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My father, Clinton D. Edwards, served in the Army with the 503rd Parachute Infantry Regiment. That meant my dad jumped out of planes from 300 to 1,200 feet in the air, falling at 20 feet per second until hitting the ground.
At 20 feet per second, the impact was about 6 mph or the equivalent of jumping off an 8-foot wall, but they carried a rifle, backpack, and other equipment weighing 100 to 160 pounds. To survive, my dad and the other paratroopers had to learn the proper PLF technique (Proper Landing Fall), which, as he once told me, “You hit with your feet, roll to your knees, then to your hips, and keep rolling. You roll, or you break bones.”
My dad didn’t break bones.
He also told me that a jump in the 300-foot elevation range meant that if your chute didn’t open, there wasn’t enough time to release the reserve chute, and he added, “I saw other paratroopers hit the ground when their chute didn’t open.”
Obviously, my dad survived while others didn’t.
His regiment holds legendary status for executing the first successful combat jump in the Pacific Theater in an assault on the island of Corregidor. My father missed this jump while working as an assistant to his commander, but later served with the 503rd on other Philippine Islands, with his final assignment on the island of Mindanao, where his unit oversaw the surrender of 7,000 Japanese soldiers who were hiding in the mountains after the war ended.
My father was awarded a Bronze Star for serving in the southern Philippines (he never told me) and was involved in combat (which he told me about a few years before he died). My dad didn’t talk a lot about his time in the army.
Whether it was good or bad, he did tell me once, “After the war, your mother and I just wanted to live simple lives in the States.” (Note: my mother also served in the military as a nurse on the passenger ship Queen Mary, which, during the war, was a troop transport and later a hospital ship.)
That’s right, just get on with their lives. Humbling. I’m grateful to my parents!! As my mother once told me, “Grant, if you serve the Lord, all that your Dad and I have done will be worth it.”
Okay, a few tears now.
I can’t imagine what my dad (and mother) went through in World War II, and adding to their life story, growing up in poverty during the Great Depression, with my mom in Pittsburgh, and my father in Nebraska. When I think of my parents — U.S. citizens serving their country, coming home, and raising a family — I realize that God works in mysterious ways.
Two final notes about the “ways” of God:
- Despite the Great Depression and World War II, my parents didn’t fear having enough finances. They always gave generously and taught me to tithe and give offerings of everything that I earned. When I told them I wanted to start a ministry for youth (which later became Fellowship Church) and needed money to buy a house for it, my mom and dad emptied their retirement accounts to purchase the house.
- My sister now has a ministry called Naomi’s Heart Mission that operates a school for 500 children in Mindanao, Philippines, very close to the location where my dad served as a paratrooper in World War II.
Have a great Memorial Day!