OPINION: Chris Kelly Opinion: Living history
Aug. 21—Joe McDonnell is a dream subject for a Veterans Day column.
The Pittston native fought in some of the most historic battles of World War II, came home, married a high school sweetheart and built a varied career that ranged from casket maker to grounds superintendent at the University of Scranton.
And he makes a mean zucchini pizza. Take my word for it.
Joe called me on a recent Friday and asked when we would get together for an interview.
"I've got you penciled in for the week of Veterans Day," I said. "That's not until Nov. 11, which is four months from now."
"I'm 96 years old," he said.
"I'll be there Monday," I replied.
Joe and Joan, his wife of 46 years, live in a small, cozy home in a quiet Scranton neighborhood. The house is a showplace of World War II memorabilia and Joe's wood carvings. The former casket maker is a master carpenter. Joe built all the cabinets. He and Joan canned the vegetables that fill them, too.
After Joan's welcoming smile, the first thing that caught my eye was the spurs.
They hang on a plaque. The plate reads: Sgt. Joseph McDonnell U.S. Cavalry.
When their country called, the McDonnells answered. Joe and four of his brothers fought in World War II, Korea, or both. Paul, Marty, Leo and Bobby are gone now, but Joe keeps their memories alive in a frame on the living room wall.
Joe was 18 and a junior in high school when he was drafted into the Army in 1944. He claims he was dating five cheerleaders at the time. I don't doubt him.
Joe sailed to Europe on the Queen Mary. He was shipped to France and assigned to the storied 101st Cavalry Reconnaissance Squadron as a scout. His job was to go ahead of infantry and tank battalions to assess enemy positions and choose targets.
Joe was on his own and under fire a few times, but he slept through what was likely his closest brush with death.
"I was so damn tired this one time, and I went down in this wine cellar to rest," he said. "And then I hear the (German soldiers) right outside the door with their tank. I could hear them talking and everything, but I was so tired and I fell asleep. I didn't even hear them leave. You get to a point where you just don't care anymore."
Like other WWII vets I've been blessed to interview, Joe has a matter-of-fact way of describing the carnage he witnessed. It sounds like detachment, but I hear it as reverence for the dead.
The 109th Infantry of the Pennsylvania Army National Guard was essential to several key Allied victories, including the pivotal "Battle of the Bulge." The 109th is a unit of the 28th Infantry, ancestor of the state Guard. The 28th's distinctive crimson Keystone patch and its ferocity in battle inspired German soldiers to dub it the "Bucket of Blood" division.
The 28th Infantry Division suffered more than 17,000 casualties between D-Day and V-E Day. Joe saw the cost firsthand.
"At the Bulge, the 109th got slaughtered," he said. "You couldn't walk from here to the door without stepping on four or five people. They were slaughtered. You look over and see a guy kneeling down with his gun but his head isn't there. It's over there..."
The 101st Cavalry was among the first units to join in the liberation of Nazi death camps. We didn't talk about what Joe saw there. Another time, maybe.
"You try to forget these things," he said. "Over time, it gets easier."
Joe was discharged in 1946, with a bad case of trench foot his only physical war wound. He finished high school and married one of the cheerleaders, the late Josephine LaVerdi. The couple had a son, Joe, 72, an Air Force veteran who lives in Inkerman, Luzerne County. Joe has two grandsons and two great-grandsons.
Joe and Joan, 91, live a happy, loving life in a small, cozy home on a quiet street in Scranton. Passing by, you wouldn't know that inside at a table carving wood and canning vegetables sits a hero who helped save the world.
Or that his zucchini pizza is surprisingly tasty.
Of the 16 million Americans who served in World War II, about 240,000 are still with us, according to the Department of Veterans Affairs. The department projects the number to plummet to about 168,000 by September. Each of these veterans is living history, a time capsule of experience, strength and hope in determined defiance of ignorance, brutality and fear.
If you are ever blessed with an opportunity to spend time with a dream subject like Joe McDonnell, take it. It may never come again. The average age of World War II veterans is 93.
When I shook Joe's hand, it struck me that when he was just 18 years old, that same hand helped hold back the global tide of fascism and defeat the greatest evil in modern history.
What a gift it is to shake that hand, and to know the man behind it. Joe invited me back in a couple of weeks for a jar of his home-canned pickled peppers.
I'll be there. God willing, Joe will, too.
CHRIS KELLY, the Times-Tribune columnist, thanks the Greatest Generation for pulling together to save the world. Read his award-winning blog at timestribuneblogs.com/Kelly.
Contact the writer:
kellysworld@timesshamrock.com; @cjkink on Twitter; Chris Kelly, The Times-Tribune on Facebook.
