When I woke up that morning the world was still asleep. It was the perfect start to a day dedicated to reflecting. It was Thursday, February 10, 2011, on the tail end of the “Snowpocalypse” that terrorized South Texans not accustomed to snow or ice. As I left the house around 4am, the frozen grass crunched under my feet. As my truck eased over the 410 & I-35 overpass, my headlights revealed patches of ice. The silent seclusion of the morning set a heck of a tone for the day, and the majority of my 5-hour drive up to Lufkin, TX took place earlier than I was comfortable calling most of my friends. So I time traveled through Texas towns in solitude, recalling my own past as I prepared to capture the highlights of a lifetime for a stranger, Charlie Kimble.
Small white flakes of snow fluttered around me as I pulled my cameras and lighting kit out of the truck. The plastic base of one of my box lights snapped in two – a testament to the freezing cold. Dang. “Well I may not even need it. I should go check out the area inside first anyway,” I thought. “Grandpa Charlie” greeted me at the door and welcomed me inside. The warmth was immediate. I’m talking about both Charlie and his home. My gear was still in the truck but the session had already begun as he recalled the time a reporter from the local paper paid him a visit a few years back.
“I want to show you something,” he said. I followed him back to his office. “Imagine that,” he explained as he pointed out the framed front page of the Daily News, “Me, Saddam Hussein, and Michael Jackson.” I agreed it must have been an interesting news day in Lufkin. Charlie’s stories continued to pour out as I made a few trips between my truck and the living room to bring my equipment in.
By 10am I was set up with lights glowing and cameras rolling. We began at the start of his life and he recalled his earliest days. I quickly learned that I needed to speak up a little to be heard clearly, and I swear Grandpa Charlie must’ve thought I was hard of hearing myself because I repeatedly asked him to retell stories he’d shared as I was setting up. I’d have explained that I didn’t have the cameras rolling at that point in time, but things were rolling along so fluidly there was no sense in breaking rhythm. I’ve never really had a problem with playing the role of the fool for the greater good anyway, so I slid naturally into the role of the forgetful, hard of hearing reporter-guy. Grandpa Charlie is a patient man though, and gladly told stories that brought me into his depression-era childhood.
When we got to the subject of World War II we briefly touched on some details, and then carried about our business. Charlie’s grandson Chris and I had decided a few weeks before that this StoryKeeping session would be broken out into two parts: Charlie’s life, and then Charlie’s experiences in WWII. Or, in other words, a kid-friendly version, and an adult version. The 2 hours dedicated to covering his life’s highlights melted away in no time, and I noticed the snow and ice had done the same as I drove to Ray’s Drive In, a local Lufkin burger joint Charlie had recommended. I spent the next hour reviewing the list of WWII topics Chris had provided to ensure I covered all the important details. “Ray’s Special” was outstanding. Charlie has great taste.
After the lunch break Grandpa Charlie greeted me at his front door in uniform. Awesome. Charlie’s ready! The two hours of conversation that followed were both fascinating and humbling. He journey began with 38 days aboard a Dutch ship being transported over to the Philippines, and when he stepped off he was greeted by the sight of hundreds of wretched looking American soldiers. These were the survivors of the Bataan Death March. What a welcoming committee that must’ve been. Charlie went on to relate stories that would make you laugh, cry, and, if your imagination is intact, scare the crap out of you. His regiment was given a citation for taking the Japanese headquarters in the Philippines – a hollowed-out mountain covered with spider holes (a sort of fox hole with a camouflaged top the Japanese would use to ambush you), a network of caves full of Japanese soldiers, and a stockpile of Japanese currency, supplies, and weapons. As you can imagine, fighting was at it’s most intense levels on this mountain because losing this ground was not an option in the minds of the Japanese there defending it from Charlie and his friends.
Two of his buddies had been shot and were bleeding to death when Charlie was commanded to fall back for more blood and medical supplies. On his way to the headquarters he encountered the mouth of a cave and heard something inside. “Come out or I’ll shoot!” he declared. He waited a moment, and nothing. “Come on out! Come out now!” He pulled the pin on one of his grenades and lobbed it into the mouth of the cave. BOOM!! And just like that, a cow came barreling out of the cave past him. He laughed to himself at the circumstance as he raced to make up time. When Charlie got back one of his buddies had passed away. Scared to death one moment. Laughing the next when you catch a glimpse of humanity and home. Grim reality returns the next second. The one constant, Grandpa Charlie shared, was the fear.
We had some time left on the cameras when he was finished talking about the war so we skipped back to his life, and that of his late wife, Edna. Chris, his grandson, had listed fishing as one of Charlie’s favorite past-times. I asked Charlie if he ever went hunting too. “Oh no, I’ve never seen a reason to hurt any animals.” I’m mildly surprised by this. Charlie goes on to talk about the time he caught the most fish he’s ever caught. A park ranger came up and asked why Charlie wasn’t having better luck? The ranger looked down at Charlie’s rod & reel and exclaimed, “Well no wonder! The barb is bent down on your hook! You can’t catch anything like that!” Charlie didn’t tell him he’d purposely bent the barb down so he wouldn’t hurt the fish. Here, sitting in front of me, is a World War II Infantryman who just moments ago rattled off a story about unloading a couple rounds into the head of a charging enemy soldier, and now he’s telling me he wouldn’t even hurt a fish if he didn’t have to.
This man is a gentle giant, I thought. America was built, and has been maintained, by men just like Charlie. “Is there anything else you’d like to add?” I asked. Here’s his response:
God Bless Charlie Kimble, and God Bless the U.S.A.