HEROES CORNER

When I was a child growing up in Chicago, my father had a sheet metal business.  He worked every day with two employees putting up gutters and downspouts for homes and businesses in the city.  He worked very hard to take care of my mother, my sister, and me, and even though he didn’t make very much money, we were very happy.

It was during the Second World War my father received a draft notice stating that soon he would be called to duty.  We were disheartened to hear the news, but he kept working every day waiting for word to report for training. Men in many homes in our neighborhood had received a notice like my dad’s, and one by one, they left.  My father tried to explain to my sister and me that he was going to leave us for awhile to serve his country, but he would return as soon as he was able.

One day when my father and his helper were working on a two story house to install some gutters, my father was hanging in a rope and tackle held by his helper positioned above him.  Suddenly my father’s helper suddenly let go of the rope holding my father, and he plunged two floors to the ground.  He was soon rushed to the hospital, and my mother was informed of the accident. He had a badly fractured elbow, and a number of less serious injuries.

We were all relieved to hear the news.  The doctor was well respected, and we were told my father would be fine.  His arm was set in a cast, and he was admitted to a private room for a week. 

After visiting my father for a few days, my mother was alarmed to hear him yelling one day when she went to the hospital.  She said my father wouldn’t be crying out in such anguish, if it wasn’t serious.  They removed the cast and it was discovered that the arm has been set wrong and gangrene had set it.  The doctor told my mother that it was serious and my father’s arm would have to be amputated above the elbow. We were in total shock to hear the news as we had thought it wasn’t serious.  It took weeks before he was able to return home.

My father fell into a deep depression.  He could no longer work to support his Family. He would not be able to go and fight for his country; he was just “half a man,” he said.  We all felt terrible for him.  My mother tried to cheer him up, but it didn’t help.  He would just sit in his office at his business and read the paper. My mother was the bookkeeper, and she kept working and answering the phones which rang incessantly when people heard the news of my father’s accident.

One day a man came into the shop and needed some work done on some pipe he planned to take home with him.  My mother spoke to him and then went and asked if my father wished to speak to the man.  He said he couldn’t help him.  So my mother went out to try and see, with the man’s help if she could do the work. My father watched from the office window.  Finally, he opened the door and came out.  He asked the man to hold the metal sheet, and proceeded to make the gutters for him.  He struggled, gritting his teeth, but with the man’s help, he finally succeeded.  The man was delighted, and my father was relieved and felt that perhaps he could get back to work if he took it slow.

He not only got back to work, he got an artificial arm to aid him, and with the help of his employees became active again in his business.  He supported my mother, my sister and me.  He got his self-esteem and confidence back. He wasn’t going to let us down.  He worked hard, and everyone who watched him was astounded at what he accomplished.  He taught both of us girls to never quit, even when the going got tough.  We followed his advice, and we were all proud of him and tried to follow his lead.

He never went to war, never shot a gun, or won a medal for bravery, but he was our hero.  Though many men were called to the service in our neighborhood, there was not one man who returned.  They all died in battle.  My father didn’t get to serve in the war, but he was a hero to us nevertheless.  He suffered the loss of an arm, but he was still alive to serve as our father.  We were all thankful that he was alive, and was there to see us grow up, get married and have families of our own. He lived to be 83 years old, and always remained a hero to me.

Helen L. Price