Kenneth R. Weaver, 1945

Kenneth R. Weaver

Contributing Writer

I thank Harry Truman for the atom bomb, which saved me from combat. I thank the GI bill for my education. I thank God I’m still alive and can put my Army experiences into words.

My nearly two years of service took me to Texas, Leyte, Guam, and several places in between.  I went in a private and came out a corporal. My pay began at $22 a month and ended at $30.  I was trained as an infantry rifleman, served in antiaircraft battalions, and ended up on a B-29 ground crew.

And it all started with a letter from the South Bend (St. Joseph County), Indiana, draft board. It stated that as of my 18th birthday, September 19, 1944, I must register for the draft.   Continue Reading

Debris scatters the yard in the storm’s aftermath.

Courtney Brodbeck

The Signal Staff

The power had gone out and the sounds outside were like the sound track to a bad disaster film. My mother and I, along with three others, hadn’t evacuated very far from our home on the west end of Galveston Island; we were in Santa Fe and about to use every ounce of strength our bodies possessed.

We were all downstairs in our friend’s home when the water started seeping in through the cracks of the French doors. The wind was beating ferociously at the house and it was only a matter of minutes before the doors would blow open, letting the chaos outside rush into the haven we made inside.

We all scurried to find anything to barricade the doors. First was the couch, then the chairs, and finally, as a last resort, we flung our bodies across the furniture to make sure the doors were secure.  It was man versus nature, and for a second it seemed nature would win.

All my mother and I could think about was our little beach hut we called home.

“Please let it be standing, let our neighbors be OK and let our island still be home,” we prayed. Continue Reading