I Remember on Memorial Day Robert Bastings and Bill Bowler, My Grandpas and World War II Veterans

They were born Robert Leroy Bastings (Bob) and Harley William Bowler (Bill), children of the depression. Both grew up with a strong work ethic, a love for country, and the reality that life wasn't easy. There wasn't a high school graduation for either, no college to detour service. They both dropped out of school to help their families survive the depression. They would pass these lessons on.

As young men, they shipped to Europe as members of the Army. Bill was one of the first Americans to fight in Europe after the attack on Pearl Harbor. The Army gave orders to drop him in France, but the plane received the wrong orders and he wound up in Germany--lost. His platoon reoriented themselves and found an old deserted German brewery, where they stayed safe until the Army managed to get them further supplies and correct their mistake. Luckily, the brewery still contained bier.

In battle, Bill fought the Germans. A bullet grazed his forehead, and a deep scar remained about an inch above his eyes. His cowboy hat covered it well later in life. I always thought it was a wrinkle, but as I grew up and asked to know about the war, my dad told me about the bullet. It's funny when you realize that a half inch more, and I might not be writing this today.

Robert went to London with his orders. I was old enough to discuss the war with him. It usually took place after watching a movie like Empire of the Sun. I was 16 and was working at the Northtown Mall Dickerson Theater. The tickets were my treat. He always told me he had shot a Nazi general. I didn't know if he was pulling my leg or not. He had Nazi ribbons stored in one of his wooden jewelry boxes. They were brass with a swastika on them. I never got too many more details other than that from him. They say they never like talking about it.

He met Molly Griffiths, my grandmother, in London. She told me that when he saw her, he immediately walked over and asked her out. I figure when you face death every day, your courage with women must rise as well. She had promised herself to an Englishman for marriage, but that didn't stop Robert. He pulled the pearls off her neck and told her if she wanted to see them again she would have to meet at this same place during his next leave. She did. Once again, the game of chance that led to my life amazes me. He married her in England and brought her back to the States.

Both these men had a pride in their country that you don't see today. As much as I love America, I can't live up to their sacrifices that they gave to this country. I saw the pride, even as a young child.

In December 1979, our country was going through the worst period that I have ever known. It was far worse than we are whining about today. Iran held Americans hostage. The Carter economy led to high inflation and interest rates so high they nearly stopped the nation in her tracks. On December 22, a young eight-year-old stood with his Grandpa Bowler in a gas station on Kearney Street and US 65 in Springfield, MO. I remember the words my Grandpa told the man at the counter. He was sad about the condition of America at the time. He looked down at me and then told the man that he didn't see much a future for his grandsons with the current direction the country. I sensed his sadness.

We left the gas station, got in his blue Chevrolet pickup truck with a camper shell, and went out and spotted a water well. He had built up B&R Drilling and achieved the American dream without ever finishing grade school.

Luckily, Reagan came along and gave the country direction, but my grandfather would never see the new morning in America. He died two days later. A few months after that, the AMVETs named the local post after him.

I always cherished the time I got with my other grandfather. Losing someone at eight years old made me realize how lucky I was to get a second shot. My Grandpa Bastings was a frugal man. The lessons of the depression taught him to live cautiously knowing that one day it might go bust again. He encouraged saving, hard work, and being honest. I would shrug it off as a young teenager. How could the Great Depression ever happen again? I know now that he knew what he was talking about. Missouri State University didn’t include wisdom like this in their tuition.

He gave himself like no other man I have known--always willing to help someone less fortunate than he. Those lessons he learned as child never left him, and he made good throughout his life.

Their generation will soon be gone, and unfortunately each new generation will hear less of these lessons. This alarms me.

World War II had its critics, all wars do, but the unity of America throughout the war would never be matched again. Americans then realized what was on the line, and they fought hard knowing losing wasn't a choice. Today, politicians build up defeat to gain power without realizing the cost of defeat.

If we forget the lessons the greatest generation taught us, we might be telling the next generation what we lost. That would make us the worst generation.

I have never met two prouder Americans than my grandfathers. Please honor all American veterans today, Memorial Day.