"I am inclined to think that a military background wouldn't hurt anyone." ---William Faulkner
In a delightful conversation with long-time family friend Richard Jenkins, I was reminded of my father, and also his maps. Mr. Richard, of Moore & Jenkins Insurance and husband of Candy, told me a story about my dad - the late Col. (ret) Cecil Ellzey who was Commanding Officer of the Louisiana National Guard 139th Armored Cavalry and its successor the 205th Engineer Battalion - and his driver.
At summer camp one year, Richard had no sooner seen a vehicle pull up than he saw the driver exit the vehicle. He heard, "Jenkins, come here. Someone wants to see you." It was then that Mr. Richard realized, "It was your dad, in the car. He took me to the Officers Club for dinner. That meant so much."
Thinking about what I surmise was a wonderful evening, I wasn't at all surprised as Momma and Daddy went way back with Richard's parents R. L. and Chris Jenkins and his first in-laws George and Marah Moore. And on top of that, we're kin.
But back to Daddy, I discovered that he had a myriad of drivers, in the military, through the years. One of the Knights, perhaps Joey, drove him. My cousin Will Cooper was also behind the wheel as was H. L. Crain. And there were others, as I learned from Dan Passman, who as Staff Sergeant was an expert in maintenance of the vehicles and equipment in the National Guard.
Surely, these drivers carried maps. If not, Daddy definitely did. In the thirty-five years he and I shared, I learned that he was a big fan of the old-fashioned paper kind. One of the earliest of his collection that I have framed, and on the wall in my breakfast room, is a map of France issued to aviators during World War II. It was my understanding that it was to be used to pinpoint their position in the event they were shot down. Fortunately, my father never needed his. Yet, he treasured not only it but all maps, gathering them everywhere he went and laying them out on the kitchen table. All our family vacations took shape there.
And on tours of Europe, in the 1980s and 1990s, Dad came home with more maps. On the one with the 45th Field Artillery Battalion organized by Congressman William "Bill" Nichols of the Third District of Alabama, the entire journey from start to finish was perfectly planned, with an itinerary arranged to a "T." I would be remiss if I didn't say more about Bill Nichols.
Like Daddy, his good friend Bill hailed from a small Mississippi town. The Second Lieutenant, and gunnery officer, lost part of his leg from a mine that exploded in the Hurtgen Forest, Germany, on November 10, 1944.
But in his own brave words, he wrote, "the loss of a leg is certainly not the end of the road by any means." Congressman Nichols lived a full, rich life, serving in the U.S. House of Representatives for two decades. And a role model, he hunted and fished and mowed his own lawn, in Alabama and Virginia. Humility appeared his long suit. Congressman Nichols wrote to my dad, describing himself as "your old 'share cropper' friend from Alabama…."
Returning to the journey which took them from Normandy to Heerlen and Brussels, I would assume there was little to no free time with red carpet events planned for the group of World War II veterans. Still, Daddy had time to assimilate a collection of European maps. All along, he was making plans to return with my husband, daughter, and me in tow, for a journey that would mirror his - with the 28th Field Artillery Battalion, 8th Infantry Division, as a liaison pilot for the field artillery from 1943 to 1945 during World War II. Some twenty years before I was born and nearly fifty before his only grandchild arrived.
But as we know, it's always later than we think. And so it was, on his deathbed, in July of 1999, four months from diagnosis to death, that Daddy took me on two virtual tours - one of Medicare and the other of Europe, instructing me, "Get out the maps." He proceeded to detail the places we were to go, by now he knew without him. I took copious notes, filing them away as we raised our daughter and took care of my aging mother. It wasn't until twenty years later, after Betsy married, that I pulled out my material in the green folder, right where I left it all those years ago.
And my husband Rodney and I laid it all out on the kitchen table where we proceeded to plan. Exactly as the Massachusetts born writer Jack Kerouac once said, "There was nothing to talk about anymore. The only thing to do was go."
The journeys we have embarked on thus far have not been willy nilly. They are not trips of leisure; they are missions of remembrance, from Ireland to Belgium to France. They are on behalf of a U.S. army soldier, a daughter retracing her father's steps a continent away eighty something years ago. Strategic, they were planned by a military man with maps.
Digressing, Dad also had the opportunity (with a plane at his disposal) on leave to see renowned sites in Europe where he wanted us to also go - commanding, "Do not miss the tapestry." He was referring to the 70-metre-long medieval Bayeaux Tapestry, which historically has been on display at the Bayeux Museum in Normandy. And defying orders, we did miss it on our journey to the Normandy region some years ago. As I understand it, the masterpiece is nearly 1000 years old and in all that time has not been on display in the United Kingdom. But as luck would have it, the depiction of the 1066 conquest of England by the Duke of Normandy is going on display in the British Museum, which dating to 1753 is the oldest national public museum, hopefully just in time for our return to London.
And I'm pretty certain that in Daddy's things there is a map to guide us there.
