The title of this article names two of my favorite things. Julie Andrews didn’t sing about these, but she should have. Christmas trees and good stories are a part of an American tradition. Stories have been around as long as people have and Christmas trees have been sold in America since 1850. At our house, I have found a way to mesh these two things and I would not have it any other way.
As newlyweds in 2000, we were a one income family. I was in graduate school and my tastes in Christmas décor outweighed our budget, so we strung tons of lights on the tree and made cinnamon ornaments whose aroma filled the house. We started out with one “real” ornament that we bought commemorating Y2K and the year we married. Both of my grandmothers gave us an ornament for the tree that year. Per tradition, my mother bought us both ornaments and gave them to us on Christmas eve. So, when we dismantled the tree that year, we had a grand total of 5 real ornaments and a few dozen cinnamon ones. I knew the meaning behind each ornament and where it had come from, so I decided to start my/ our own tradition of a Christmas ornament journal; however, if I depended on Mark to write them down, the tradition would end. I wrote down a description of those real ornaments and who gave them to us, along with the year. As the months sped toward Christmas 2001, I decided that it would be a slow process, but I wanted every ornament on our tree to be a meaningful one. That meant that the tree may look bare to the eyes, but it would be filled with memories and stories. By the next Christmas, we had traveled and as keepsakes, we bought ornaments. Our family had grown to include a 5 year-old, so there were some handmade ornaments as well. I was teaching, so some of my gifts were ornaments. I wrote the descriptions and the names of the students who had gifted me with these. The stories were growing and the tree was not looking so bare. Fast forward to Christmas 2018, there are barely enough branches to hold the wonderful ornaments that we have collected over the years! My grandmothers gifted me many of their ornaments, some of the same that my parents hung on their trees when they lived at home. They wanted new ornaments; I wanted their old ones. It was a fair trade. As we unwrap our ornaments every year, we remember people and places. My daughter’s first trip to Washington, D.C. was commemorated by a ruby slipper ornament from the Smithsonian. She could not wait to see Judy Garland’s famous shoes. There is a Conastoga wagon that we bought in DeSmet, South Dakota when we visited Laura Ingalls Wilder’s homestead. There’s a football jersey emblazoned with our son’s football number. The Boyd’s Bear Barn in Gatlinburg may be gone, but we have proof that it existed. One of our daughter’s pacifiers is tied on the tree with ribbon. There are a few flower pics and some tulle from our wedding. We have black lab ornaments and basset hound ornaments. This year, we added a Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn to the journal. There are several camera ornaments and one really cool typewriter given by a friend. It’s not a tree that you’ll ever find on the pages of Southern Living, but it tells the story of our lives perfectly. Next year, I may have to start a second story tree, but the tradition will remain the same. Years ago, when we were packing to run from a hurricane, I made sure to pack a navy and white journal that listed my treasured ornaments, along with each child’s birthday party theme for every year and their “big” Christmas gifts. My husband makes fun of this nerdy trait frequently, but there is nothing sweeter to me than the combination of good stories and Christmas trees. Merry Christmas! Cinnamon ornament recipe
· Insert ribbon through holes and tie to hang. Decorate with opaque paint markers, found in arts and crafts stores, if desired.
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Christina Waddill will celebrate her ninety-first birthday on Dec. 30. At age 90, she still drives herself to the Jackson Senior Center daily to have lunch with her friends. There are no afternoon naps for Waddill who is a great-great-grandmother. She is active in her church and in the community and has no plans for slowing down.
Waddill was born and raised in Jeanette, Pa. She never dreamed that when she traveled to California to visit her aunt, she would meet a young Navy recruit from the Eppesboro community of north Clarke County, Alabama. That’s exactly what happened when she met John Waddill and the rest is her story. “Landing” in Clarke County Waddill chose to begin her Christmas tales with the Christmas of 1946, the first Christmas that she spent in Clarke County. “I landed in the middle of a farm with no water, no gas, no electricity,” Waddill laughed as she remembered. Her memory is clear as she recalls, “Our son John was one day shy of one month old when we moved to the farm in Alabama.” Life in Clarke County was certainly different from life in Pennsylvania or California. Prior to moving to Alabama, Waddill had cooked on a gas stove. This luxury was not available in rural Alabama, so Waddill learned to cook on a woodburning stove. Milking cows was another task that was not familiar to the young Pennsylvania native, but with her mother-in-law’s help, she soon mastered it. “Miss Lou and Mr. Johnny” Waddill helped ease their daughter-in-law’s transition to country life. Store bought socks The Waddills moved to St. Stephens where they raised their family of six children. John, Darlene, RoseAnn, Warren, Frankie and Gann were raised knowing the importance of hard work and strong family bonds. Waddill recalls that her children’s Christmas gifts were handmade from the time they were small. “There wasn’t a way to get to the store like there is now and that’s not what you did back then.” Waddill did recall one Christmas when her children were small that she was given money to purchase a pair of store bought socks for each of them. Her in-laws provided the money for the extra expense. She says that the look of wonder on their faces when they received the socks is something she will never forget. A handmade Christmas and lasting traditions Luxuries like store bought socks were rare, but what she lacked financially, Waddill made up for in creativity. After moving to Alabama with her husband, she also learned to sew on a pedal sewing machine and learned to quilt and crochet. “Eventually I graduated from that pedal machine,” Wadill stated, but she never stopped creating. These skills would prove beneficial to her throughout her life. She says that the greatest creative challenges that she took on was the creation of wedding dresses for her two daughters, Darlene and RoseAnn, who married brothers Joe and Terrel Smith of St. Stephens. Waddill still uses her creative skills and creates handicrafts. She is a volunteer at Walker Springs Baptist Academy and enjoys creating with the students there. She faithfully attends Walker Springs Baptist Church where she teaches missions and handicrafts to young women. A fresh-cut tree and the true meaning of Christmas Some of Waddill’s favorite Christmas memories involve traipsing through the woods with her large family to cut down the Christmas tree. “We’d drag it in and we’d make the decorations.” Church has always been a major component of Waddill’s life and she made sure that her family attended Christmas services at St. Stephens United Methodist Church. “I raised them to know the real meaning of Christmas is Jesus. That’s what I have taught them all; the kids, my grandkids, my great-grandkids, and now I have great-great-grandchildren.” “It’s still Christmas” “You ever heard of the Dirty Santa game?” she asks. I tell her that I have. “That’s a big change. Lots of people do that now.” She laughs saying that looks forward to playing with her large extended family in the next few days. She shakes her head when she thinks about the changes she has seen throughout her almost 91 years. “It’s changed a lot, but as long as you keep Jesus in the center and celebrate with your family, it’s still Christmas.” In a 2017 biofilm, British author Charles Dickens was hailed as “the man who invented Christmas.” Dickens did not invent the holiday, per se, but his most famous literary work definitely changed the way Christmas is celebrated. A Christmas Carol requires that readers ask why Christmas is celebrated and encourages readers to reflect on their own lives. There are multiple screen and stage adaptations of the novella that Dickens composed six weeks before Christmas and published on December 19, 1843. Dickens was financially strapped at the time and was writing the holiday pamphlet just to pay the bills. There was no way he could have known that 175 years later, the story written to provide for his family would be a treasured, beloved tale for the ages and the phrase first printed in those pages have become our favorite wish for the season, “Merry Christmas to us all.”
A Christmas Carol is written with vivid language and includes lively characters that are relatable to the readers. It tells the story of the rich, exposes the plight of the poor and provides a timeless message of hope amidst difficult circumstances. Here are five wonderful lessons from the Dickens classic.
Merry Christmas! Rodney Rocker credits his parents, the late Mattie Perine Rocker and James Taylor Rocker for instilling in him the importance of doing the right thing, even when the task is difficult. On October 10, Rocker had a decision to make and there was no doubt as to what the “right thing” would be.
The Jackson native who attended all Jackson schools graduated from Jackson High School in 1997. During his time at JHS, English teacher Joanne Hagood recruited Rocker for the newspaper staff. Rocker especially enjoyed editing and developing photos in the school’s darkroom. This high school interest led Rocker to Troy University where he earned a degree in mass communications/ broadcasting and further developed his passion for photography. Rocker’s first job after earning his degree was with a television station in Montgomery. When an opportunity arose for Rocker to come closer to Clarke County, he took a job with WKRG Channel 5 in Mobile and later moved to Fox 10 News where he has worked as a photojournalist for 13 years. Fox 10 meteorologist Adam Olivier (left) and photo journalist Rodney Rocker (right) attended the retirement ceremony for the American flag they retrieved during Hurricane Michael in October. As the outer bands of Hurricane Michael lashed Panama City Beach, Rocker and Fox 10 meteorologist Adam Olivier were braving the elements in the storm tracker truck to get footage of the area. Safety was a huge concern as the wind gusted between 70 and 80 miles per hour at times. Downed power lines and debris made it difficult to maneuver. As they inched past the Trustmark Bank, the two noticed that the large flag that had flown above the bank was now on the ground. Because of the deteriorating weather conditions, the two did not get the flag immediately, but made note of its location and planned to report it. However, as they thought of the sacrifices made by so many to protect the freedoms that the American flag represents, they went back to it. Olivier shot video as Rocker fought against the wind to get to the flag, becoming soaked by the rain and battered by the wind. After struggling for some time, Rocker was able to unclip the flag from its ropes. He and Olivier folded it and transported it to Mobile. The pair began to take action when they arrived back in Mobile. The entire news crew championed the flag and was instrumental in saving it. Fox 10 News anchor Eric Reynolds, a veteran, insisted that it be properly cleaned. The station supervisors contacted Marine Corps veterans to fold it properly and then notified the Trustmark branch from where it had come. Trustmark officials stated that since the flag had hit the ground, it must be retired. Rocker and Olivier were invited to take part in the flag retirement ceremony and the raising of the new flag over Trustmark. Rocker said before attending the ceremony he truly did not see the depth of his actions in retrieving the flag. “I just did the right thing. I knew what it meant for me, but until I saw the looks in those veterans’ eyes, I did not understand what it meant for them. To have them thanking me was surreal. I had planned to thank them for their sacrifice. Instead, they were thanking me.” In spite of the deteriorating weather, rising water, flying debris and safety concerns, Rocker said, “At the end of the day, it was the right thing to do. I’m glad I was able to do it. Rocker urges his friends and family who were on the “safe” side of Michael to remember the ones who have been devastated by the storm. “Those people are going through so much. It will take them a long time to recover. Please remember them.” Rocker says that he is humbled to have been a small part of the recovery process. “It doesn’t matter how small or big an action is. If it’s the right thing, do it. You don’t know the impact you can make.” His seemingly small action was very much appreciated by the Panama City Beach community. Rocker continues to work with Fox 10 News as a photojournalist and travels to his hometown of Jackson and the surrounding areas frequently to give television coverage to local schools and events nyone who has tried to get the family together for a photo shoot knows that it’s nearly impossible. Between the long distances, work and school schedules, sickness and sheer lack of participation, it’s enough to drive the designated family historian to lunacy… or eggnog. Who decides on the role of family historian anyway?
I take pictures of other people in my spare time and I completely downplay all of the crazy things that tend to happen during these family sessions. Someone has on the wrong shoes. We will hide their feet. One of the kids insists on holding their favorite Tonka truck. I convince the mom that she will laugh about it in the future. If given the choice between having a Tonka truck and a happy kid or no Tonka truck with a screaming kid, I think the choice is simple. While it’s easy to convince someone else, as a mom, I tend to lose it when the photo sessions aren’t just right. Considering the fact that my kids are 15 and 22, you’d think that it would have gotten easier through the years. I WISH! Since October, we have had two sessions of family portraits. One was with my husband’s parents and siblings, the nieces and the great-nieces and nephew— all 18 of us. That was actually fun. It was definitely memorable. Multiple generations were trying to correct each other. A toddler who insisted on eating an apple throughout the shoot. A preschooler who was over pictures before it started—it was her birthday. She didn’t have time for this. Then there was my 15 year old who had tried new make-up techniques the morning of the pictures. Heaven help! Whenever this family gets together, an outsider would think that we all dislike one another because yelling is how we communicate. Seriously. In order for my father-in-law to understand the conversation, you must speak loudly. So we yell. It works for us and it keeps him in the know. However, if anyone was walking by us as we were trying to take those pictures, I apologize. We really do love one another. That’s why we were trying so very hard to get pictures. Of course, we were color-coordinated in white tops and jeans. Of course, my husband ends up with some sort of stain on his shirt. Complete face palm. I am thoroughly convinced that regardless of age, individuals have to be bribed to cooperate for family pictures. The reward for successful family pictures and generational pictures and pictures of everyone with the grandparents was a trip to our favorite Choctaw County restaurant, Bimbo’s, following successful completion of about 300 shots. There was birthday cake involved and we reminded the littles of this. More often though, one of us would say, “The quicker y’all cooperate, the quicker we will eat.” It worked, I suppose. No one completely lost their cool. Everyone was on their best behavior. It was a record day for us! The second set of pictures was just my little family. Honestly, the four of us were worse than the whole 18 of the previous setting. We did them at our home, so our neurotic dogs are in some of them. My daughter was determined to go live on Instagram so that all of her friends could see the dysfunction that manifests when it’s picture time. My poor son had worked a double shift, slept a few hours and driven home for the occasion. He was exhausted. My husband had worked his share of shifts also and did not want to cooperate. The reward in this instance was if they cooperated no one would have to go Black Friday shopping with me. We managed to get a few shots, but it’s the outtakes that I’m enjoying most. You know, the ones that will never make the Christmas card? The ones where someone is laughing so hard that their eyes are closed, where the dogs are looking at the camera and the people are not, where we are all engaged in a conversation, oblivious to the photographer. I won’t put them on the Christmas card, but I’ll treasure them and not delete them. These are the genuine moments in the story of our family. With every perfectly posed Christmas card portrait I receive, I wonder about the outtakes. So here’s to all the moms who are going for that perfect picture this holiday season–just enjoy the moments. They pass way too quickly…and have a good bribe. Six months ago, I had the opportunity to make a career change, so I did. It wasn’t an easy decision because I loved the kids I was teaching; but it was the right decision because it gave me a chance to explore writing, something I have always enjoyed.
I have learned so much but still have so much to learn. What I have enjoyed most is meeting new people and hearing their stories – from a local “Rosie the Riveter” to couples that have been married more than 60 and 70 years and veterans who served both in peace time and in war. It has been exciting to see new businesses come into the area and I love going to the many events at the Jackson Health Care Facility. I have watched as the community banded together to grieve young lives lost and to support bereaved families. I’ve watched more high school football games in the past six months than I have in years! Because I changed jobs, more changes came to my family. My daughter changed schools and our entire routine and rhythm changed as well. We’ve adjusted and are enjoying all the “new” that we are experiencing. In the past six months, I have learned more about local government and gotten to know many elected officials. I have seen first-hand what a difficult job they have and I wish them the best. There are some careers that I would not be willing to try. Politics is one of these, but hats off to those who do! My appreciation for first responders continues to grow. Just when I think I fully appreciate the police department, fire department and EMTs, I will either witness or hear of more of their deeds. I am so thankful for them and their willingness to serve our communities well. I still get to be a part of what is going on in local schools and I love this part of my job. I love to see the creative learning projects that our teachers are implementing. The smiles on the students’ faces say so much! It’s been fun to celebrate learning milestones and scholarship signings. I look forward to being a part of many more of these. One of my favorite days recently was Special Needs Day at the fair. I loved watching the children have fun! I also loved watching the high school students from Jackson High School and the Interact Club as they enjoyed the fair with their charges. I have a special shout out to JHS Aggie No. 65. I don’t know him, but I know he rode the Scrambler at least 20 times with his buddy and not once did he look bored, annoyed or even sick! He was there for the younger child and I know that kid will never forget the way that football player treated him! Unfortunately, our small area is not immune to trouble. Even though we may not like to admit it, bad news does pique our interests. The announcement of the closing of the Lowman plant and the uncertainty accompanying that is devastating. The loss of young lives by accidents, illnesses and murder strikes fear and makes me thankful for every single day that I have with my children. Manhunts that put our lawmen in harm’s way are not the way we like to envision our community and thankfully, these are isolated. So, in the midst of this Thanksgiving season, I am truly grateful for the opportunity to write every day, to take pictures every day and to invest in the community every day. It has been a LONG time since I wrote for the University of Mobile newspaper and an even longer time since the Leroy High School paper, so I am immensely thankful that someone saw potential and took a chance on a true rookie reporter. I know that there is still so much for me to learn, and I am continuing to learn new things daily. One thing’s for sure, there is always something going on in the Clarke/Washington area. There are occasions when I start to stress. What will I cover this week? What’s going on? What will I write about? These questions are always answered by press time, no matter if the week initially seems slow. So, just like that… six months have passed. I am very thankful to be here and I am thankful for all the people that I have met in this new journey! I still want your stories! Call me! Have a wonderful Thanksgiving! Despite the rain and cold weather on Friday evening, a crowd gathered into tents outside of Jackson City Hall. The weather matched the somber occasion, a candlelight vigil for suicide awareness and prevention. The community event was organized by the family of Tripp Carter who tragically took his own life in June. Since his death, Carter’s family has made it their mission to increase community awareness of the horrible realities of losing a loved one to suicide, the stigma of mental illness and the warning signs of a downward emotional spiral that could possibly lead to suicide.
Living through the loss of a loved one to suicide is never something that anyone imagines will happen in their own family. However, according to statistics, one death by suicide occurs every 12 minutes in America. Suicide is a major public health concern and it is preventable. As the crowd gathered, pictures of loved ones lost to suicide were placed on tables and names were written on paper butterflies that were attached to a remembrance wall. Encouraging songs were played as those in attendance gazed at the wall and the photographs and then quietly gathered colored honor beads to wear. The honor beads were to signify a personal connection to the cause and most people wore more than one set. The colors available indicated the connections: White – lost a child; Red – lost a spouse or partner; Gold – lost a parent; Orange – lost a sibling; Purple – lost a relative or friend; Silver – lost first responder or member of the military; Green – struggled personally; Blue – support the cause; Teal – friends and family of someone who struggles currently. Members of the community gathered at Jackson City Hall Friday night for a candlelight vigil in memory of friends and family members lost to suicide and to extend support for anyone struggling with depression. Pastor Braxton Eldridge of Ebenezer United Methodist Church in Wagarville welcomed the crowd and gave a brief devotion on comfort and told those gathered, “It’s up to us to break this chain and help these hurting people find hope.” Following Eldridge’s remarks, Courtney Carter Weaver, the sister of Tripp Carter, addressed the crowd. Weaver provided the statistical data for suicides in America and challenged those in attendance to remember that “Beyond these statistics are human lives.” Weaver stated that her goal in planning the event was to help anyone who was struggling realize that resources are available to help them cope. Weaver and her mother, Ann Carter, discussed the warning signs of suicide and encouraged those in attendance to be mindful of these as they interact daily with family and friends. “This is not a joke. I wish every day that we had seen more signs,” Carter stated tearfully, stating that she knew her son battled privately with depression, but no one would have ever guessed it due to his gregarious nature. Several in attendance shared publicly how their lives had been changed forever when they received the news that a loved one had committed suicide. Each one pleaded for more awareness and less judgement of individuals who struggle with depression. The ceremony ended with prayer and the singing of “Amazing Grace.” Survivors held their candles, shining light in honor of lives lost and hoping to shed light on a problem that has affected the community deeply. The National Center for Suicide Prevention has a hotline available 24 hours a day,call 1-800-273-8255. November is National Adoption Month. I am grateful for adoption, for families who choose to adopt and for mothers who realize that adoption is the best option. To adopt is to assume a position or to legally take another’s child to bring up as your own. My family has been forever altered by adoption, though it was the most unorthodox of circumstances. In the summer of 1999, I went as a summer missionary in Birney, Montana. I was sent to the Northern Cheyenne Reservation as a children’s director. For twelve weeks, I lived with Harold and Cindy, the pastor of the mission church and his wife. Cindy and I spent every day together. I learned so much from a woman who had raised five children and was teaching the Indian women how to raise families and create homes. She reminded me so much of my grandmothers, only replace the southern flair with some quick-witted, tough western logic. Daily, we fed at least 20 children, assisted their mothers, planned events for them and just opened the church apartment to them. I became particularly attached to one of them. He was the most beautiful person I had ever seen. His coal black hair was buzz cut so that everyone could see the largest, deepest brown eyes with the absolute longest eyelashes in the world. (Seriously? On a boy?) Anyway, he was two-years-old and he didn’t say much, but we were fast friends and Cindy and I, we were faster friends. Fast forward, twelve weeks ended way too soon. I cried for Cindy. I cried for all the children I had met, especially one. I knew the likelihood of ever seeing them again was scarce. I was wrong though. Cindy was no longer my supervisor on summer missions; she became my mentor and my weekly phone call (long-distance back then). Through her, I was able to keep up with that little boy, the one I had framed pictures of in my grad school apartment. For my wedding the next summer, I received a gift of a Northern Cheyenne Star Quilt that was handmade on the reservation. Cindy had sent it. She had let a certain little boy sign the card. Nearly 19 years later, that quilt is still a treasured possession. Adoption? Right, back to that. I adopted Cindy and she adopted me. It wasn’t a legal thing, we just assumed a role in each other’s lives. And after I had been married eleven months, I drove to pick up a certain brown-eyed four-year-old who would assume a role in our home as our son. Eighteen years later, I still tear up thinking of how undeserving Mark and I were to be placed in that role, but I do not believe it was by accident. That child, now an independent, intelligent, industrious adult still brings us such joy. I won’t lie and say that all the years have been easy or fun, but I will say that I’d do it all over again. Cindy and Harold are retired from ministry. They retired from Montana to snowy South Dakota. My daughter and I have driven out to visit them for the past six summers. Cindy has never met my husband in person and it has been eighteen years since she has been in the room with my son. However, the countdown is on! Next Monday, I’ll pick her up and she will spend Thanksgiving with us. I can hardly wait for the reunion! So, as we anticipate the Thanksgiving holiday and the family gatherings that accompany it, I am thankful for adoption. I am thankful for those who are willing to assume a role that they weren’t born into, as Cindy did for me and for those like my son, who somehow find their place although no DNA is shared. We don’t have to share DNA to share our lives. Vietnam. The name alone conjures images of jungles, troops, tents and helicopters. The name of the country has become synonymous with war. Although forty-five years have passed since the official end of the Vietnam War, the mention of it in conversation will still bring out strong opinions and even stronger division. This conflict began in 1955 between Communist North Vietnam and the government of South Vietnam. The United States became involved in the war in 1955. The mission was to protect South Vietnam from coming under the Communist Rule of North Vietnam. Sadly, the mission was not accomplished when the U.S. troops were removed in the 1970s. Vietnam was the first televised war. Each night, Americans saw images of the carnage and representation of the body count. By the end of the war, that count totaled 58,193 Americans; 1,181 of these individuals were Alabamians. Two local Vietnam vets were willing to tell their stories.
Perugini recalls gun boat attack Danny Perugini had a 23-year career as a sailor in the United States Navy. The Galveston, Tex. native worked as a storekeeper/ supply man. His responsibilities included ordering all the supplies for the ship, including ammunition and food. The majority of his work was done on a naval destroyer. However, his most vivid memories of Vietnam are the result of a gun boat. Naval gun boats are vessels with small, ridged hulls. The fleet of gunboats in Vietnam grew to include 250 of the ships. Often called the “brown water navy” because of their patrol of the Vietnamese rivers, the boats were critical as Vietnam is located on a peninsula that contains many inland waterways. Perugini completed three tours in Vietnam, but admits that he didn’t expect to return from the final one. The gunboat that Perugini and members of his platoon were on was attacked while patrolling a river in 1967. The U.S. vessel exchanged heavy fire with the North Vietnamese before the ship broke apart. “I ended up in a lily pad,” Perugini recalls. Many of his shipmates were not so fortunate as several were killed or seriously injured. The U.S. soldiers were in the river for approximately ten minutes, which to Perugini and other survivors “seemed like 10 days”. The men were rescued and recovered by the South Vietnamese, which was fortunate. Perugini remembers the fear of not knowing if they were being rescued by the South Vietnamese or taken as prisoners of war by the North Vietnamese. The men were “relieved” that the latter was not the case. Perugini returned home to a country much divided over the issue of the war. In spite of several brushes with death, he chose to remain in the Navy as a career. After Vietnam, he was stationed in Norfolk, Virginia. His last assignment was storekeeper aboard the USS Constellation, a supercarrier based out of San Diego. Dewitt Gay Dewitt enrolled in the ROTC program at the University of Alabama. When he finished his business degree, he willingly enlisted in the U.S. Army.He first reported to Fort Sill, Okla. And then went to flight school in Ft. Walters, Texas for the first phase of flight training. The second phase of flight training took place in Fort Rucker. After successfully completing all the requirements of the Alabama base, DeWitt was equipped to fly Huey helicopters in Vietnam. Dewitt completed a one-year tour in Vietnam as a Huey pilot from 1968-1969. Along with the pilot were three others in each Huey, a co-pilot, a gunner and a crew chief. Military Family DeWitt’s followed in the footsteps of many in his family who from the time of the Revolutionary War, joined the ranks to fight for our nation. Although he had trained and was equipped of itl Leaving home was tough because Dewitt was married and had a young child. There were small blocks of time when he was allowed rest and relaxation time in Hawaii where he could see his family. Although his active military duty was during one of the most divisive conflicts ever entered in by American troops, DeWitt served proudly as his ancestors did, giving 29 years and 9 months to a cause that he believed in. After his tour in Vietnam, DeWitt was in the Tennessee and Texas National Guards before returning home to Alabama where he retired from the Alabama Guard. Jungle accommodations DeWitt went to Vietnam as an individual rather than a part of a unit. He was assigned to the 7th Squadron, 17th Cavalry (Air), an air cavalry unit. The base camp had basic wooden buildings that kept the rain off the soldiers. Nearby in Bambi Tuit, the soldiers camped in tents. Vietnam is known for its thick jungles and abundance of rains, two things that Hollywood gets right in its depiction of the Vietnam War. The mud was thick and covered the ground. There was no hot water to bathe in. DeWitt states that there are two things that he clearly remembers about stepping off the plane in Vietnam—the heat and the smell. The climate of the nation is hot and humid. There are two seasons. In the rainy season, the mud and water threaten to overtake anything in their paths. In the dry season, red dust covers everything. The smell that DeWitt can so vividly recall is not pleasant. Rather, it is the result of human feces being burned with diesel in the latrines. DeWitt remembers wondering if the smell would ever fade from his clothes after returning to the states. A country divided Many soldiers who have fought overseas have returned home with a hero’s welcome—banners, photographs, parades and support. Unfortunately, this did not happen with the majority of Vietnam War vets. DeWitt recalls arriving at a base in Washington D.C. and being told immediately to change into civilian clothing before going to the airport. The American public was could be hostile to soldiers who had already endured atrocities. A pilot’s mission A helicopter is not a vehicle known for stealth. It’s noise and visibility would often endanger its crew, but the crew had a mission and assumed the risks. DeWitt’s mission was to insert troops into areas where fighting was anticipated. At times, he would have to function as a medical evacuation pilot to get injured soldiers to care. If this were the case, the area that would be flown into was considered extremely “hot” or dangerous due to the presence of the enemy forces. Without modern GPS tools and accurate maps, DeWitt would take long-range patrol soldiers to assigned areas where they would attempt to gather intelligence. Relying largely on his memory, DeWitt would return to retrieve his fellow soldier. “You don’t leave people. You have a fellow American on the ground. You have to get them out and you do it.” A sacred duty Perugini and DeWitt are just two of the many local Vietnam veterans in the local area. While their experiences differ, their resolve and commitment to the protection of our nation is the same. They knew the risks associated with becoming American soldiers, especially during the 1960s, when all eyes were on the war torn country of Vietnam. |
Shannon CouringtonWeekly columnist. Feature Writer. Archives
September 2019
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