Column: Tales of adventure from the life of 'Greatest Generation' man Bill Polley

Tom Brokaw in his best-selling book "The Greatest Generation" (1998) brings to light the marvelous qualities of young men and women who fought in WWII. These young people grew up in poverty-like conditions, knew the meaning of hard work, and were willing to make heroic sacrifices.

One of those men who exemplified such a spirit was a Monroe County product named William (“Bill”) Polley. Bill was born in 1924 and raised in a very simple, modest home on Brock Road near Brummett’s Creek in Unionville. I met Bill late in life, in April of 2017. For the next seven years, I stayed in touch with him until he passed away on Aug. 25.

Here are some things that he shared with me which are a testimony to a life well lived.

Moonshine and the last time he drank

When Bill was 10 years old, he and his brother, Austin, were asked to help his paternal grandparents with a slight social issue.

His grandmother made moonshine to help support the family. One day her cousin, Alvin Skirvin, who was the local sheriff, paid her a visit. He informed her that tomorrow there was going to be a raid on the property. Therefore, she had best hide all her moonshine.

So they loaded up eight jugs of 90-proof whiskey onto a wagon and the two boys pulled the wagon up over a hill and buried the jugs in the ground.

When he was no more than 12 years old, he and Austin got into their grandfather’s whiskey barn. Their grandpa was a “moonshiner” and kept 10 50-gallon barrels of whiskey in storage. Well, Bill and Austin decided to try a little for themselves.

Bill got drunk and when they started back home, he couldn’t walk. To get home, they had to hike over a hill, and Bill couldn’t make it. In fact, just before he passed out, he shouted to Austin, “Help me! I can’t walk.” Austin hollered back, “That’s your problem,” and he left Bill lying on the ground — now passed out drunk.

When Austin got home, his mother wanted to know where Bill was. He explained that Bill had been drinking, so she headed out to find him. Sure enough, there he was — passed out drunk. She cut down a limb from a nearby apple tree and switched him all the way home.

That was the last time that Bill could ever remember drinking.

Salt shakers and shenanigans

At the age of only 14 years old, Bill bought a used Oldsmobile. He recalled it was probably a 1933 model, paid $400 down, and then made monthly payments of $32. Because he was only 14 at the time and had no driver’s license, he had to take precautions to avoid the police. So he would keep to the back roads, the gravel roads, the county roads.

One day he and his friend, Peck, drove over to Bloomfield and on their way back they came across a flatbed truck loaded with watermelons. Because the truck was going slow, and they were going up a hill, maybe even on gravel, Peck got out of the car, ran alongside the flatbed and then jumped up on the hood of the car. At this point, Bill pulled the Oldsmobile right up to the back end of that truck so that Peck could reach out and take a watermelon. Then they headed to Bloomington.

When they arrived, they went to the north side of the square and “borrowed” two salt shakers out of a restaurant. Next, they drove over to Salt Creek where they cut open the melon and ate it.

There is one redeeming element to this story: the boys did return the salt shakers to that restaurant.

Life takes a different direction

Before there was Bob Knight, there was Branch McCracken. This man led Indiana University to two national championships in basketball (1940, 1953), and the court at Assembly Hall is named in his honor. He came to IU in 1938 and coached there until 1965, with a three-year break because of the war.

When Bill was a 10th grader at Unionville High School, he scored 28 points in a 35/36 loss to Bloomington. Coach McCracken not only watched Bill play, but actually came to the house for an in-person visit. Obviously, Bill had attracted the attention of a coach who was on track to soon win a national championship.

But Bill would not get to play at IU. With the passing of his dad, Bill quit school to help support the family. At age 19, he joined the Army and ended up in Europe as an infantryman fighting in the war.

Bill was not sure if he was in France or Belgium, but his feet froze up in the winter cold while fighting from a foxhole. He soon landed in a hospital in Paris. Both feet were black from being frozen, and he was told they might have to amputate. In fact, both legs were circled, 4 inches above the ankle, with a line of some kind where they would make their cut.

Bill begged them not to cut.

An Army nurse, one Lieutenant French, informed him that they had a new experimental drug (penicillin) that might save his feet — would he like to try? “Yes!”

Two weeks later, Lieutenant French was checking his feet when she exclaimed, “Polley, blood! Blood! You are getting blood to your feet. The color of your feet has gone from black to purple!” And so it happened that his feet were saved.

Bill came home. Rather than spend the money on a bus ticket from North Carolina, Bill decided he would rather hitchhike and then give the money to his mother. Flagging down the very first car, he was fortunate. The guy took Bill all the way to Indy and then paid his bus fare to Bloomington.

Bill got off the bus, still dressed in uniform and on crutches. He was down on the square, when he saw his mother standing in front of the old Penney’s store on the west side of the square. He tapped her on the shoulder and when she turned around and saw Bill, she thought it was a ghost and she literally fainted. But Bill was home.

It's just a little snow

In the notorious blizzard of ’78, Bill’s car did not have 4-wheel drive, but he felt this great need to get to work at Johnson’s Creamery. So he saddled up his horse (“Lady Brown”) and headed to town.

In some places there were snow drifts of 10 or more feet; however, Bill was determined to show up for work. One of his two sons, Jerry, saw what was happening and caught up to his dad.

As Bill recalled it, his son told him in rather strong language to get back to the house. I said, “You mean he told you to get your butt back to the house!” Bill said, “Yes, he did. The police ordered all roads closed that day.”

A funeral in a bar

Eventually Bill became a man of faith and found joy in serving the Lord. A cousin of Bill’s named Harold had moved to Gila Bend, Arizona, where he opened up a bar and grill. Eventually Harold passed away and the minister did not want to do the funeral because Harold had left instructions that he wanted the funeral service to be held in the tavern.

Since the minister declined, the family turned to Bill and asked if he would be willing to do it. He accepted the invitation, although he had never preached a sermon before. Anyway, he had no difficulty doing a funeral service in a tavern.

His brother, Austin, who had travelled with him to Gila Bend was impressed with the way Bill handled everything. He asked him, “How did you know what to say?” Bill said, “I waited on the Lord until the Lord gave me something to say.” Bill preached his message from Psalm 23.

As I end this story of a life well lived, I wish to acknowledge the efforts of his son, Larry, and his grandson, Carson, who cared for Bill after the passing of Bill’s wife on May 27.

For nearly 90 days, Larry and Carson arrived at the house morning, noon, and night to get Bill out of bed, feed him, clean him up, and put him back to bed at night. Bill had simply reached the point physically when he could no longer do those things for himself. The care which Larry and Carson showed this man enabled Bill to remain at home until he passed away on Aug. 25, 2023.

Had he lived a bit longer, he would have turned 99 on Dec. 27.

Preston T. Massey, PhD, is a resident of Bloomington.

This article originally appeared on The Herald-Times: Column recounts tales from Monroe County resident Bill Polley