A brother honors his hero

Editor's note: For Herald-Palladium Correspondent Joe Cheshire, Saturday's dedication of Van Buren County's Korean War Monument in Hartford was more than a news event. It was a priceless occasion as he awarded his brother, Jerry, a special proclamation from Gov. John Engler. Joe tells his brother's story.

     I remember plainly the September day in 1952 when my brother kissed Mom goodbye and climbed aboard the train.
     Anthony G. "Jerry" Cheshire, the fourth of seven children, had received his draft notice for the U.S. Army. The train trip was the first leg of a journey to Korea - and I feared he wouldn't come back.
     "I didn't want to go, but what else could I do?" Jerry said recently. "I got the draft notice, and I wasn't going to go tell them I didn't want to go."
     Tears flowed like a river when Mom - Bessie Cheshire - heard the news he would indeed be going to Korea. Having only recently laid one son to rest - Francis Jr. died in a car accident a year before - she feared she was about to lose another.
     In Korea, Jerry delivered ammunition, driving a 21Ú2 ton truck, often on winding roads and between opposing lines. Bullets and mortar rounds sailed over his truck as he drove.
     "I was driving a bomb," Jerry said. "If they had zeroed in on one of the trucks, there would have been a tremendous explosion. They could have set off a chain reaction of explosions."
     During his off time, he wrote letters to Mom and his girlfriend, Lou Moore. The letters discussed the cold and wet climate, the dugout, sand-bagged shelters where GIs slept each night.
     He proposed marriage to Lou in one letter. Lou responded with a resounding "Yes."
     All at once, the letters stopped coming. A week, then two weeks, a third week and a month. Fears began. Was Jerry dead? Mom and Lou contacted local government officials, they sent letters to congressmen, senators and the American Red Cross.
     Jerry's whereabouts were finally traced to a hospital in Japan. He was in critical condition and not given much hope of surviving.
     He was a victim of friendly fire, so to speak. He was standing behind his truck and giving directions while another driver backed it up. Jerry slipped in the mud, and his shouts couldn't be heard over the engine noise.
     The truck crushed his right leg and pulverized his hip. Bone shards riddled his intestines and his back was all but destroyed.
      "Oh my God," I remember hearing Mom shout upon getting the news. "Jerry's been injured and he's dying."
     The tears turned to overwhelming sobs as Mom and Lou tried to console each other. It was at that moment that I was transformed from a 12-year-old boy into a young adult. The impact hit me like a sledgehammer between the eyes. I was not ready to lose another brother.
     All at once, I realized the impact of that foreign place called Korea.  
     After several months in a Tokyo hospital, where Jerry lay, fighting off an infection, the doctors were able to perform the first of many operations. They attempted to stabilize the shattered bones and immobilized his body in a full body cast.
     A letter came from Jerry. The scratching on the paper confirmed he was not in good shape. The words were barely readable, but he said he would be coming home soon.
    Jerry was transferred to Great Lakes Naval Hospital in Chicago.
     Visiting Jerry there, I remember the long walk through Great Lakes' corridors. There were rows after rows of beds, hundreds of men with all sorts of injuries. Some no longer had legs, some had arms missing, others had their heads encased in white bandages, one was in traction, both arms and both legs being supported by weighted wires.
     Jerry spent several months at Great Lakes, getting more surgery and therapy. He learned to walk on crutches and gained the right to take a leave.
     The first time he came back in the door, it was indescribable. The overwhelming joy brought tears from everyone. Hugs and kisses abounded, we were a family again.
     In 1954, he received his honorable discharge, and Jerry and Lou were soon married. Despite intense pain, Jerry was able to walk without crutches to meet her at the altar.
     After a short honeymoon, Jerry and Lou returned to Hartford. He met rejection after rejection from employers. One look at his limping gait and he was turned down.
     Jerry eventually found work at a gas station. The constant hours of walking on hard concrete quickly took its toll.
     "I had to do something. I had to earn a living," he told me. 
       Doctors said the only hope for a semi-normal life was the installation of an artificial hip.
     This began a long, and still continuing, round of operations and therapy. Jerry will soon get his fourth hip replacement.
     Jerry later landed a job with Coloma Public Schools, heading the transportation and maintenance department. He and Lou raised four children.
     More recently, he suffered a series of heart attacks and cancer cost him an eye.
     Throughout the ordeals, Jerry never once complained about what happened. He accepted everything as part of life.
     "I'm a lot better off than many others," he said. "I came home from Korea alive. A lot of my brothers didn't. "I've tried to forget about Korea. I've tried to put it out of my mind."
     Until only a few days ago, when asked about Korea, Jerry would only reply, "I don't want to talk about it."
     With the pending monument dedication, Jerry has opened up a bit about his experiences.
     "There was nothing good about being in Korea. I've been paying for Korea for the last 49 years. I'm not bitter about what happened to me, but it contains memories I would rather forget."
     On the black onyx monument in Hartford's Ely Park are inscribed the seven names of Van Buren County's Korean War dead.
     As the monument was dedicated, it was my great pleasure to present Jerry "a Certificate of Special Tribute from the People of Michigan." Standing in for Gov. John Engler, I proudly presented the commendation to Jerry.
     Today I stand proud. Proud that I am able to present such recognition to my brother. Proud of my brother. Proud of his faith and determination, and grateful that my hero is still here with us.