As is true for most people, the lonely sound of the bugle playing "Taps" has always made me feel a pervasive sadness. I remember first hearing it as a child at the end of an exciting day at Brownie Scout Day Camp.  I already felt dejected that our day was over, and then that music made it sound so final. 

Hearing Taps now,  as I sat under the tarp at my father's gravesite, with that incongruous sense of being both little girl and adult, I felt the wistfulness, the consuming sadness. The day was gray and overcast, with a slight misting rain.  My older brother sat on my right, the folded flag on his lap.  The presentation of the flag to him, with the accompanying salute, was incredibly moving.  The intensity of the soldier's gaze revealed the passionate sincerity of her respect for my father's service to his country in World War II. 

My younger sister sat on my other side, my left hand clutching her right.  Looking out from where we sat, I saw several faces of Dad's past--of my past--former basketball players, former students, family, and friends.  To the left of the covered site stood the honor guard for the gun salute.  They had fired three rounds.  I felt my brother's arm slip around my shoulders, and I laid my head against him.  As I looked at Dad's resting place, I remember thinking, "And now we are three."  Both of my parents and my younger sister are now buried in the cemetery outside of that small Indiana town where I was born. 

As odd as it may seem, I find it difficult to comprehend that Dad succumbed to anything, even death. He was so strong, so physically fit, so determined, so "never say quit."  The military burial was appropriate for him.  He would have liked it, even though he had not talked about his war experience until his later years.  We knew he had been in the war, of course.  He had a sword and a German pistol that he had brought back.  We also knew he had met our mother when he was "on maneuvers" in the hills of Tennessee.  It was a favorite story.

I have been going through Dad's things these last few weeks. And there has been a "fleshing out" or a filling in of  my father's story.  I thought I knew him.  And I did.  But there was just, well, more . . .

Dad was born in the mountains of West Virginia in 1922.  So his youth took place in the 20's and 30's, the depression era.  In all, there were 10 children in his family--eight boys, two girls.  His father was a Methodist preacher, and they moved every two to three years, from one small mountain town to another.  In each of those locations, the town bullies would always find them to put them to the test--to see what they "were made of."  I discovered a timeline diary in one of his old scrapbooks.  The first five years are mainly noting if they moved or if he had a new sibling.  Here is a picture of him at age 4.

Beginning in 1928, the year he turned six, there is a little more.  He wrote:  "Moved to Parsons, West Virginia. Lived there 3 years. Brother born. Named Joe, on the first day of August. Started to school here.  About six good fights; one with Wilson boy."  Six years old.  I knew he had it rough growing up, but I never pictured him having to fight so young.  Amazingly, I found two group school pictures from these very years.  I had never seen them.  I didn't know they existed.  They were faded and difficult to scan. The final quality is poor in the details. But this was the best I could get it.  Dad is in the front row on the right end. You can see how small he was.  This was one of the things I learned about Dad that I never knew.

He was very small growing up.  I knew him at 5'10-5'11" and that seemed big to me.  But at the age of 15 and a sophomore in high school, he was only 5'2".  When you put that together with the testing of the town bullies, I begin to understand why he was so feisty and quick to go on the defensive. When I look at this picture, I have to wonder is "the Wilson boy" in this group?  The following year, 1929, he writes, "First girlfriend . . . Juanita Bennett."  I wonder if she is in these pictures.

In 1931, he saw his first football and basketball games. "Liked basketball best," he wrote.  He was nine.  He also said fights were more numerous (apparently too many to count).  Now he was also fighting with his brother, John.  I guess it became a way of life for him.  In 1932, he learned to play basketball in the back alley. Here is a photo from that year.

In 1933, he writes, "Started getting ornery; went with Virginia."  He was 11.  In 1934, they moved to Huntington and things seem to be worse.  He writes that he was in street brawls; he was "caught by cops"; and some drunken woman beat him up!  He was 12. 

In 1935, about the time of the above photo where Dad is second from left and holding a ball, he began junior high school.  Although there were still some fights, he was getting more involved in sports.  In 7th grade he made the basketball team and ran track.  He played his first baseball game and got on a league team. In 1936, they moved to South Charleston, West Virginia, where they stayed for five years.  He played basketball, football (noted that he was the quarterback and the lightest man on the team), and he started boxing. In his junior year, he felt he didn't do so well in basketball, but his coach told him he was the "greatest set shot he ever coached." 

Dad graduated from high school in 1940, and from there went to Taylor University in Indiana where he became a basketball star.  I use that term because it is used repeatedly in newspaper articles. He had a two-handed set shot that he could hit consistently from half court.  You see, when you're not tall, you have to have an outside shot.  And if you're really not tall, it has to be really outside.

But more noteworthy than all his accomplishments on the basketball court at Taylor, he writes in 1941 that his freshman year at Taylor was the "first year of life with no fights."  Taylor was a Christian college and apparently they lived what they believed.  His roommate, Bill Meadows, was a particularly strong Christian.  Dad's room was on the third floor of the Swallow Robin dorm.  There is an "x" on the dormer window of his room.

This picture is actually a postcard.  I found a second postcard along with it.  This second one was a postcard that had actually been sent.  The picture was of the campus and the postmark was 7 Jan 1939.  My dad would have still been in high school. It is written by his future roommate, Bill Meadows, and is addressed to my grandfather.  It reads:

      Dear Preacher,

          My trip out here was a good one.  It did not tire me as much as I thought it would.  I was never so glad to get back to any place as I was to this campus.  God has been speaking in a wonderful way to me.  Yesterday we prayed for your meeting and I never have had as much faith as I have now. I know God will answer our prayers.  Don't forget to pray for me.  The days are more full than ever before but I'll try to write a letter soon.  Tell Junior(my dad) to write to me.  I shall keep praying each day.

     Devotedly, Bill       Added notation:  This is a picture of part of the most beautiful campus on earth.

I may be reading into this, but it almost sounds like my grandfather conspired with Bill to pray for my father and his decision for Christ.  Two years later Dad was Bill's roommate at Taylor.  And his life began to change.  Not all at once, of course.  But it began here.

I found a picture of Dad with his three younger brothers and sister, along with Bill Meadows.  I think this is perhaps from the summer of 1939 (after the postcard date).  Bill, the college man, is clearly the one in the suit.  My Dad is on the left, sporting what looks like a bandage on his head.  Battlescar perhaps?

And lastly a penny photo from around the time of his freshman/sophomore years.  I think he looks very handsome but very much the rebel.

I read the signings in his freshman yearbook.  There were many.  I think he must have gotten every student on campus to sign.  It gave me pleasure to read the flattering things they wrote to Dad.  It is not surprising that he came back to Taylor for his sophomore year.  This second year he roomed with a guy he called Wee Miller.  I assume he was smaller than Dad (or just the opposite?), who was now about 5'9".  Dad wrote this in his final year of his diary, "Good roommate. Best buddy I ever had except Johnnie (his brother)."

Dad began his junior year at Taylor in the fall of 1942, but he went into the army in December of that year.  I have found an autograph book filled with goodbyes from his classmates sending him off to war . . .

     "Well Doc, have a good stay in the Army. We'll meet in Tokyo and start a revolution. Be a good soldier and remember 'If God be for us who can be against us.'

     "Wherever you go, remember me as a friend. You'll never know how much your life has counted for the Lord, as far as my brother and I are concerned. You've really set a fine example.  Keep up the good work."

     "When you get in the Army, remember us back here at TU. We are always remembering you and praying for you. Prayer changes things and prayer changes people. Keep up your prayers and Bible reading. 'Cast thy care upon the Lord, and he will sustain thee.'  Keep trusting in the Lord and failure is outside your realm of activity. Keep praying for us. So long, we'll see you again after it's all over."

     "There have been times when you would have liked to amputate my head--but you were a forgiving soul. No matter where you go--remember that you are serving a king who has never lost a battle--Victory is yours through him. He will lead you safely through."

     "Old boy, I'll remember you as a classmate who played the game square both on and off the floor, and who became angry chiefly at injustices.  If you are always a square shot and play not for the crowd in the game of life as you have in basketball you will not lack in friends. And above all remember Christ, the best friend a man ever had.  When we meet again, I'll grip your hand."

     "It doesn't seem right to say goodbye--but anyhow lots of luck to a grand guy--meaning you.  Whatever happens don't forget TU and all the kids."

     "We're going to miss you a lot around here. More than just on the basketball floor. Who am I going to have to get into trouble with now? We have had a lot of fun together. I think you rememer most of the things we have done. But above all, don't forget that experience we had a few weeks ago, and just keep trusting God."

     "Hayes, you're a screwball, but I'm going to miss you a lot. Perhaps we'll meet again; maybe sooner than we think.  Keep your religion; there isn't anything else really worthwhile, as you know."

     "Hi Ya Kid--Gee we're sure going to miss you. We've had such swell times together ever since we were freshmen. Remember the anticipated fight with the upper classmen--the river parties and everything in general.  No matter where you go--remember me and I'll be yelling for you in life like I was on the basketball floor."

     "Gee, will this place ever be dead without you.  I've really enjoyed knowing you and I hope you'll write once in a while.  Remember all the swell times we had in Columbus and other places too!"

     "I've known you for three years.  You've got the right stuff in you and I hope that you never change. We've been good pals in basketball."

     "If you can only throw a hand grenade like you can a nice basketball---the enemy will be definitely defeated!!"

     "Now that you're in the army I can't see how we can lose the war.  Really have had a whale of a time playing ball with you during the last three years. Good luck pal."

Oh, he would come back all right.  But all these students, the class of '44, would be gone. He would graduate in 1947.  Meanwhile, he had the greatest war of all time to fight across the sea . . .

Day is done, gone the sun, from the lake, from the hills, from the sky; All is well, safely rest, God is nigh.