I Know A Hero!

This post was written about my Dad, G.C. Miller, about two weeks before he went home to be with the Lord! I find myself missing him in the oddest moments. I miss him when my daughter calls to tell me something his two great-grandsons did or said...you see, I always called him and gave him the latest news about those two, and now I can't. I came across this post and thought it was still something that might mean something to our family and friends.



Well, I suppose I owe an explanation for the reason I have not posted since late November. First there was Christmas and grandsons visiting and then I was busy with work. Then in late January, my dad went into the hospital and has been there until this week, when he was moved to a short-term skilled nursing facility, at least that's what the doctors and health care professionals call it. I could write multiple posts about the state of health care in this country (PLEASE DO NOT READ THAT STATEMENT AS SUPPORT FOR OBAMACARE OR ANYTHING LIKE IT!), but I won't.


I would like to tell you about my dad. You see, I have amazing memories of my dad. One of the first memories I have was when I was about 4 years old. My dad took me and Jack (my first dog, the best pointer ever!) to an area that today is filled with suburban houses and elementary schools, but in those days it was prime quail hunting territory. All I really remember about the trip was that when I became too tired of trying to keep up with what I saw as giant steps, my dad picked me up and carried me on his shoulders back to the car. When I couldn't go any farther, he carried me. I guess you could say that was my first picture of what a father should be like. Over the years, I can remember so many times that my dad either stood beside me or somehow "carried" me and for that I will be eternally grateful and both time and computer memory would fail me should I try to write them all down.

A lot of people throw the word hero around and try to apply it to people whose lives and character is anything but heroic. My dad was different; he was the real thing! I remember that as a child, I learned that my dad had fought in the Korean Conflict and that he had been awarded the Bronze Star for valor in battle, but I did not know the rest of the story, as Paul Harvey would say. I remember vividly, to this day when I heard him tell the story of his wartime experience to my brother and me. It was the summer before I was to marry (we had not told anyone, even our parents at this point) and my dad and brother and I were driving back from a fishing trip, on the Texas coast. I was driving and my dad and brother were dozing as best they could, when my dad realized I was getting that glassy-eyed look and he began to talk in a low volume. We talked about lots of things, but two things stand out to me today. The first was that he looked at me and said that marrying the right woman had meant all the difference in his life, second only to his salvation and relationship with Jesus Christ. I have told this to my kids, to other young people and to anyone who would listen, because it is still true today (funny how that absolute truth thing works!) The second thing he told me was about how he won the Bronze Star.

In September of 1950, the North Korean armies had poured across the 38th parallel and were about to push the South Koreans and the US troops stationed in Korea, off the peninsula and into the sea. Things were desperate and to save the country of South Korea would require desperate measures. This took the form of an amphibious landing at Inchon. There was apparently little confidence on the part of US commanders, that this would be successful. However, they felt they had to do something and this would be it. As it turned out, the US forces, lead by the 1st Marine Division (with whom my dad was assigned as a Navy hospital corpsman) overran the North Koreans and broke out of what was called the Pusan Perimeter. It was during the early parts of the invasion, that my dad won his Bronze Star. It seems that the North Koreans had my dad's unit pinned down with machine gun fire, behind a rice paddy dike. A wounded Marine lay out in the rice paddy, some 300 yards away. As he called out, "Corpsman! I'm hit!", my dad looked at the 1st Sergeant, who told him there was no way to get him back without getting more Marines shot up. My dad told him to get the platoon ready, that he was going over the dike and take 3 Marines with him to bring the wounded man back. My dad said to have everyone fire when he went over the dike, to keep the North Koreans' heads down. It was a good plan, until they reached the wounded Marine. It was at that point that the North Koreans decided they would come to the ball and open up with .50 caliber machine guns again. My dad and the other Marines carried the wounded Marine out and as it turned out no one was hit, except of course the previously wounded Marine, who was shot again (apparently, it was not his day!) My brother and I were both staring at my dad, with open mouths. My dad ended the story by saying, "So, they gave me a medal, but anyone of those guys would have done the same thing." I remember thinking, "I doubt that, dad!" He went on to tell us about his experience at Chosin Reservoir, on the North Korean and Chinese border, when 16,000 Marines of the 1st Division held off more than 160,000 North Koreans and Communist Chinese, in what would go down in the history of the USMC and this nation as the real picture of what is means to defend liberty. At one point, the Marine commander, General "Howlin' Mad" Smith was told to leave behind all his equipment and wounded and retreat to save as many Marines as he could. Smith replied to MacArthur, "No thank you sir! We'll come back just like we went, with all my boys accounted for. Marines do not leave other Marines." After 30 days of sleeping less than 2 hours a day, fighting untold battles with vastly superior forces, eating frozen C-rations and living in temperatures that routinely dropped to -40 below, the men of the 1st Marine Division, including my dad, returned to the port city of Hungnam...with their wounded and dead. When asked by the press about "the retreat", General Smith said, "When you are surrounded it is impossible to retreat! The only thing you can do is attack in a different direction!" The men of the 1st Marine Division became known as "The Chosin Few" and my dad was one of them.

As I look at my dad though, I do not see a war hero, even though he was one. I do not see a man who was hard working engineer who designed and built modern industrial equipment and automated entire sectors of the US spring manufacturing business, even though he did. I do not even see an elder in the church, even though he was. No, when I look at my dad, I see the father that carried me on his shoulders when I couldn't make it on my own. You see, that's a hero...in my book. I know a hero!