In recognition of Veteran’s Day, here is a story which was written and submitted by Jeanne (Orr) Yates in honor of her brother.
Nelse Orr, (born August 22, 1911-died April 23, 1986), was a World War II veteran, recipient of the Purple Heart and the Bronze Star, and my brother, who served his country well.
Some years ago, at a 45th Division Reunion, an aging and much loved General John Emery read with great difficulty a letter he had received from one of the men who had served under his command in Germany during World War II.
The former Thunderbird told his old Commander of things that stood out in his memory concerning the time that a large German shell had landed in his foxhole during the night, exploding and caving the foxhole in on top of him. He had escaped the whole affair with a scratch on the arm.
In the letter to General Emery he said the thing he remembered most clearly was that the next morning in the chow line, the cooks gave him all he could eat, for a change.
It struck me that this was a very unusual thing to have remembered for nearly half a century. The movie scripts would hardly dwell upon such a commonplace memory.
I decided to ask my family’s World War II veteran, my brother, Nelse Orr, to recall some of his memories and to describe to me the day, and the events, which led to his later receiving the Purple Heart and the Bronze Star. I wanted to see what events had remained in his mind and what time had erased for him.
I remember Nelse’s leaving. I was only seven and constantly at his heels. He was six foot, strong and young with black wavy hair and a big smile. He would work all day in the field the team, plowing. I would bring a bucket of cool water in the afternoon. He would drink his fill, pour the rest over his head, pick me up and throw me high in the air. My shrill shrieks and screams would wake the mules from their nap and Mama would come looking to see what was happening.
The day he left was very solemn. He walked down the road to a neighbor’s house for a ride to town. I can see him walking away, smiling and waving over his shoulder. I had no idea of what lay ahead for him; all I wanted to do was tag along.
I remember when he returned after the war, he was different. He had been wounded several times. There were memories he wouldn’t talk about; the sadness he had seen, the hungry children, the men he had seen die. This was a war that was still being waged in his mind.
He went at everything as though there was no tomorrow; trying hard to forget the past and working relentlessly to build a future. Sometimes at night, the whole house would be awakened by his shouts as he refought the battles in his dreams.
It’s Veteran’s Day again and this is a veteran’s story; strangely enough, he said there was nothing much to tell. The scenes he did recall were very personal ones.
It’s not easy to express the dread of the men at the Normandy Beach landing. He recalled the boats unloaded in water that was deeper than anticipated; many men drowned getting to the shore and he remembered pulling some men to shallow water by the end of their rifle barrels. He said they realized what lay ahead when they passed trucks stacked with the bodies of men that had landed earlier.
He recalled one dark night when the Allied and German lines became so confused that no one knew where they were supposed to be. A German soldier dived into Nelse’s foxhole, and Nelse has a scar above his right eye to remind him of his narrow escape. He remembered a G.I. friend named Peterson who had just received news of the birth of his first son. He was very proud and was sharing this news as they huddled in a foxhole one night. The next day was supposed to be an important battle and he (Nelse) had asked Peterson what he thought would happen.
“I expect we’ll lose a lot of good men,” Peterson replied.
The next day on their thirtieth day out, Peterson was killed and Nelse was hit with shrapnel and was sent back to a hospital in England. He hadn’t bathed or shaved in thirty days. When shown his face in a mirror, he couldn’t believe what he saw.
Upon returning to the front, he once had run through heavy enemy fire to carry a wounded man to safety. He said he had no choice, the man was calling, “Brother Orr, help me!”
The years go by so quickly. Nelse has been gone for several years now. We sometimes tend to overlook, to pass over the items which give our heartstrings a tug; which remind us of our own thoughtlessness, our unexpressed gratitude to those who, like Nelse, left the Lincoln County Red farms and marched off to the beat of a drummer they really couldn’t identify with, to countries and places they vaguely remembered hearing about in their school days.
The word “patriotism” was bright and shiny then, and courage, duty and valor were values to be appreciated and sought after.
Someday, perhaps, the words “war” and “soldier” will become obsolete. However, as long as one soldier is alive to remember the battles fought in Germany, France, Japan, Korea, Vietnam and Desert Storm, let us - who can never repay their gift - take time to honor this gift. Because of their sacrifice, we are able to worship God in freedom; to travel, buy and sell; to raise our families; and to spend our lives in devotion, duty or revelry.
My veteran’s story is the story of every veteran. The appreciation I’ve endeavored to express goes to every veteran with the sincere hope that it will inspire others to remember someone on Nov. 11, Veteran’s Day.