HOUSE BROTHERS
(Louis "Bud" House & Roy House)

2 BROTHERS WENT TO WAR, 1 CAME HOME.

When the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, the whole world held it's breath.   My father, Marvin House, was eleven years old when the war began.  He remembers very well the shock and sadness of that time.  "It was though time stopped for a week or so."  Everyone had hoped that the United States could somehow avoid entering the war, but their hopes were shattered when the bombs were dropped.  "The people around here knew that Japan and the Pacific Ocean were thousands of miles away, and that their loved ones soon would be going there.  They knew, too, that many of their sons and husbands and fathers would be wounded and killed," he said.  He recalls there was a great deal of sadness in his family when his two older brothers were drafted into the Army in 1941 and 1943. 

According to family members, the brothers were as different as night and day.  One was carefree and happy-go-lucky.  The other, devoutly religious and serious.  The war had tragic consequences for both of them.  One would be killed, and the other seriously wounded. 

Louis "Bud" House was the younger of the two.  My aunt, Violet Skaggs, said that Bud was loving and generous to his younger brothers and sisters.   "He had the best and kindest of hearts," she recalled.  "And he was especially close to Mom." 

My dad remembers that, although times were hard, Bud somehow managed to save up enough money to buy a Model A Ford, Uncle Bud even allowed his little brothers to drive his treasured car around the farm.  "Before he was married, he had an eye for the ladies. He went to town in his car two or three times a week.  Boy, he was in his glory in that car!"  Years later my dad would see the movie, "Hud", starring Paul Newman.  "Hud was alot like my brother Bud," he said. 

Dad suspects that Bud's laid-back personality probably helped him through the tough times ahead as an Infantry Rifleman. 

Roy House, the eldest of the ten children, was a stark contrast to Bud.  Both my father and aunt agreed that he was as serious as Bud was carefree.   "Roy was strict and sometimes rather stern with us kids," Aunt Violet told me. 

My dad remembers Roy as being "old-time Baptist, through and through."  He said he couldn't remember one time that Roy missed going to church, from the time he was baptized at 15 or 16, until he was drafted.  "My dad used to say that Roy was at church every time the doors were open," he recalled.  Roy became a member of Providence Baptist Church, and later served as a deacon there.  After he got out of the Army, he became a Baptist minister. 

Things were different in the 1940's.  Young men from all walks of life considered it their duty and an honor to serve their country.  Even preachers-to-be, like my uncle Roy.  He was drafted into the Army for a one year of duty in early 1941.   His time was almost up when the bombing of Pearl Harbor took place. 

After he was drafted, Roy was stationed at Fort Leonard Wood in Missouri, Fort Crook in Nebraska, and San Luis Obispo in California.  He also went to Hawaii, where he briefly met up with his brother, Bud. 

From Hawaii, Roy's unit went to New Guinea, to keep the Japanese from coming to the back side of Australia.   The action he saw there was light compared to what was to come in the Philippines. 

His unit, the Sixth Division, was part of the Sixth Army.  The job of the Sixth Division was to take the island of Luzon, the largest in the Philippines.   There were nearly 100,000 Japanese soldiers on these islands, willing to fight to the death. 

Roy's regiment landed in the first wave on Luzon.  He told my dad that he was on the beach for several days, and had seen very little fighting.  He was relieved. 

A few days later, his regiment came to a river, and they were ordered to cross it.  A large number of Japanese soldiers were on the other side.  When the Americans attempted to ford the river, the enemy hit them hard, forcing them to retreat.  Several men were killed and others were badly wounded.  The injured men were stranded on a sand bar. 

The Battalion Commander called off the crossing for that day.  "Roy told me that an officer from the company of the dead and wounded men tried to organize a rescue party.  Not many men volunteered for the dangerous job.  Although Roy didn't know any of the men on the sand bar, he knew he'd want someone to help him if he was injured.  So, he volunteered," Dad said. 

That evening the 20 or so rescuers started forward.  When they got close to the river, the Japanese began to lob artillery at a bridge a short distance down-river.  Roy and his companions crouched near the river bank.  They could hear the wounded men crying out in pain and fear.  As they crawled closer, an artillery shell hit the bridge.  Roy turned to look.  When he did, a sniper fired at him.  He was hit in the neck.  The bullet, which just missed his face and head, passed through his upper chest, and came out in the center of his back, just above his belt. 

Roy, who felt only a quick jar to his shoulder, had no idea that he had been shot.  A man next to him pointed out that blood was dripping from his jacket.   Roy looked down at the blood, and then discovered he had a hard time moving his left arm.  The man told the officer that Roy had been hit.  The officer crawled over.  He told my uncle that he couldn't spare anymore.  But he ordered Roy to get started to the rear for medical care. 

Because he wasn't feeling much pain, Roy still didn't know how seriously wounded he was.  He spotted a "half track" (half tank, half truck).   He knew where the sniper had fired from, so he decided he would climb into the half track and see if it had any ammunition for it's four machine guns.  He planned to fire at the spot where the bullet came from.  He attempted to get in the vehicle, but was unable to because his arm would not move.  "The officer told Roy that he'd better get going because he was losing a lot of blood, and he had a couple of miles to walk," Dad said. 

As he began walking, he noticed he was getting light-headed.  He tried to stay on his feet, but began to feel weak.  Just as he saw the tents of his units, his head began to swim, and he blacked out. 

When he awoke, he was on a hospital ship on the Philippine Sea.  When he returned to the States, he began his long recuperation in a Topeka, Kansas Veteran's Hospital.  While there, he met and married a girl from Chicago named Flo. 

My uncle Roy never completely recovered from his injuries.  He remained crippled in his left hand and arm.  But that did not stop him from becoming an auto mechanic and a minister.  Although he and Aunt Flo were never blessed with children of their own, they loved and cared for the members of their church families as much as they would have loved their own children. 

Roy was very proud of having served in the Army, and of having spilled his blood for his country.   For his bravery, he was awarded the Bronze Star with "V" for valor, the Combat Infantryman's Badge, a Good Conduct Medal, and a Pacific Theatre Ribbon with three Battle Stars.  He passed away in 1988 at the age of 70, in the Poplar Bluff Veteran's Hospital. 

Fifty-two years ago, my fun-loving uncle Bud was a newlywed, who found himself drafted at the age of 18.   Because the war was in full swing in 1943, he wasn't allowed to come home on leave after Basic training.  Instead, he was immediately sent overseas.  Aunt Violet said it hurt everyone that they never saw Bud again after he left for Basic Training. 

Bud first went to Hawaii with the 105th Infantry Regiment, 27th Infantry Division.  The Bonne Terre country boy found himself in a New York National Guard Division.  "I was later told, by Roy, that Bud was thinking about joining the 11th Airborne Division to get away from those New Yorkers.  You can only imagine how a farm boy from Missouri must have fit in with those boys from the Big Apple," Dad said. 

For some reason, Bud didn't join the 11th Airborne, and was sent to fight in a small engagement on an island in the Pacific.  Afterward, he returned to Hawaii for more combat training.  While in Hawaii, he ran into his big brother, Roy.  the two were able to see each other for a week or two, during which time Bud expressed his desire to join the 11th Airborne.  Roy was the last family member to see Bud alive. 

Bud's division was sent to the island of Saipan.  The American Air Force needed the large base there to bomb with the new B-29 Bombers.  The Battle of Saipan was to be one of the bloodiest battles in the Pacific. 

The Marines and the Army fought the entire length of the jungle island.  When the soldiers reached the northern side, the Japanese had clustered together there.  Rather than surrender, the higher ranking officers committed suicide.  Sadly, their wives and children also killed themselves by jumping off the cliffs, into the sea and the jagged rocks below. 

After witnessing the suicides, the lower ranking soldiers seemed to be inspired.  They lined up, and charged into the Americans in seven waves.   The First and Second Battalions of the 105th Infantry Regiment were nearly wiped out.  My uncle Bud was among those killed. 

Ironically, my mother's brother, Albert Johnson, may have prepared Bud's body for burial.  He was one of the Marines on grave registration duty after the bloody battle ended. 

Back home, the news of Bud's death hit the family hard.  Aunt Violet remembers well the day that two letters arrived - one with good news, the other with bad.  She told me that Bud tried to write to his family every day.  "Mom became very concerned when she hadn't received a letter from him for over a week.   From the news reports, she knew there had been heavy fighting in the Pacific, and she was terribly worried.  One day a muddy letter from Bud arrived in the mail, and she breathed a sigh of relief," she recalled.  Later in the day, the pastor of Bud's wife came to the door, with the other letter, telling that Bud was dead.  "Mom passed out when she got the news," Violet said.  "It hurt her so much.   She had just gotten the letter from Bud, and thought everything was alright.  And then to get the bad news...." 

Yet another letter, received earlier, offered some comfort during the dark days of grief.  "A lady had met Bud, and she wrote to Mom.  She said that she had never had a son, but if she had, she would've wanted one just like Bud.  She said he was such a sweet and helpful boy." 

Bud left behind a young bride named Bea.  They, too, had no children.  After his death, Bea was presented with his Combat Infantryman's Badge, his Bronze Star, and his Pacific Theatre Ribbon with two Battle Stars. 

In January of this year, another twist of fate occurred.  My father received his Korean Veteran's Association Newsletter, and was shocked to read a front page story about a Purple Heart having been found by the clean-up crew at Busch Stadium.  "Do you know Louis E. House?  If so, please contact the President of the Purple Heart Association of Missouri."  My dad immediately got in touch with the man, and was able to prove that Louis House was his older brother.  The medal was then mailed to Dad.  No one had seen the medal since it was given to Bud's widow, Bea.  She had since remarried and had children with her new husband.  She passed away a couple of years ago.  It's a mystery how the medal wound up in Busch Stadium.  If Dad has not remained active in the Korean War Veteran's Association, uncle Bud's medal might never have been found. 

For many years my father yearned to go to the island where his older brother had lost his life.  But the daily demands of being a husband and father prevented him from going.  He finally traveled to Saipan in 1992, and visited what is now known as "Suicide Cliff".  The University of Japan had erected a monument on the cliff, over-looking the sea.  In both English and Japanese, the inscription tells how useless it was for the families to jump to their deaths, and for the soldiers to charge into the American troops.  "It was senseless.  They refused to surrender, even though, by that time, the Japanese held only a small portion of the island.  They thought it would be the ultimate disgrace to surrender to the Americans," Dad said. 

Dad walked through the jungle where Bud was killed fifty years earlier.  "You have to see it to understand how difficult it was for the American forces to take the island.  The jungle is so thick you can't see more than ten feet in front of you." 

As he toured the island, he thought about Bud and Roy, and those who jumped off "Suicide Cliff".   And he remembered this quote, from General Omar Bradley, concerning the infantry soldier: 

"The rifleman fights without promise of either reward or relief.  Behind every river, there is another hill, and behind every hill,   another river.  After weeks or months on the line, only a wound can offer him comfort or safety, shelter and a bed.  Those who are left, fight on, evading death, but knowing that with each day of evasion, they have exhausted one more chance for survival.  Sooner or later, unless victory comes, this chase must end, on the litter, or in the grave."

The DAILY JOURNAL, St. Francois County., Wednesday, April 26, 1995.