- Pronouns
- He/Him
Hometown Hero: Sgt. James P. Connor
February 21st 2018
By Olde Delaware
I have talked about where I am from, heck, its even in my name. Delaware, the first State to ratify the Constitution. Second smallest state in the country. Just under one million residents. Three counties. Home to the 47th Vice President of the United States Joseph Robinette Biden. When you think Delaware, you think DuPont, Joe Biden and most likely that's about it.
The heart of our state is in our cities and towns, my town for example lies just outside the boundaries of our biggest city, Wilmington. Were not known for much, one of the officers who lost their lives in the line of duty that rests in my signature was born and raised here, Lt. Joseph Szczerba. A baseball player who pitched a perfect game in baseball's infancy resided here, on my street no less. But this story is about my other neighbor, who I only had the pleasure of meeting once but has been and will remain etched in my memory.
Sergeant James P. Connor.
My neighborhood was built in 1947, right after the end of the war and during the baby boom. My dad's family was the first to occupy the house and many others soon followed into the new neighborhood. My dad would tell me tons of stories about growing up here, playing in the fields and pointing out that things are never the same when you get older. I will assume that other dads are like this. But when I was around 6 years old, a few years after my dad came back from Desert Storm disabled, he took me on a walk around the neighborhood to meet some of the old families that still lived here.
I got to meet a gentleman who worked for DuPont during the 1930s and who remembers the day that DuPont announced the discovery of Nylon. A man and woman who had done Vaudeville for a time, I can't remember their act and I met Mr. James P. Connor, who lived right up the street. Now, I was a little bit of a wild child growing up, shocker I know. So I had known about him for awhile. But, with my dad there he didn't seem too bad. A decent enough guy. While he and my dad talked about the American Legion and the VA and the VFW, I was bored to death I remember. Until that is my dad asked if I could see 'it'.
Now when you're six and your dad says see 'it'. You have all of these thoughts of what exactly 'it' is. Money? A game? What is it?!. He disappeared into the house and about 5 minutes later came down with this necklace...or what I thought it was with a gold charm. My dad kinda nudged me and said "That is the Medal of Honor, the highest medal awarded in the Armed Forces." I looked up at Mr. Connor and If I remember right I said something along the lines of "Well how did YOU get it." Which elicited a chuckle from him and a hard pat on my shoulder from my dad. We waved goodbye after that and went back onto the tour. I never did see Mr. Connor again after that, he passed away in 1994.
I never thought much of that day until my dad and I took a trip to the Aberdeen Proving Ground, which at the time had the U.S. Military's Ordnance Museum. Every tank, every gun, bullet, anything that went boom was there including a railway gun. I remember out in the tank yard asking about a DD tank when the subject of Mr. Connor came up. That is when I got to hear the hows and whys, things you don't necessarily want to tell a child of 6 but you can tell a child of 11. That freedom isn't free, that war isn't glamorous or funny. That there is an untold human cost to war even for those who make it home.
This article is more of a story I know, not much to tell. But if you take away anything from this one is that it pays to get out and meet your neighbors. Pays in the sense that by meeting a veteran like James Connor I am helping to keep alive the lessons that were learned in places like France, Belgium and Germany. That their experiences have helped me to understand the cost of freedom. That heroes don't exist just in Hollywood or in far off lands but that you can find them in your own hometown. On your street or block, men and women who just did their jobs honorably and came home and never spoke of it again, perhaps out of shame or out of a desire to put it out of their mind but sometimes, just sometimes, because no one ever bothered to sit and ask them.
I will conclude this article with a copy of the citation.
February 21st 2018
By Olde Delaware
I have talked about where I am from, heck, its even in my name. Delaware, the first State to ratify the Constitution. Second smallest state in the country. Just under one million residents. Three counties. Home to the 47th Vice President of the United States Joseph Robinette Biden. When you think Delaware, you think DuPont, Joe Biden and most likely that's about it.
The heart of our state is in our cities and towns, my town for example lies just outside the boundaries of our biggest city, Wilmington. Were not known for much, one of the officers who lost their lives in the line of duty that rests in my signature was born and raised here, Lt. Joseph Szczerba. A baseball player who pitched a perfect game in baseball's infancy resided here, on my street no less. But this story is about my other neighbor, who I only had the pleasure of meeting once but has been and will remain etched in my memory.
Sergeant James P. Connor.
My neighborhood was built in 1947, right after the end of the war and during the baby boom. My dad's family was the first to occupy the house and many others soon followed into the new neighborhood. My dad would tell me tons of stories about growing up here, playing in the fields and pointing out that things are never the same when you get older. I will assume that other dads are like this. But when I was around 6 years old, a few years after my dad came back from Desert Storm disabled, he took me on a walk around the neighborhood to meet some of the old families that still lived here.
I got to meet a gentleman who worked for DuPont during the 1930s and who remembers the day that DuPont announced the discovery of Nylon. A man and woman who had done Vaudeville for a time, I can't remember their act and I met Mr. James P. Connor, who lived right up the street. Now, I was a little bit of a wild child growing up, shocker I know. So I had known about him for awhile. But, with my dad there he didn't seem too bad. A decent enough guy. While he and my dad talked about the American Legion and the VA and the VFW, I was bored to death I remember. Until that is my dad asked if I could see 'it'.
Now when you're six and your dad says see 'it'. You have all of these thoughts of what exactly 'it' is. Money? A game? What is it?!. He disappeared into the house and about 5 minutes later came down with this necklace...or what I thought it was with a gold charm. My dad kinda nudged me and said "That is the Medal of Honor, the highest medal awarded in the Armed Forces." I looked up at Mr. Connor and If I remember right I said something along the lines of "Well how did YOU get it." Which elicited a chuckle from him and a hard pat on my shoulder from my dad. We waved goodbye after that and went back onto the tour. I never did see Mr. Connor again after that, he passed away in 1994.
I never thought much of that day until my dad and I took a trip to the Aberdeen Proving Ground, which at the time had the U.S. Military's Ordnance Museum. Every tank, every gun, bullet, anything that went boom was there including a railway gun. I remember out in the tank yard asking about a DD tank when the subject of Mr. Connor came up. That is when I got to hear the hows and whys, things you don't necessarily want to tell a child of 6 but you can tell a child of 11. That freedom isn't free, that war isn't glamorous or funny. That there is an untold human cost to war even for those who make it home.
This article is more of a story I know, not much to tell. But if you take away anything from this one is that it pays to get out and meet your neighbors. Pays in the sense that by meeting a veteran like James Connor I am helping to keep alive the lessons that were learned in places like France, Belgium and Germany. That their experiences have helped me to understand the cost of freedom. That heroes don't exist just in Hollywood or in far off lands but that you can find them in your own hometown. On your street or block, men and women who just did their jobs honorably and came home and never spoke of it again, perhaps out of shame or out of a desire to put it out of their mind but sometimes, just sometimes, because no one ever bothered to sit and ask them.
I will conclude this article with a copy of the citation.
Name: James P. Connor
Rank and organization: Sergeant, U.S. Army, 7th Infantry, 3rd Infantry Division.
Place and date: Cape Cavalaire, southern France, 15 August 1944. Entered service at: Wilmington, Del.
Born: Wilmington, Del.
G.O. No.: 18, 15 March 1945
For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at risk of life above and beyond the call of duty.
On 15 August 1944, Sgt. Connor, through sheer grit and determination, led his platoon in clearing an enemy vastly superior in numbers and firepower from strongly entrenched positions on Cape Cavalaire, removing a grave enemy threat to his division during the amphibious landing in southern France, and thereby insured safe and uninterrupted landings for the huge volume of men and materiel which followed.
His battle patrol landed on "Red Beach" with the mission of destroying the strongly fortified enemy positions on Cape Cavalaire with utmost speed. From the peninsula the enemy had commanding observation and seriously menaced the vast landing operations taking place. Though knocked down and seriously wounded in the neck by a hanging mine which killed his platoon lieutenant, Sgt. Connor refused medical aid and with his driving spirit practically carried the platoon across several thousand yards of mine-saturated beach through intense fire from mortars, 20-mm. flak guns, machineguns, and snipers.
En route to the Cape he personally shot and killed 2 snipers. The platoon sergeant was killed and Sgt. Connor became platoon leader. Receiving a second wound, which lacerated his shoulder and back, he again refused evacuation, expressing determination to carry on until physically unable to continue. He reassured and prodded the hesitating men of his decimated platoon forward through almost impregnable mortar concentrations. Again emphasizing the prevalent urgency of their mission, he impelled his men toward a group of buildings honeycombed with enemy snipers and machineguns. Here he received his third grave wound, this time in the leg, felling him in his tracks.
Still resolved to carry on, he relinquished command only after his attempts proved that it was physically impossible to stand. Nevertheless, from his prone position, he gave the orders and directed his men in assaulting the enemy. Infused with Sgt. Connor's dogged determination, the platoon, though reduced to less than one-third of its original 36 men, outflanked and rushed the enemy with such furiousness that they killed 7, captured 40, seized 3 machine guns and considerable other materiel, and took all their assigned objectives, successfully completing their mission.
By his repeated examples of tenaciousness and indomitable spirit Sgt Connor transmitted his heroism to his men until they became a fighting team which could not be stopped.