My granddad, John A. Hamilton, served in World War I. So, I give thanks to him on this Memorial Day for fighting for our Country. He took his army training in 1917 at Camp Travis in San Antonio and was then sent to France. He served there with an ammunition train.
War was ugly and it was especially so for my grandfather. He was on the other side of an ocean and homesick. He was wounded, troubled by the gassing he had endured, and even more troubled by the violence and brutality he experienced. He had several operations on his return home but none so brutal than the one he had in the field of battle in France. They strapped him down and gave him some anesthetic, but not enough. When the doctor came to check on him and four others he said, "well this one is dead, that one's alive and when he got to my grandfather he said, "well that one will never make it." John A. said "yes I will if you bring me some water." They brought him water in a spoon and poured it into his mouth. Of the five men just he and another man made it; the others died of gangreen. He returned to the states in a boat full of sick men and disembarked at Newport, Virginia and traveled on to Camp Travis by train.
But he was a strong man and returned home to live his life in Arizona. He was a great storyteller, loved to sing, loved his horses and was always a wonderful grandfather to his five grandchildren. Below is a picture of him and me at a rodeo parade in Chandler sometime in the early 1950's. Thanks for the memories Granddad!