“Yes, it is,” I said. Every year, I generally drove to Houston to visit my grandfather Greg’s grave with my Dad, Ryan. This year was different, as Danni and the kids could join me for the first time, making it a family outing. I figured the kids were old enough, so I told them the story of my grandpa Greg on the way.
During World War II, Greg Jones served in the Army Air Corps as a radio operator on a B-17 Flying Fortress in the Pacific Theater. He was on one of those things the day Japan attacked Pearl Harbor. His aircraft was one of several on their way from California to the Philippines via Hawaii.
Laden with cans of gasoline, none of the aircraft had any guns mounted and were defenseless when they flew into the swarms of Japanese aircraft. Greg’s plane made it to a remote landing field but was severely damaged before it set down.
Greg’s station was destroyed, and his seat was riddled with bullets from Japanese fighters. But Greg somehow walked away from the aircraft without a scratch. That incident earned him the nickname “Lucky” Jones. His luck, however, seemed to run out in late 1943, and his aircraft was shot down. Along with the other survivors, he was taken captive by the Japanese and spent the rest of the war in a POW camp.
He was repatriated, promoted to Master Sergeant, and given a chest full of medals and his back pay. Then the Army gave him an honorable discharge and a hearty handshake. He went back to Indianapolis, but things there had changed considerably since he left in 1941.
My great-great-great-grandfather Jedediah and his brother Obadiah both died in 1943. They were well into their 80s. The family eventually sold the small chain of stores they had owned since the early 1830s to a growing national chain, dividing the proceeds among the family. The old house the family had owned since the 1850s was also sold to make room for “developments.”
Greg took his share of the profits and moved to Texas, where he spent the next six years at the University of Texas. He earned a Master’s Degree in Electronics Engineering, with a particular focus on radio communications. That’s where he met the woman who would become my grandmother.
Greg worked for a rather large company for several years and eventually ended up at NASA, where he retired in 1985. He died a few years after retiring, and my grandmother followed him a couple years later.
I was very young when Greg died, so I didn’t get the chance to know him very well. Dad said he rarely talked about the war and never spoke of his time in the POW camp. I did some research on that and shuddered at the accounts I read.
We finally arrived at the cemetery, so I parked the car and got out. I stretched my legs as Danni got the children out of the back seat. We walked, hand-in-hand, into the well-manicured cemetery and followed the concrete path to the grave site, where my father was already waiting for us.
“There ya are,” Dad said with a smile as the children ran to greet him. He picked them up and gave them each a big hug and a kiss, then pulled out a caramel candy.
“You’re spoiling them, Dad,” I said as we hugged.
“Well, isn’t that what granddads are for?” he asked. He gave Danni a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, which she returned.
“So, how’s Mom doing?” I asked.
“She’s doing alright, but her arthritis is acting up a bit and she’s been pretty tired lately, so she stayed home to get some rest,” Dad said. “She said to tell y’all she loves ya and she misses ya.”
“Be sure to tell her we love her and miss her, too,” I said.
“I will,” Dad said. We planted flags and placed flowers on Grandpa’s grave, then sat and listened to Dad tell us stories about growing up with his father.
“Will Grandpa Greg come visit us the way Grandpa Elijah does?” little Elizabeth asked.
“Oh, I reckon anything’s possible,” Dad said, giving me his famous “we need to talk” look. Danni noticed the look Dad gave me and intervened.
“Come on, kids, it’s been a long day,” she said, holding out her hands. The kids grabbed her hands and left for the visitor center to use the bathrooms. When they were out of earshot, Dad turned to me.
“Have they really seen your great grandfather?” he asked. I’ve never lied to Dad before, and I wasn’t about to start now. I thought for a moment before answering.
“Yeah, Dad, they have. Several times. He comes by to visit with them, tell them stories,” I said.
“But that’s not all, is it?” Dad said. I shook my head.
“No, Dad, it’s not,” I said. Dad nodded his head as he thought.
“To tell you the truth, I’m not surprised,” he said, pulling a small box from his pocket. “Dad gave me something the day I left for boot camp back in ’78. ‘Just in case,’ he said. Then he told me something I never forgot. Claimed Grandpa Eli gave this to him the day he left Indianapolis for the war. Warned him he might face some hard times and promised him that justice was riding with him no matter what.
“Dad was convinced Grandpa Eli was watching over him, protecting him. He never told anyone about that. Grandpa Eli was your best man, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, Dad, he was,” I said. Dad chuckled as he nodded his head.
“I thought so,” he said. “Your mother thought he looked awful familiar. Who was the woman with him?”
“That was Grandma Lizzy,” I said. His eyes grew wide at that.
“Really? Who were those other fellows with him?”
“You’d never believe me, Dad,” I said.
“I don’t know. Try me,” Dad said.
“Bat Masterson, Wyatt Earp, Doc Holliday, Bill Tilghman, Wild Bill Hickok, and Bill McDonald, one of the greatest Texas Ranger captains in history.” I asked.
“Is that a fact?” Dad asked.
“Yes,” I said. “In fact, Mom even danced with them.” Dad laughed at that.
“Your mother actually danced with Wyatt Earp, Bat Masterson, Doc Holliday and Wild Bill Hickok?” Dad asked.
“She sure did,” I said. “Had a pretty good time, too, as I recall. You reckon I should tell her one of these days?”
“I think she’d get a kick out of that,” Dad said. “But there’s more to this story, isn’t there?”
“Yes, Dad,” I said. “A lot more. And before you ask, yes, Danni knows all about him. I’ll tell you all about it one of these days.”
“I look forward to that,” he said. “Just do me a favor and don’t wait too long,” Dad said, wincing just a bit. “You know, son, I was going to put this on your grandfather’s headstone. But after what you just told me, I think you should have it.” He handed the box to me, and I opened it to see a small crucifix. I held it in my hand and looked on the back, where I saw the initials “EJ.” I put it back in the box and slipped it into my pocket.
“Thank you, Dad,” I said. “I appreciate it. I’m sure Grandpa would understand.”
“I’m sure he would. He thought the world of you,” Dad said, looking at Greg’s headstone. Just then, Danni and the children returned.
“Well? Is everything okay?” she asked.
“Yes, everything is fine, sweetheart,” I said. “I just told Dad about Grandpa Eli.”
“I’ll bet you have some pretty interesting conversations around the dinner table,” Dad told her. Danni chuckled at that.
“Yes, you could say that. In fact, there’s hardly a dull day around our place,” she said. We talked for a bit longer, then Dad looked at his watch.