Don Follis 1/26/01 News-Gazette Religion column:  "Simple men with deep
simple faith"
        My mother says, "I have no idea what your father is thinking.  He never
talks."  Dad and Mom have been happily married nearly 50 years, and they
have a terrific relationship.  And of course my Dad talks.  He loves to talk.  He never brags; he's not
particularly philosophical and he's never insincere.  It's true that he's
not a man who openly shares his deep emotions, and he never talks about his
experience during the Korean War.  Never.
        I think I've just met a man who understands my father.  In fact, he
described him with such an uncanny accuracy I was overwhelmed with both
emotion and gratitude for my own father.  The man's name is James Bradley,
the author of a gripping new book called "Flags of Our Fathers," (Bantam
Books, 2000).
        Bradley's book is the story of the six men who raised the American Flag
on Iwo Jima on Feb. 23, 1945.  Historian Stephen Ambrose calls the book "The
best battle book I ever read."  The picture of the six Americans who raised the flag atop Iwo Jima's Mount
Suribachi became one of the most reproduced images ever.  One of the men in
the picture, the man most prominently displayed, is John Bradley, the
father of the author James Bradley.
        John Bradley was a medic during the fierce battle on Iwo Jima.  He saw it
all on the five by two-mile island plopped in the Pacific Ocean a 1000
miles south of Japan. In barely a month, the American boys killed 21,000
Japanese and suffered more than 26,000 casualties doing so. John Bradley
himself was seriously injured before being evacuated to Guam and finally
back to the United States, where he recovered from his wounds.
        After Bradley returned to the States, he married a hometown girl from
Antigo, Wis., raised eight children and ran a successful funeral home.  The
author's mother told him that John Bradley wept in his sleep for the first
five years of their marriage.  But he never talked about the war.  Not even
with his wife.  He was awarded the Navy Cross, which is only awarded for extraordinary
heroism in operations against an armed enemy, and his family, not even his
wife, knew it until after his death in 1994.
        My own father fought with the 7th Infantry Division on the front lines
during the Korean conflict.  He fought in 1950 and 1951.  He returned to
Kansas, immediately married his sweetheart and worked for the same company
for 44 years.  But, like John Bradley, my dad will not talk about his
fighting days.  He never has.
        One day a few years ago my mom said, "Dad has never told me a thing about
fighting.  I think it's because what he saw was too terrible to put in
words.  He knew there was no glory in war.  Dad coped with it by getting on
with life."
        That's just the way John Bradley did it, too.  He was a believing,
practicing Catholic.  He went to Mass every Sunday, confessed his sins and
said the Rosary.  "Jeepers Christmas" was the worst oath he ever swore.
"Church for him was a bright soothing presence. … All of it was
straightforward, practical, solid -- just like John Bradley," writes his
son James.  
        Actions always speak louder than words, my dad said often.  Dad is a
believing, practicing Protestant.  I've never heard him swear.  He doesn't
smoke or drink.  He still works 40 hours a week.  He even put that in his
Christmas letter.  Dad says a person needs to work hard and serve his community.  He is an
uncomplicated man.  He is on the city council, and serves as the president
of the Lion's Club in Colby, Kan.  He teaches Sunday School, and he leads a
mid-week Bible study. 
        When I was in high school I saw my dad's Army uniform for the first time.
I told him I thought he was a real war hero, having fought in frontline
battles.  He would have nothing of it.  "I'm no hero," he said sternly.
"We did what we were called to do.  The real heroes did not return home."
That was it.  He's never mentioned it again.
        John Bradley, my dad and so many men of their generation never thought of
themselves of heroes.  James Bradley writes that they were led by "common
virtue, not uncommon valor."
        I will defer to my dad.  He is no hero.  He's just an ordinary man who
loves his wife, his five kids and his grandchildren.  No hidden agendas.
Simple as that.

Reprinted with permission from the Champaign-Urbana News-Gazette,
copyright, 2001.