Remembering My Hero

Lt. William James Poole, USN Ret.

November 13, 1936 - January 19, 2017

One of my earliest memories of my dad is from the Little Creek Naval Amphibious Base in Norfolk, Virginia. I was standing along a pier with my mom, my brother, and my sister watching a large ship as it was guided into port. On the deck of the ship were what looked like hundreds of men in uniform waving at the many people standing around the dock.

The large metal gangplank was put into place and then we watched as man after man walked down from the ship. Many of these ran into the arms of someone waiting for them. Then one of these men came towards us. This is the first time I remember being with my dad.

I have one memory that was earlier and that was listening to my dad’s voice on a reel to reel tape that he had recorded while onboard ship. I’m not sure that I understood who it was talking, but I was mesmerized by the strong, rich voice that was speaking to us. Months later I was standing on that dock meeting the man behind the voice.

I would love to tell everyone that my dad was a perfect dad, but he wasn’t. He made mistakes, just like all of us. But he made sure that each of his kids had the opportunity to come to know the One and only Perfect Father: God. He made sure that we were in church anytime the doors were open so that we could learn to know and love God.

Church was such a priority for my dad that nothing was allowed to interfere with it. Sundays, Wednesdays, revivals, lay renewals, trainings, worship, training union, discipleship training, whatever the church had, we had to be there.

One year my baseball team was playing a tournament on a Saturday evening up at the East Central Park. We had one more game to win and we would have been first place champions. At 11pm my dad told me to tell the coach that I was going home because we had church in the morning. My coach was furious that I would leave when we were so close to the end, but there was no arguing with my dad when it came to church. My team lost the last game and came in second place that year, but my dad made sure that God came in first place every year.

My dad’s love for God was definitely the one thing that defined him the most, but whenever I described my dad to others I would say that he was a Naval officer. He didn’t just tell us what to do, he would bark commands at us. I remember him telling me something one day that I am certain he learned in the Navy. I had failed to do something he asked me to do, so he said, “When I say jump, you say how high.”

My dad did not tell us something twice without some form of punishment. One year my brother and I were helping to make a coffee table and some end tables for my mom for Christmas. My dad had given us some instructions about what to do to the tables while he was at work. The next thing I remember was being rudely awaken sometime after midnight and forced to go to the shed in my pajamas to sand down the wood for one of the end tables. He could have simply left me there to work and gone to bed himself, but he stayed out with me the entire time. I learned the value of working hard and following through on your commitments. I learned how good it feels to build something with my own hands and watch the excitement when you give it to someone.

I also learned that my dad thought we should all be able to read minds. Whenever he worked on the cars, he would have one of us go out with him so we could watch what he was doing, learn something about working on cars, but more importantly hand him whatever tool he needed. But my dad was not always the best at remembering what the tools were named, so he would say, “Hand me that thing.” I would respond, “What thing?” He would then yell, “The whatchamacallit. It’s right there. Now hand it to me.”

My dad may not have been the best at the names of tools, but he did have a memory for numbers. He was a brilliant man when it came to math. One day I wanted to show my dad a new program for my computer that would allow you to put in an algebraic equation and it would give you the answer. He watched as I typed in a very difficult equation and as soon as I hit the return key he said, “34.” About 30 seconds later the computer screen displayed the answer, which was, of course, 34.

My dad entered the Navy when he was 17. He served for more than 20 years and had some experiences that never left him. These internal scars were carried with him silently for many years after the wars. We often fail to realize that when the fighting ends, the effects of the war continue. My dad never talked to us about the horrors that he faced during Korea and Vietnam. Not only did he have to suffer overseas, but I am sure it bothered him knowing that he had to leave his wife and small children home alone. I was an adult before I learned some of what he experienced and still was dealing with. It inspired me to write this poem: 

I stood there near a ship

Looking out to sea

I hardly knew the man

He hardly knew me

His eyes spoke of hardships

Things too hard to tell

His hands rough and cracked

And then I heard a bell

He turned and looked at me

His voice choked, yet strong

“The war continues raging

I cannot linger long”

He turned, faced my mom

The tears began to flow

His fingers wiped the tears

I heard the whistle blow

Boarded, bound for somewhere

I watched him as he went

Whenever one fell wounded

Another one was sent

I never really knew him

Until the very end

The war, long forgotten

Left many wounds to mend