U.S. Marines don’t cry.
But the eyes of John Kilionski, who served in the Corps from 1961-67, definitely did soften Wednesday morning at Senior Monongalians.
It’s not like it was a war story, he said.
Or that it was even any kind of a big deal.
Except, on both counts, maybe it was.
He was remembering his long-ago platoon mate, a big guy from North Dakota he simply called, “Bulldog.” Bulldog, in turn, christened his buddy from West Virginia, “Ski” — since he kept getting tripped up on the syllables and “k” sounds.
“Yeah, who can say, ‘Kilionski?’ ” the owner of the handle mused, rhetorically, Wednesday morning at Senior
Monongalians.
Ski and Bulldog were both on base that day when they found out that Jack Kennedy was never going to get to try out that rocking chair.
It was a beaut. Gleaming white and embossed with the presidential seal.
Ella looks the other way at Goodyear
After all these years, the eyes of Anna Hess still crinkle with girlish mirth.
That’s when she remembers lying about her age to get that Rosie the Riveter job at Goodyear in Akron, Ohio, after Pearl Harbor.
She’s not making light of World War II, which was serious business.
It just that her mother, Ella King, who also got hired as a Rosie, forbade fibbing as a rule — except in this instance.
Hess was getting away with one, for the benefit of her country.
Kilionski and Hess both answered their country’s call, and that’s why they were at the senior center in Mountaineer Mall on a brisk morning, five days before Veterans Day.
It was a roll call of honor, Debbie Clarke said.
Clarke is a Senior Monongalians administrator who helped organize the gathering, which was sponsored in part by West Virginia Caring and the National Hospice Association.
The Senior Monongalians observance was held in advance of Monday’s national Veterans Day holiday, she said, since the center is closed that day.
“This way, we’re still recognizing people,” she said.
“We’re proud of them and grateful for what they did for us.”
Twenty veterans — and one Rosie the Riveter — all came forward as their names were called. Each received a commemorative pin and certificate of appreciation.
Afterwards, they all stood shoulder-to-shoulder for a group photograph. Some navigated with canes and walkers. Others stood at attention, or parade rest, or a combination thereof.
With the exception of Hess, most were either of the Korea or Vietnam eras, making them America’s original cold warriors.
There were sepia-toned photographs of smiling young faces in service portraits and candid snapshots.
Hess, meanwhile, said she’s happy she’s gotten to be the face of Rosie in recent years across north-central West Virginia and Europe, even.
She’s made two trips to Holland in recent years for ceremonies honoring America’s feminine workforce on the home front.
At Goodyear, the-then teenager painstakingly built Jeep and truck tires one layer at time, using recycled rubber. The wire mesh and solvent ripped her hands and made them bleed daily.
The woman who was 15 when she fibbed in the personnel office to get the job will carry the Rosie-mantle, “For as long as I can.”
A reunion — and the sergeant not afraid to show emotion
A few years ago, Ski and Bulldog recaptured some of their youth, when the buddy from North Dakota was finally about to locate his buddy from West Virginia.
Kilionski happily drove to the airport in Pittsburgh to retrieve his friend.
Six weeks later, Bulldog was dead of cancer.
U.S. Marines don’t cry, but Ski may have brushed a tear after he hung up the phone.
That big sergeant, though, definitely wasn’t shy about shedding tears on that long-ago November back in the Philippines.
He was crying openly as he carried out his orders to inform everyone on base about Dallas.
President Kennedy was slated to visit Japan in 1964.
The trip was already getting attention as JFK, who had distinguished himself a hero as a PT boat commander in the Pacific in World War II, would be reaching out to the people he once defined as the enemy.
With his security clearance and reputation as a Marine who could get it done, Kilionski was going to be the president’s driver.
The admiral had even requisitioned the custom rocking chair for the president and his aching, wartime back.
“And then they told us that he’d been shot.”
