My America

By

William D. Dannenmaier

In the 1930s, I was taught all of the proper things to do. I stood when our flag, carried by marching soldiers, went by, placed my hand over my heart when singing “God Bless America” and similar rituals. We were preparing for war so these events were frequent occurrences, but they had little meaning to me, a child.

Eventually my turn came. Entering the army, through a remarkable talent for speaking my mind when I should have been quiet and being quiet when I should have spoken up, I ended up on the front line with the 15^th Infantry Regiment in Korea on Christmas Eve, 1952. I was sent back to radio school for a month and returned to the Regiment as a radio man. Continuing my ability to speak out when more intelligent men were silent, I volunteered for the scouts, ending up with six months up front and four of active combat. 

Most of the men I knew were like me, persons who had no interest in being career soldiers but who had volunteered for the excitement, or because they believed their country needed them or they were drafted. Van Riper had been a salesman at Sears, Charley was a farm boy who intended to return to the farm, Giaruso had been in construction. Jim Gay had left college to join as had as had Stan O’Connor. Patriotism was not a topic: food, water and survival were. Dirty and ragged, we were often hungry, sometimes thirsty and always watchful and tired. I, personally, never felt any great patriotism, just a great sense of relief when the ship bringing me home passed under San Francisco’s golden gate bridge. I was home and alive.

The annual fireworks in Cumberland Furnace is a greater display of “My America” than it is of fireworks. Cumberland Furnace, once the center of the iron industry in Middle Tennessee, now has, probably, fewer than a hundred families scattered along the valley and the adjoining hollows. Still the annual Fourth of July fireworks display attracts two to three thousand people. People come hours early to enjoy the free show. Cars are parked everywhere: they fill the Community Center’s park, they are bumper to bumper along the roads and church parking lots are filled. The area is packed, but everyone is pleasant. No one is in a hurry, there are friendly greetings between strangers, and children romp freely in the ball field running in and out of falling water as the volunteer fire department sprays the field prior to the display: it is a festival of good cheer. Yet it is a one day event only. It represents, but is a tiny part, of my America.

Recently, one of my grandsons, Nick, visited for a month. We puzzled him. He wondered why people didn’t steal cherries from the trees I have along one edge of my property. I explained that I had more than I needed and gave away cherries. I welcomed those who picked their own, but that people always asked first. Similarly, I had too many early eating apples and peaches this year for my own use. I had some to give away. Poor Nick didn’t understand why he had to pick these by the bucketful and carry them to people who wanted them.   He was also puzzled when some of those people gave him things to carry back, such as packages of frozen “fried” sweet corn or tomatoes or bundles of sweet corn. But that is the way we operate, people share their surpluses just as they help each other when there is a need. I think Nick began to understand that before he left, but it was a difficult step for him.

This is “My America!” It is an America of sharing and giving, all founded on the principles of Christianity.  It is not a matter of wealth or possession or race or even of life styles. Everyone has something to give, even if only a smile and everyone has something they like to receive. When a person is known to need help, they receive it.  It is also the America that raised the young men who served in combat with me in Korea. 

Unfortunately, it is the America that too many of our “leaders” and their sycophants in the media; those who have lived privileged, wealthy, lives and attended expensive schools; have never associated with, don’t understand and yet pretend to represent as they relax in and enjoy their own affluence and power.