My dad casts a large shadow. A man who grew up as a boy during the great depression. Working as a child in a movie theater in Grand Rapids, Michigan cleaning the aisles after shows for a dime an hour. The money he received went to his mother and father in order to help feed his seven other brothers and sisters. From there he enlisted in the Navy during World War 2 and he initially was stationed at Pungo Airfield, a small airstrip located in what then could be called deepest, darkest, Princess Anne County, now referred to as Virginia Beach. While there he met my mother on a hot and muggy bus. Initiating the conversation by offering to open her window for a breeze, he managed to get invited to a church social that day. He was taken by the young Margaret Anne Hargrove and she was also with him. Her home was located at the area now housing the Virginia Beach Court Complex. The home she was born in still stands and is part of an organization called Hope Haven that offers assistance to underpriviledged children. The house had a long gravel drive connecting it to a dark North Landing Road and on one ocassion he kissed my mother on the porch while my Grandfather unknowingly looked on. Expressing his great displeasure in the two, he chased my father completely down that dark driveway with a shotgun, threatening to kill my father and throw my mother in jail for their display of affection. My father recalls running down the darkened road as fast as he could all the way to the airfield which was a minimum of 5 miles deeper into the darkness of 1943 Princess Anne County.
From there my father was sent to the Pacific Theater and the Island of Saipan to give fight to the Imperialist Japanese, and then prepare for the invasion of mainland Japan. His stories of Suicide Cliff where hundreds of native Japanese jumped to their deaths, some with babies in their arms. This was to avoid the atrocities the Japanese military promised the American savages would commit on them if they captured them. Then he would change the tone to lighter stories of Japanese soldiers sneaking into his camp only to watch movies on the other side of the bedsheet as my father and his buddies watched unaware. He discovered their presence from the still hot cigarette butts on the ground nearby.
Thanks to the bomb, my dad was spared an invasion of the mainland that was sure to result in millions of deaths, both American and Japanese. That decision quite possibly assured my existence as well as my brother and sister.
When he returned to the states he made the decision to come back to Virginia, where he married my mother and built a house on Kempsville Road in 1946. The house still stands and it is still the family home. A house built so well for only 7,000.00. He went on to become an auto mechanic and eventually owned and operated Sumner's American Service (AKA Sumner's Amoco) on the corner of Virginia Beach Boulevard and Newtown Road at the Norfolk, Virginia Beach line. He ran the station for 35 years and supported our family very well with hard and dedicated work. He became a Freemason in 1963 and soon there after a Shriner, which represented the cream of the Freemason fraternity, walking in the same footsteps as American's George Washington and Benjamin Franklin.
A rock of the family and an example of great character and ethics, he lived well and provided in ways he could never be thanked completely for.
In 1998, while driving a small MG midget that typically was used in parades, he had a massive stroke, lost control of the vehicle, and was "T-Boned" by a Ford Explorer traveling roughly 55 miles and hour. It would seem that any man of typical means would have died from the impact combined by the stroke, but not this man. In a coma for over 3 months, he awoke to his family and recognized them all. Now the family he took care of so well is charged with caring for him. He is still of sound mind, and has the ability to state his opinion and views with the same vigor he did in his early years. At 87, he remains a rock to the family as well as a blessing for every day we have to share. His modesty would not approve of such a grandiose story yet it is true. Every bit, yet ironically it leaves out much of the things he did to demonstrate his incredible stature. The breed of man and woman that came out of his generation is indeed a cut above and although we and other generations after his may claim extraordinary will and ability to perservere, it is a truthful claim that the people of his years were a cut above. They die today at an alarming rate and their story survives on the mouths and words of those who can remember and document it for future generations. I feel so priviledged to be the son of such a man. John Edward Sumner Sr., my father.
No comments:
Post a Comment