not always blood relations, but they may as well have been.

After getting through the depression by staying alive they were faced with World War II. Every man signed up or was drafted to fight the war. Richard, along with my father, and most everyone they knew went off to fight.

Richard, not having close family, other then my mom and her two sisters, went to my mom and gave her his bank book and personal papers. He trusted her to take care of the little money he had saved until he came back home. He made her the co-signer of all he owned.

Richard was made a cook in the Army. He was captured by the Germans and held prisoner.

The war ended. Richard eventually came home. He took his stuff back from my mom.

Everyone got on with their lives.

About 16 million Americans served during WWII. Casualties, about 1 million.

Richard remained single and a part of our family. He was called back to service for the Korean War. If you pay attention to the news, it is still being fought. Though as some would believe acceptable, with fewer casualities.

Richard went to Korea and was captured by the North Koreans and tortured. He was held for over two years. After the armistice, he was released.

Close to 7 million Americans served in the Korean War, formally known as the Korean Conflict, so we would not have to pay as much for the American dead and wounded. There were 7,140 prisoners of war. 2,701 of our boys died in captivity.

Richard was one of the prisoners released alive. By this time our soldiers, when released, went to Germany for medical attention, rest and relaxation. When they were rested and relaxed, they were sent home.

I was old enough to remember Richard coming into my parents home when he returned. To me he seemed a shaky, old person, but with bright eyes, red cheeks, and a kind smile. From Germany he brought me a wonderful children’s tool set in a wooden box. These were tools made for children but perfect in every way and useable. I still have two of the tools, which I use, even today.

Richard visited because he once again was collecting his savings and belongings from his trusted friends. My mom prepped me for the visit. Giving me tips on how I should act and respond. Richard may not be how you remembered him.

This was also a time when the working class started to have a few dollars and to entertain themselves would have house parties.

Some homes were better for parties in the look alike row homes of South Philly. So I specifically recall going to parties often on 26th street and 28th street, the bigger homes, and even one on the small street of Taylor. I recall the Taylor St. party because the host was a Korean war veteran who had married and brought home a Korean bride.

The parties were filled with a joy for life and shouted out with songs of the well buried payed for past and hopes for the future.

Barefoot days, how things were dearer then, dadeaadadaeda, barefoot days, oh yea the things we did the foolish things we did. Down by the shady brook we used a hairpin for a hook, we fished all day and we fished all night but the gosh darn fish refused to bite…….and other songs, “Happy Days Are Here Again”, “Peg O My Heart”, “Kitty Kit Katy”, “I’m a Ramblin Reck from Georgia Tech”. “Cowboy Joe”….So many songs, filled with the words of their youth and their hopes for their future.

As a little pitcher with big ears, I took in all of this sweet, sweet, singing and, yearning for normality. A normality they never had but wanted to create for themselves and their children.

Yes, I am strange, because at such a young age, I was listening and hearing and feeling. My empty pitcher was being filled with the magnificent songs of humanity by these wondrous grownups.

At parties, Richard was teased by my father and his friends all of whom fought in the war.

“You dumb s.o.b. How did you let yourself get captured?”, they would tease.
Richard was a cook, “Your own men probably turned you over to the Nazi’s.”…and the gentle teasing back and forth between the men who had a bond, would go on. Their whistling through the graveyard they all happened to avoid.

“Jaysus, Richard, you must have landed in Korea and headed straight for their lines, giving yourself up!” What a dumb s.o.b. A two year vacation at the governments expense.” Yeah! he was dumb like a fox.” “When you were captured by the Nazi’s we could all feel sorry for your dumb ass but to get captured twice!”

And so it would go on, the jousting between the men. Their way of hugging without having to actually touch.

Richard, was a quiet man. Not as gregarious as the others. He could laugh and give it back but not with as much lightness. I remember him drinking whiskey shooters and small beer chasers.

Even at my young age I could see the difference in Richard. All of the men brought home stuff they did not know they packed. His load seemed heavier and more dense. Looking back, I think he needed an actual hug from those that cared about him. The verbal hugs were just not enough. But this was a time when men did not hug one another, nor did friends.

Richard took a job in the prison system as a cook.

He drifted away.

In the Philadelphia Bulletin we read of his death in the obits.

I am sorry I was not old enough or mature enough to attend his funeral. To give homage to this man, the adopted boy, Richard Black, that passed through my families life, and mine, with not much more bother then the space taken up by a bankbook kept in a side drawer.

In those days no one ever talked about Richard as a hero. No one ever talked about Mickey, Joe or Charlie, as heroes. They were just men who served. They did what they were called to do.

Never did they, or any of their family, ever think, they had anything more coming to them than what they had already given up in the War.

No one ever thought serving in the war or being captured was a reason to be honored anymore than the honor of serving.

They would have laughed at anyone thinking service equals knowledge, let alone anyone, stupid enough to be captured by the enemy, thinking that qualifies them to lead the country.

The only time I heard a name conjoined with the term hero was when Hollywood started making movies about the war.

We had no heroes in our family or neighborhood. We just had people doing what was expected and going on with their lives.

No one suggested Richard should run for the Senate or President. No one suggested any of the men, because they served, somehow deserved to run or was somehow more able to run for public office because of their sacrifice or service.

They would have had great fun in taking Richard down a peg or two had he thought being caught by the Germans and the Koreans somehow gave him some kind of experience or inside knowledge that provided him with ’special qualifications’ to serve as a politician.

“The dumb S.O.B. got captured.” I can still hear them saying.