I recently found a brightly colored silk scarf in a box of some of my late mother’s things. When I picked it up, a couple of pictures dated in the 1940s fell out. One was a black-and-white postcard and the other a black-and-white photograph.

My father, Harry Young, who lived in Pendleton until his death in 1990, never talked much about World War II. I don’t remember if it was him or Mom who told me how his fingers were shot off during one battle.

I later saw a picture of Dad sitting in the sand straddling a gun affixed to a tripod. In an attack, enemy fire struck his position. Dad lost two fingers from one hand and three from the other.

This postcard told me what happened next.

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On the front was a picture the U.S.S. Comfort — commissioned May 5, 1944. I don’t know if it was Dad’s handwriting or if someone wrote it for him, but written on the back was: “This is the ship I was operated on and was on it when it was bombed April 28 – 45.”

The Comfort was a hospital ship struck by Japanese during the Battle of Okinawa, according to the website “Talking Proud Archives – Military.”

Okinawa is an island southwest of Japan.

More than 700 souls were aboard headed to Guam. Twenty-eight died, including six nurses. Forty-eight were injured, according to the archive. The Comfort sustained heavy damage but made it to Guam.

Another photo was of three soldiers in Honolulu. Someone wrote on the back “Thero, Roach, Young (my father).” They were on the grounds at the Tripler Army Medical Center.

I then went to my computer file to search for a picture from my Uncle Raymond Turpen’s funeral in 2016.

Raymond, who lived in Anderson at the time of his death, was in the Army and served in the Korean War. He was taken prisoner twice and he escaped twice. During the second escape, he told me, he had to sneak up on a guard and kill him so that he and others could get away.

At Raymond’s funeral, there was an extra somberness when a grandson brought in three rifles, an Army helmet and a framed picture of Raymond. His grandson assembled the rifle stack near the end of the casket; emotions were stirred when he leaned the rifles together to make a tripod and placed the helmet on top. Raymond’s picture was in the center.

These pictures and memories sent me on a bigger mission for Memorial Day 2018. I contacted area veterans to help find others willing to share their stories with me.

Robert Fesler of Markleville referred me to U.S. Navy veteran Dave Courtier.

Dave told me originally the rifle stacks could be seen on the battlefield where many fell.

“Most of the time it would be a single rifle forced into the ground by the bayonet and the helmet left on top,” Dave said. “It was a way to say they wouldn’t be forgotten.”

Dave said he entered the service through the Army National Guard. After boot camp, he signed up for the Navy and served from 1969 to 1975 in the Vietnam War. Dave met his wife, Linda, when he returned to the states. She was a hostess at the United Service Organization (USO) chapter in Milwaukee.

Dave and Linda moved to Markleville about four years ago and have faithfully honored other veterans in many ways since. Today the couple serves on the Honor Guard and Color Guard through the Daleville chapter of the American Legion.

Their volunteerism for fellow veterans goes far beyond the graveside services, during which Dave is a gunman and Linda is a bugler. They are flag bearers in the Color Guard for special events and make it a point to visit area gravesites to be sure the burial grounds of the fallen are maintained with respect.

“You know that’s what Memorial Day is all about. It’s a time to honor our dead. Veteran’s Day is a day to celebrate our servicemen,” Linda said.

“We do between 115 and 120 funerals a year,” Linda continued. The sheer numbers haven’t hardened her or Dave. Both admitted to getting a bit choked up and letting a few tears slide down their cheeks during the final ceremony with gunfire and the sound of “Taps.”

Not long ago, Dave volunteered to be the companion for a World War II veteran for an Honor Flight to Washington, D.C. It was Dave’s first trip there as well.

Honor Flight is a non-profit organization that gives older veterans a first-hand look at the grand memorials constructed to show the nation’s gratitude and respect for those who have served.

Dave said it was a powerful experience for him, not only witnessing the impact on his veteran companion but recognizing what these sites meant on a personal level.

The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier at Arlington National Cemetery was one of the most emotional stops during the visit, but equally as touching was seeing the faces of so many veterans when people – military and civilian – stopped along the route to salute and honor the aging heroes.

Most of them were pushed in wheelchairs.

Dave said he got all choked up when he saw one man brace himself to push up out of his seat to return the salute.

Dave said he felt the impact of some loss in action but not the kind experienced by ground troops.

“I never shot anyone. I was on the ship when we lost two chief petty officers, though.

“If I was asked to do any of this over, I would do it again. I think I will be doing this with everything that is left in me.”

Jack VanGets of Lapel, is a 92-year-old veteran. He entered the Navy just after high school with his best friend, Eugene VanBuskirk.

When he returned stateside from service during World War II, Jack got married to his wife, Lois.

Jack still attends activities at the American Legion in Lapel.

His son, Dana, said Legion friend Robert Kowalski persuaded Jack to take the Honor Flight.

Dana accompanied his father, and his sister and brother-in-law surprised them by meeting them at the airport to be a part of the experience.

Jack served on the rescue ship McCall before it went down. The McCall was dispatched to assist submarines in jeopardy along coral reefs. On its last mission, they found their submarine but a typhoon threw them into the reefs, causing them to capsize. Another submarine in the region was dispatched and saved many from the McCall and the original submarine in distress, Jack said. Jack was reassigned to another ship, the U.S.S. Iowa.

Today he proudly wears a cap bearing the name of the Iowa and said he was surprised to meet a fellow veteran of the Iowa recently.

“I was going for a haircut. The man was wearing an Iowa cap, too,” he said

The decades-old experience sparked an immediate kinship between the two strangers.

Jack said more than 2,500 sailors were on the Iowa and he didn’t know all of them. He was assigned to the third gun turret where there were 48 men.

Jack’s primary duty was to help load the mounted guns while the turntable rotated during firing. When not in the heat of exchanging gunfire, Jack also did lookout duty to warn of approaching submarines or other enemy war craft.

Veterans said they knew that a key to their survival was having each others’ backs.

They also knew the makeup of their unit could change any moment. Sometimes it changed because someone was killed or injured in battle — but other times it occurred during more mundane or even leisure activities during down time.

Jack said one time he and his buddy, Eugene, were horsing around with a third sailor. They put together a raft out of a few wooden skids from supply and engaged in a game of King of the Raft off the side of the Iowa. Eugene made a wrong move and wedged his foot between two boards. He broke his leg, sending him to the hospital; Jack didn’t see him again.

“I didn’t know for many years whether he survived the war,” Jack said.