More Than a Hero

I want to start out by saying, I am not a writer. I have tried writing this story three different times, and I cannot figure out how to write it. I asked my wife for advice, and she told me just to have a conversation, so here it goes. My grandfather’s name was Carle Albert, and he was an amazing man. He proudly served his country as a Marine for twenty-five years. He was married for fifty-six years, and had two children, five grandchildren, and three great-grandchildren. 

Usually, when people think of a hero, they think of Captain America or Superman. My grandfather was a hero not just because he was a Marine but because of how he lived his life. 

I only knew him for twenty-three years, and that’s a long time to know someone. But, he was retired by the time I came around. With me, and I’m sure the other grandkids, we would all sit around the house and watch cartoons or play with toys while he watched a movie on AMC for the third time that day. I lived with my grandparents for a few years in college, and I would always wake up to the sound of a Hallmark movie or an old black and white movie playing. I would walk into the living room and see it was the same movie from the day before and ask him, “Didn’t you watch this yesterday?” and he would just reply with, “Yea.”

Of course, we would always hear stories about his time in the Marines. It was not always from him but sometimes my grandmother, my mom, or my uncle. I don’t think I ever heard a story about something that wasn’t funny until I was much older. He never talked about what he did in the military. I know he did a few different things; he flew in helicopters in Vietnam, he was an MP for a while, he was even in charge of the budget on base for a while, but that was all I knew. He would tell stories about him and his friends cutting up. For example, he told me a story about what he and a friend, that were crew members on a plane, did when a commanding officer asked his friend to go get him a cup of coffee. So, his friend went and got a cup of coffee and filled it to the brim; the commanding officer didn’t like that, so he told the man, “Go get me more coffee and this time only half a cup.” Again, my grandfather's friend goes to get the commanding officer his coffee, but this time only half a cup. His friend proceeds to cut the styrofoam cup in half and fill it to the brim. My grandfather would just chuckle at the end of the story, I’m assuming they were never asked to get coffee again.

Papa worked on a flight that ran weekly between Jakarta and Singapore. On one flight, the plane crashed. The initial report was that there were no survivors. It wasn’t until a few hours later that my grandmother received word that he was alive. In the end, two people died in the crash: one on sight and another later due to injuries, with several others burned.  Papa was severely burned on his hands and face. When the plane crashed, Papa began to help people to the exit and make sure they were safe. Knowing him, I can imagine he did this without hesitation. He didn’t do it because he wanted to be a hero; he did it because it was his job and because he knew it was the right thing to do.

He wasn’t a person to brag or to really even talk about what his work was in the Marines. It’s not that he wasn’t proud of his service, quite the opposite actually. He was very proud of his service. My grandfather, a man I had only seen cry once, would get visibly emotional anytime we were somewhere the national anthem would play or anything patriotic would happen. He loved this country, and he would have done anything for it. Most importantly though, he loved his family. Papa never said a lot in conversations, but when he did you listened. Throughout my life, he told me a lot of great things and gave me a lot of great advice. When I was moving out for the first time to go to college six hours away, I told him I was scared. Papa muted the T.V. and told me, “Don’t be. It’s something everyone does; it’s part of life. I did it, your mother did it, but life goes on.” I know it’s not the most profound advice. I know everyone moves on, but hearing it from him comforted me. 

Another time, around when I got engaged to my wife, we were taking a break from working in the garden, and he jokingly told me, “Scotty, don’t get old. It’s not worth it.” He laughed, and then he said, “Nana and I have had a great life. We’ve been around the world and done a lot of incredible things.” He loved Nana; you could see it on his face when he looked at her. He didn’t want to do anything without her.

He taught me important life lessons; not to be afraid of the future, how to love your wife, how to love your family, on and on. He passed away three years ago last month, and at his funeral, I met people I had never met before. Some of the people that came to the funeral, Papa had taught a valuable lesson, became a mentor, or had a friendship with long before I was born. He made an impact on everyone he met. Carle Albert, to me, is more than a hero, he was my grandad.