Alfred "Bud" Iverson, Army TEC5, WWII, The Pacific

Grandpa on a Pacific island in WWII.

Grandpa and Grandma and Owen.

My grandpa, Alfred "Bud" Iverson, died seven years ago.  He was a big part of the "reality" of my growing up--I knew we would see him and Grandma at least a couple times a year when we would make the eight hour trip to Minnesota or they would make their way south to Illinois.  I knew that when we met or said goodbye, I'd get a firm embrace from him that included a brush of his scratchy cheek against mine and a good whiff of whatever shaving lotion he used, as well as a "Hi, Coley!!"  I don't remember him having a job; I guess he had retired from the US Postal Service and the hardware store by the time I was old enough to think about that sort of thing.  Their house was always neat and simply decorated, and I never wanted to sleep in the basement when we stayed with them because there were some life-sized dolls that kind of freaked me out.  But most of all, I was sure that I had grandparents who loved my brothers, cousins, and me, and made us feel important, and showed us that family is important, too.

There was something else I always kind of vaguely knew about Grandpa, and that was that he had fought in World War II in several battles on several different Pacific islands.  Honestly, it wasn't something I cared that much about when I was a child--it was just an interesting fact.  As I got older, I was more entranced by Grandma's tales of their forty-month separation while he was in training and then overseas.  It blew my child's mind, and then my teen-aged-girl's mind that they remained faithfully in love through letters!  I suppose that accounts for Grandma's commitment to paper correspondence right up until she died two years ago.  

Several years ago, my oldest brother received some of Grandpa's artifacts from the war, including a Japanese flag retrieved from a Japanese soldier.  These things sparked some interest in me, but not enough to really ask questions.  Besides that, my dad had made it clear over the years that Grandpa didn't talk much about his wartime experiences except to say that it was "horrible" and "wet."  My dad told me a few years ago that in his own quest to understand his dad, who was prone to temper and periods of not saying much, that he read the book The Thin Red Line by James Jones, a novel of the war in the Pacific.  After reading its descriptions of the campaign on Guadalcanal, my dad asked Grandpa to read it.  When Grandpa was done and dad asked him if it was an accurate portrayal, Grandpa answered, "yep," and said little else on the subject.

I'm not sure when my interest in Grandpa's time in the Army was heightened, but I suspect it may have been at his funeral, which was preceded by his burial at Ft. Snelling National Cemetery.  I was overwhelmed by the respect shown to my grandpa in the small ceremony, not to mention the thousands of small, uniform, white headstones seemingly endlessly laid out across the grounds.  His passing allowed me to attend to another side of grandpa that I hadn't known much of in his life.  I became drawn to stories of World War II, fiction and non-fiction, movies, documentaries, and series like Band of Brothers, and The Pacific on HBO.  I am so grateful to historians like Ken Burns, and film-makers like Tom Hanks, as well as countless others who are committed to preserving history.  Shouldn't we all know what has gone before us to grant us the freedoms we so easily embrace?  

There was a Veteran's Day assembly at the kids' school today.  It was packed with the kids, some parents and families, and veterans.  It was amazing.  As the men and women were introduced before being seated, I couldn't help the tears as I wondered what stories they might have to tell--whether from the midst of battles or from stateside hospitals where they cared for wounded who were returning from battle, or from desks behind which they worked to support our troops, wherever they may be....  I was overwhelmed with the fact that what they have done and are doing is a really big deal.  And I'm grateful, and humbled.

But here's the thing--as I think about some of this, I don't think my grandpa really thought his service was much more than something that happened during his lifetime that he dealt with as he was called to do; he was a humble man who had great pride in our country and great love for his family.   I wonder if any of those veterans at the assembly today could relate?   I couldn't speak for them, but I sure want them to know I am grateful to them.  I will certainly keep trying to pin down information about his time in the army, but I will also be thankful for whatever part he played in the victory in World War II, and for that which I do know beyond a doubt--he was a good man, and he loved his family, and I am blessed to be a part of it.