My father was an amazing human being. He served time in the Navy during WWII on the USS St. Paul Ship. Docked in Pearl Harbor, June 10th 1945, my father had the unfortunate fate of losing his leg at the young age of 19. A mate on the ship accidently hit a switch that released the big cannon gun that drops from an erect position when ready to fire. Daddy was sitting in the pit where this gun drops to, and it smashed his leg right off. In shock, he felt nothing but screamed for help to re-attach his leg. He was then flown to Oakland, CA for care. He stayed in the hospital for four months and was then flown to a veteran's hospital in Philadelphia. It was there that my grandparents learned of my father's situation. Only they were imigrants from Italy and did not understand the English language completely. The letter they received said that my father had a 'fractured' leg. My grandfather went to a doctor to ask what 'fractured' meant - only to learn that it was broken. Grampa took a two hour train ride from Westport, CT to the city of Philadelphia to see daddy, and to find out that he had tragically lost his right leg. Grampa wept and carried with him always what his oldest son had to sacrifice for his family and his country. My father came out better than ok...
My father was now sporting a wooden leg and after two cumulative years in the hospitals recovering, daddy was released and returned to Westport where he attended and received a certificate from The Bulova School of Watch Making. He went on from there to become a diamond expert and used his talents in both of these areas.
Also upon returning from the hospital, the government bought my father a brand new Oldsmobile that had the mechanisms rearranged so my father could drive with his left leg. Below is the picture that was in the newspaper. |
