Papaw, the Devil Dog

My paternal grandfather, Linton Carl Fendley, was a giant of a man in my eyes - a lovable, affable, fun-loving giant. Papaw was usually the life of the party at family gatherings with his self-deprecating humor: “I have ears like open cab doors,” and his full gauge electric train, which occupied much of the basement. Going to visit Mamaw and Papaw was always an adventure. We counted on Papaw to provide fun and laughter, and even a mold for lead toy soldiers, which he and I used to crank out miniature fighting menk during visits. (This was the 50s. We didn’t know about lead poisoning back then.) Mamaw, on the other hand, was a gray horse of a different color. OCD to the max, melancholy, she was given to sitting in front of the radio listening to Billy Graham hour after hour. We kids learned very quickly to sit carefully on Mamaw’s plastic covered furniture, and to walk deftly on the plastic runner protecting the carpet. Serious consequences awaited if we happened to step off the plastic runners.

After his time in the service, Papaw spent his career as a mail carrier, one of those old school mailmen who carried a large leather pouch and walked his route, taking the mail all the way up to the porch. During Christmas he would moonlight as Santa Claus at a downtown department store.

My mother reminds me of a time when we visited this particular department store at Christmas and I got to sit on Santa’s lap. After sizing up Santa, I turned to him and said, “my Papaw has a watch just like that. “

It wasn’t until I was an older child that I learned that Papaw had served during World War I, and had received two Purple Hearts: one for a shrapnel injury, and one from a mustard gas attack. He never told us. We learned it from other family members.

It was another several decades before I learned the full story of Papaw’s involvement in combat against the Germans. Sent to France as a member of the Second of the Sixth Marines in 1918, he was deployed with his unit to the defensive line near Château Thierry, particularly Belleau Wood. The American forces were the only thing that stood between the Germans and Paris, just 40 miles away. For several days the fighting was intense. The Americans would scramble out of the trenches and attack the Germans, then retreat, only to be counter attacked by the Germans. Eventually the Germans retreated, and Paris was spared. Shortly after, the war to end all wars ended.

The Americans, who were thought to be soft and ill prepared, showed up in remarkable fashion and proved their mettle as they battled ferociously and repelled the German army. Of particular note is the ferocity with which the 2/6 Marines fought. They engaged the Germans with such fury that, reportedly, they were nicknamed by the Germans, “Die teuffelshunde”, or Devil Dogs.

I was fortunate to visit the site of this battle a few years ago. The experience was both moving and inspiring. At the foot of the hill below the battlefield are some 2000 graves; crosses and Stars of David where US Marines were laid to rest. The graves are arranged in concentric arcs, with a large Memorial tower near the concave portion of the inner arc. Engraved on the wall inside the memorial are the names of another 2000 US Marines whose bodies were never recovered.

According to the curator of this historic site, the cemetery and battlefield draw hundreds of Marines every year, who come to pay respect to the heroes who went before them.

I only wish I had been able to pay respect to my grandfather while he was still living. He was a true American hero.