My Favorite Marine

As the biting winter wind hurls the falling snow across the fields outside, there is nothing but warmth inside the little house that overlooks the village below. The ticking of an old clock, the purring of a contented cat, and the familiar smell of homemade soup fill the living room.

It’s another world inside the Esau home. Books—old books—line the shelves by the fireplace. Handmade quilts are thrown over the backs of plush chairs. Letters from around the country lie open on the end table, awaiting the thoughtful reply they always receive. It is in the midst of this homey setting that the jovial chuckle of the town’s patriarch, Jack, drowns out the howl of the wind outside.

This was a typical winter afternoon at the home of Jack Esau, my favorite Marine.

I first met Jack when I was a little boy. Each week, Mom and I would make our trip to Erla’s grocery store, where Jack would lean over the deli counter to hand me one of Erla’s famous hotdogs—a snack to tide me over until the shopping was done.

When I was an elementary student, Jack was one of the local VFW members who would demonstrate to our class the proper way to fold and care for the American flag. I can still see the 80 year old WWII veteran folding Old Glory, a gymnasium filled with 8-year-olds sitting at rapt attention, mesmerized by the depth of respect this man had for our country.

As a young man, I developed a friendship with Jack. He was the teacher, I was the pupil. On afternoons like the one I described, we would sit in the living room of the home he built back in 1948, as he regaled me with tales of Cass City’s past. He would sit back in his chair, one leg draped over the other, one hand engaged in telling an animated story, the other gently petting a snoozing cat.

To me, Jack embodied all his generation – the greatest generation—was known for: strength of character; a good work ethic; devotion to family; loyalty to community and country. He was a man who had a story for everything, and shared it with anyone willing to listen.

In 1940, Jack enlisted in the U.S. Marine Corps. By that time, World War Two was a reality for most of the world, with the exception of the United States who would be forced to enter it a year later, following the attack on Pearl Harbor. He was on active duty in the South Pacific, where he saw active duty at Guam and Guadalcanal.

One of the gifts I received when he passed away is also one of my greatest earthly treasures—a scrapbook full of black and white snapshots from his time in the South Pacific. The photos are of a tall 23-year-old with a full head of hair and the broad smile that won him friends his entire life.

As a 23-year-old myself, it is a strange feeling to look at these photographs from the war that made so many American boys into men. Although Jack was an enlisted man, he and many others like him left all they ever knew, charging ahead into an unknown future against an enemy they had never met before.

I remember bits and pieces of many of the tales Jack told me about that period in his life. He remembered exactly where he was on April 12, 1945, the day President Franklin D. Roosevelt died. During the 2008 election, when John McCain and Barack Obama faced off for the White House, Jack told me about the time he sat next to McCain’s father on a train ride during the War. Of course, Jack remembered the conversation clearly after more than 60 years had passed.

 In 1946, Jack was honorably discharged from the Marines and returned to his beloved hometown, where he married his wife, Ruth, two years later. The couple would be blessed with three children in the ensuing years.

From the time Jack returned to Cass City, he was an active and integral member of the community. He served on the Cass City School board; was a founding member of both the Cass City Historical Society and the local VFW post; and was the authority on the history of Cass City and the surrounding area.

I learned a lot from Jack. By the time we became friends, he was not as active in the community as he once was; but the care he had for the town he loved continued on, and serves as an example to me of how a person should take an active role in the civic life of their community.

In October 2011, Jack passed away at the age of 93. To say that I miss him would be an understatement. His passing left a void in my life and the life of our community. Even now, three years after his death, I still find myself saying, “I wish I could ask Jack about…” But I am thankful for the friendship we had, and the stories he shared.

Besides thanking a veteran for their service to our nation, maybe one of the greatest things we can do on Veterans Day is to tell the stories of the veterans in our lives who have passed on. It is, after all, the memory of their willingness to sacrifice that compels us to continue defending the land of the free.

Happy Veterans Day, Jack. Thank you for your friendship and your example.