- 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.