I just read an article in the newspaper about a young man from McComb who fought and died in the first phase of World War II. His troop was at Guadalcanal when they were involved in a deadly exchange with a Japanese detachment.
This young man, Pvt. Randolph R. Edwards, enlisted in the military on Feb. 2, 1942, and was killed in action seven months later, on Sept. 24, 1942.
Like so many of our gallant young men, he was willing to make the ultimate sacrifice of his own life. So now there are very many of us who should truly be thankful to those who fought and gave their lives so that we might continue to enjoy the freedoms they fought for.
Now on a more personal basis. When I was growing up, we used to hear a lot about the war and about those who fought in it. But there was a great puzzle to me.
My parents were older when they had me, but I didn’t understand why my dad didn’t fight in the war.
My dad was never one to talk about things like that. I couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t gone. I knew for certain that he wasn’t a coward, but that didn’t answer anything. My dad was a carpenter and built some of everything — schools, churches, houses, hospitals. This was the only job I ever knew that my dad had.
I didn’t learn the whole story about his part in the war till many years later. Before he was a carpenter, he was a welder. Whether he was too old to fight, I have no idea, but he contributed to the cause.
When our military ships and vessels got bombed out, they sent them back home to be welded and fixed back up so they could go back to the fighting. My dad was one of those welders.
He might not have been in combat or flown bombers, but in my book he did his part. And he might not have a flag placed on his grave on Memorial Day or Veterans Day, but to me he is still very much my hero.
— Debbie Touchstone, Jayess
