Grace Under Fire

by Andrew Carroll

  ILYVM.

  me

  On April 1, 2006, Donna Kohout and Sandi Douglass were married. Douglass had to return to Korea two days later, although he was allowed another week off before returning to work. Despite all the heartache and uncertainties of being apart, he—like his new wife—recognized how fortunate they were to have each other. Douglass wrote the following on April 26.

  Dearest Sweetheart—

  Ugghh!! Rough day for both of us and the beginning of our longest separation yet. But I refuse to let my joy be stolen. He has a purpose behind this and I see my role in it a little. You are right Sweetheart, I am needed here. He has a use for me still and something I need to learn. I am so sorry you have to bear the burden of this.

  Remember His blessings, His wall-writing, His abundance, His protection, and our beautiful wedding and great honeymoon. They all hold the promise of a wonderful life we will and do have together.

  He is using you in this too. I could not do this without you and He needs you to reach our friends there and bring them light—let them see your joy, my love—don’t let the enemy steal our joy. We are married and learning together what that means and I love every moment we have—even if I can only talk to you on the phone right now.

  I love you and I miss you and I want you in my life. You are and will always be my beautiful bride. I love thee.

  Me

  Postscript

  Sixty-Five Years After They First Met, Dell Myrick Writes a Poignant Love Letter to the Man She Was Fated to Marry

  Since the time of the Revolution more than two centuries ago, Americans have penned war-related letters that express every conceivable human emotion, sentiment, and experience. And the motivations behind writing this correspondence are as diverse as the letter-writers themselves. Many simply want to convey their sense of love and affection for the recipient. Others want to tell an extraordinary story that might otherwise be lost or forgotten. And some hope to impart words of advice from which younger family members and generations can learn. It is rare, however, for a single missive to do all of these things at once in a truly memorable way. The following letter was written by eighty-year-old Dell Myrick on October 5, 2006, to her husband on their wedding anniversary. Her words are a powerful reminder of the importance of faith, hope, and love—particularly during those times when all three are tested.

  My Dear Herman,

  As our eleventh anniversary approaches I realize how blessed we have been all these years to be together. And I also realize how much we have missed all those years before.

  I remember when I was just 15 years old and approaching my 16th birthday, I was standing in the hallway of our school when I heard someone say, “I wonder who the new boy is?” And I looked up to see you there on the stairway—a brown-haired, trim, blue-eyed, jean-clad boy. Then the strangest thing happened. It was almost as if something went “zing” and an electrical shock had hit me.

  To cover up my feelings I replied, “I don’t know but he certainly needs a haircut.” That was not true, for your hair was not really that long. But a sense of wonderment had come over me, and I did not understand it. I know now that God was trying to tell me something, but I didn’t know what.

  As it turned out, you were in my brother’s class and your sister Sue was in mine. So it was inevitable that we should meet. You became my brother’s friend, and your sister, Susie, became one of mine. So I found out that you and your family had just moved to Alabama from Los Angeles. Since we were in the middle of the Great Depression, things were so uncertain in those days. Money was practically nonexistent and only those who lived on farms, as you and I did, could be sure of plenty to eat. So you and your family were living on your grandfather’s farm and you worked on it, as well as going to school, even though you were only 17 years old the following spring.

  I remember an old wooden box telephone hanging on our wall, but it was not usable because the telephone company had gone bankrupt. Dad said people in the area had cut parts of the line to use for clothesline. And since we had no car there was little communication with the outside world, except for a battery radio, which we used sparingly to make the battery last longer.

  Then came December 7, 1941, when we listened in shock on this same radio that the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor. The next day, our teacher herded us all into the auditorium where we heard that the United States had declared war on Japan. I remember thinking that you, and my brothers, would have to go to war and might be killed.

  Up until this time I had been so happy on school days and on week-ends when you would walk the 6 or 7 miles to my home to see me. Although you had a Model A Ford, you seldom used it. The 10 cent a gallon gasoline was too much to spend. Anyway, we were all used to walking the dusty country roads wherever we went. My heart always leapt with joy when I would see you. Most of our dates were at home. Sometimes we would meet at church revivals or church singings, but we never discussed marriage. Times were too uncertain after the war began to plan ahead. But it seemed that there was never any doubt in our minds and hearts that we belonged together.

  Boys became a scarce commodity in high school because they went off to war as soon as they graduated. I remember that day in 1943 when two cousins of mine came to visit us and persuaded me to ride back on the bus to Birmingham to visit them for a week. This was an unusual chance for me, so I went. When I came home, I learned that you had already gone into the Navy. You had come to see me but I was not there. Since we had no telephone, there was no way to call me, and I had thought you were not leaving until the next week.

  I remember how I walked out of the house, ran to the end of our garden, and collapsed in tears. I sobbed so loudly that I was afraid our neighbors on the connecting farm would hear me. But I didn’t care! You had left and there was no way I could make connection with you. All my crying couldn’t bring you back long enough for me to say goodbye.

  Then the waiting began. I prayed for a letter from you each day. The year after you graduated I was still in high school and another classmate, Al, began coming around to see me. Once he asked me to go out with his family in a boat that he and his brothers had built, then for a picnic on the lake. So I went, for life was so dull and empty at that stage. I was greatly surprised when, athough I had only been seeing him for a month, he asked me to marry him. I remember laughing and telling him that I wasn’t fool enough to believe he meant it after only a month. But he kept coming around. Then he asked me if I’d just wear his class ring. So I wrote to you and asked you if you minded if I wore Al’s class ring.

  How could I have known that your Chief Petty Officer was telling the men that some of you would get a “Dear John” letter, and that you might as well expect it, for it was going to happen. And just at the time that I was stupid enough to ask you the question about the class ring of Al’s! He had been deferred for farming at his parent’s request. But one day he volunteered for the Navy and left also.

  I never got the letter you wrote in reply to my letter. There was just silence!! Day after day I heard nothing. Weeks came and went and still nothing. It wasn’t until I spoke with a neighbor friend that I learned, at last, why I had not heard from you for so long: One of my sisters had gotten my letter, read it, then destroyed it, and never told me!

  Sue was away in college, so I wrote her and asked for your new address. This time I was watching when her reply came. I saw my sister go to the mail box and hide the letter under her arm. I grabbed it from her and demanded to know why she was taking my mail and why she had destroyed my letter from you.

  She replied that she had not gotten to marry the man she loved and did not think that the rest of the children should either. Dad had told her firmly that she would be sorry if she married the guy she was dating, that he drank and that he didn’t think he was suitable for her. So in her bitterness, she decided that none of the rest of us should be happy!

  Now I had your address, and I could write to you. But it had been so long since I had heard from you t
hat I decided you must not care about me anymore.

  Fifty years went by, and I was living by myself in Alabama when, miraculously, I heard that you had moved to a nearby community. I couldn’t believe it!

  I joined a senior exercise class where you were also going. I’ll admit that I had heard that you were also there. So one day I quietly entered the class and saw a slim, trim, older version of my high school sweetheart. Your hair was no longer brown, but white. In fact, there was little left of it. There were lines in your face, as there were in mine. But the same happy twinkle was in your blue eyes when you looked at me. Although we had changed in looks, the same feelings were reflected in our faces.

  We began going for a cup of coffee together, then to lunch. Then to a movie. Then just to sit and talk and become reacquainted. I explained to you what had happened to your letter, and you told me about your Chief Petty Officer preparing all of you for a “Dear John” letter. And when my letter came, you thought that was your “Dear John” letter!

  After we spent a year dating, we were married. I had wanted our wedding there with my Sunday School class present, and with other members of our church, family, and friends all gathered together, we said our wedding vows fifty three years after we first met!! At that moment, I knew for certain that this was what God had intended for us.

  These past eleven years have been the happiest years of my life. Although I look back with regret on all the time we could have been together, I realize that God’s timing is not our timing. Maybe He was saving the best for last, and if we had gone through the struggle of raising a family and the stresses of life during a period of hard times, it might have put too great a strain on our marriage.

  Herman and Dell Myrick

  As it is, we have been able to be together, just the two of us, and to enjoy that time alone. We have traveled to many places; Australia, New Zealand, Israel, Europe, Alaska, the Caribbean Islands, across the United States, and many other places. We can realize now, as we have so often said, that God had wonderful plans for us all along and guided our every step back to each other. Isn’t God wonderful?

  Most of all, these years together have given us an appreciation of each other, and what love is all about. It is about caring for each other, greeting each day with joy because we have each other, thanking God that we have another day together, and knowing that God planned it this way.

  I have just had my 80th birthday but I still feel as if I am “sweet sixteen”, and all because you love and treasure me.

  I love you.

  Your loving wife,

  Dell

  Acknowledgments and Permissions

  The experience of writing this book has been a blessing in itself. From the very beginning of this process, the most compassionate and amazing people have reached out to help in some essential way, and I cannot thank them enough.

  First and foremost, I am indebted to my own angel, Meredith Henne, who not only helped me read through piles of mail, type in many of the letters featured in this book, and edit the manuscript, but was a constant source of moral and spiritual strength. Her love and support were invaluable, and I am very lucky to have her in my life. I also owe an enormous debt of gratitude to Meredith’s friend Skyla Freeman, who told me the story about her grandmother, Dell Myrick. I don’t think I could have found a more poignant or profound ending to Grace Under Fire than Dell’s letter, and I owe it all to Skyla.

  I also want to thank my mom, who was extremely encouraging about this book idea when I first proposed it and offered very helpful feedback after reading through the first draft.

  My editors at Doubleday Religion, Bill Barry and Andrew Corbin, as well as Steve Cobb at WaterBrook Press, have all been a joy to work with, and they understood the spirit of this book from the very start. It is always a pleasure to work on a project with people of enormous talent and integrity, and they are truly the best. I also want to thank Darya Porat at Doubleday for all of her assistance. We could not have done all of this without her.

  I am also grateful to my agent, Miriam Altshuler, for helping me find such great editors. Miriam is more than an agent, she is a dear friend whose wisdom and kind heart I cherish, and I look forward to working with Miriam on many more projects down the road.

  I am eternally indebted to Father James Hamel, who also read through an early copy of the manuscript and offered great suggestions. He is a true hero (he left for Iraq soon after I completed the final draft), and our military—and nation—are lucky to have him serving his country and the Lord.

  Megan Smolenyak Smolenyak, author of an incredible book titled Honoring Our Ancestors, is a brilliant genealogist (and close friend) who very generously helped me track down several veterans with whom I had lost contact over the years, and I cannot thank her enough.

  Jared Wells and Massimo “Max” Young, who worked with me on my last book, Behind the Lines, helped read through the Legacy Project’s huge archives to find faith-related letters. They are two of the finest young men I have ever known, and they are going to do great things in life.

  Finding correspondence from the current wars has been my biggest challenge, and Tex Fuller deserves the credit for sending in the incredible e-mail from Iraq by Scott Barnes. I am also indebted to Melanie Bloom, who very generously shared with me the last e-mail her husband, David Bloom, wrote home. David died because of a pulmonary embolism, and Melanie has since been working tirelessly to raise awareness about the condition, which affects millions of Americans. She is a spokesperson for the Coalition to Prevent Deep-Vein Thrombosis, and more information about their efforts can be found at www.preventdvt.org.

  David Fox at The Immortal Chaplains Foundation has been a friend for a long time, and I am eternally indebted to him for putting me in touch with Theresa Goode so many years ago. The sacrifice made by the four Immortal Chaplains represents one of the greatest wartime stories I’ve ever heard, and David has done more than almost anyone to keep their memory alive. (For more information about them, please see www.immortalchaplains.org.)

  Most important, I want to thank everyone who sent in letters to the Legacy Project. Because of their kindness and generosity, we are able to help Americans better understand the sacrifices our troops and their families have made—and continue to make—for all of us. Their letters offer words of inspiration, resilience, and insight, and no matter our faith or background, every one of us can learn from their courage and sense of honor.

  These contributors have also reminded us of the history that is often tucked away in our attics, basements, and closets, and how important it is that we preserve our veterans’ letters. Due to space reasons, we could include in this book only a tiny fraction of the letters and e-mails that Americans have sent to us (since 1998 we have received more than 75,000 correspondences), and we had to cut some of them a bit. (These edits are noted with ellipses.) But ultimately we hope that even this small selection from our archive will inspire others to seek out and preserve their family’s wartime correspondences and share them with this generation and those to come.

  To everyone listed below who either wrote or contributed a war letter, thank you very, very much, and God bless you all.

  Anonymous serviceman correspondence to “Dearest Mother” (dated September 29, 1942) courtesy of Marian S. Read; Dave Albrecht correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by Louis Albrecht; John M. Allen correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by Katheryn A. Taylor; Scott Barnes correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by Scott Barnes; Steve Belgum and Lynda Severson correspondence reprinted by permission of and © Steve Belgum and Lynda Severson; David Bloom correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by Melanie Bloom; Sydney H. Brisker correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by Sydney H. Brisker; Walter Bromwich correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by Dorothy Jean Bromwich McGibbeny; Gloria Caldas correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by Gloria Caldas; John T. Campbell correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by John T. Campb
ell; Jennie Cesternino correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by Leonard Hall; Joseph Cotton correspondence courtesy of Joella Patterson; Brian Craig correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by Arthur Craig; Sandi Douglass correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by Sandi Douglass; Thomas Drayton to Percival Drayton, 1 May 1861, Drayton Family Papers, Collection #1584, reprinted by permission of The Historical Society of Pennsylvania; Percival Drayton to Heyward Drayton, 10 January 1862, Drayton Family Papers, Collection #1584, reprinted by permission of The Historical Society of Pennsylvania; Maude B. Fisher correspondence courtesy of Peggy Rafuse; Roy R. Fisher correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by Susan F. Anderson (the letter is also published in a wonderful book that Roy and Susan edited titled The Lucky Bastard Club: Letters to My Bride from the Left Seat, published by Authorhouse in 2003); Alexander Goode correspondence courtesy of Theresa Goode; Joe Graser correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by Joseph (Bill) W. Graser Jr; Walter Hanley correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by Michael Hanley; Samuel Roosevelt Johnson correspondence courtesy of Lee Jenkins Ballard; William Kiessel correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by William Kiessel; Albert Kishler Jr. correspondence courtesy of Adrian F. Nader; Donna Kohout correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by Donna Kohout Douglass; Ruth Kwall correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by Joseph Portnoy; Mary Custis Lee correspondence reprinted by permission of the Appomattox Court House National Historical Park; Ron Livergood correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by Ron Livergood; Alvin McAnney Jr. correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by Carol McAnney Tighe; Seth Moulton correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by Seth Moulton; Dell Myrick correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by Dell Myrick; Gabriel Navarro correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by Mark Navarro; James F. Norton correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by James F. Norton; James R.Penton correspondence and sketch reprinted by permission of and © by Anita Stewart Penton and Marjory A. Penton; George M. Phillips correspondence courtesy of Carmelita Pound May; Joseph Portnoy correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by Joseph Portnoy; Jeff Pugmire correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by Jeff Pugmire; Edward L. Pulaski correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by Sara Pulaski; Molton A.Shuler Jr. correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by Helen M. Adams; Ray Stubbe correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by Ray Stubbe; Clint Sundt correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by Clint Sundt; Charles Edward Sweeney correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by Kevin Charles Sweeney; George Syer correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by John P. Syer; David A. Thompson correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by Merrilee A. Foley; Herb E. Van Meter correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by Gretchen Van Meter Lawton; John Ross Wallar correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by Roberta Rickey; June Wandrey correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by Gail B. Mann; Terry A. Ward correspondence reprinted by permission of and © by Terry A. Ward; and James Williams correspondence reprinted by permission of The South Carolina Historical Society.