the tindog coffeehouse

My grandfather, Cleo Richards, was inducted into the United States Army on October 16, 1942, and would become a radio operator in the 96th Signal Corp, part of the 96th Infantry Division. He was one of over 100,000 U.S. troops to fight in the battle of Leyte Island in the Philippines during World War II, and it was there that he nearly lost his life.

In his memoirs, he wrote:

On October 20, 1944, we invaded Leyte Island, which was part of the Philippine Islands. The Navy and Air Force bombarded the shore of the island for three days prior to landing. The purpose was to drive the Japs inland so we could land with a minimum of casualties. After three days, troops began to land. Our company was among the first to leave the troop ship and head for land.  … When we reached shore, the front end of the landing boat was loaded, and we were ready to hit the beach. It was a gruesome sight and a weird feeling. Dead Japs were scattered around as a result of the shelling of the area prior to our landing. My job was to go inland 200-300 yards and find a spot that would be adequate to set up our command post. I was to set up my sending and receiving set and send a message to headquarters, which was still aboard ship, notifying them that we had landed. …

I was on duty all that day, all night and until about noon the next day. When I was finally relieved, I went to a nearby tree, sat down, leaned against the tree trunk and tried to pull myself together and relax. That didn’t last long because all of a sudden a very large shell landed right in the middle of our command post. It was so powerful it blew a hole in the ground large enough to drive a semi-truck in. The explosion sent chunks of shrapnel every direction. When I heard the explosion, I immediately headed for a foxhole and dove in head first. After the situation settled down a bit, I raised my head to look things over and noticed blood on the ground where my head had been lying. Then I noticed my face was bleeding. I didn’t realize I had been hit. I was sent to the first-aid station for treatment, but they were not equipped to remove the object from my face. It entered my face about two inches below my eye. All they could do was put a patch on it. By that time, the whole side of my face was badly swollen, and my eye was almost swollen shut. Since there was nothing else they could do for me, they put me back aboard ship.

My grandfather was lucky enough to survive his injury, but over 3,500 U.S. troops who fought to recapture Leyte Island were not.

After his injury, my grandfather was sent home to a hospital on the island of Guadalcanal, where he was awarded the Purple Heart. He was discharged on April 27, 1945. He would later go to work as an accountant in West Texas and become a father, a grandfather, and a great-grandfather before passing away in 2006 at the age of 89.

Growing up, I knew that my Papa had fought in World War II and had been injured, but like many veterans, he rarely talked about his time in the service. Instead, what I remember most about him is the love he had for his family and for the Lord. He is an amazing example of what it means to be a husband, a father, a man, and most importantly, a follower of Jesus Christ.

These are the men and women we remember on Memorial Day, the ones who willingly gave themselves up to defend our freedom. And I’m forever grateful of the sacrifices they have made.

Below: My grandfather during his time in the service.

Below: In 2004, with my daughter Erin, who was 1 at the time.

Below: A brick commemorating my grandfather’s service at the Veteran’s War Memorial in Lubbock, Texas.