Willow Glen Resident
Letters & Opinions
Charles Manley helped put a face to World War II
By Moryt Milo
A year ago I met Charles Manley, a World War II veteran who served in the Navy and then the Marines as a corpsman. The 84-year-old gentleman relied on an exquisite hand-carved cane that quietly showed off his talent as a wood carver. He also sported a Stetson-style white hat that became his signature look. On Sunday I attended his memorial service, and there, alongside a collection of photographs from all the milestones and adventures in Charles' life, were his cane and his hat. He was 85 when he died, and I felt honored to have known him.
When I saw the notice of his death in the paper, and his picture with that trademark hat, I knew I had to attend his memorial. I had interviewed Charles and the two other veterans, Everett Bass and Alice Wygant, for a World War II story last year. They had left a profound impression on me. Charles had talked candidly about his life in the service. His remarks were honest and right to the point, which I learned at the memorial was another of his characteristics.
Last year he told me that while serving in five campaigns, half the men didn't make it home.
"Each time we went out to battle, we averaged a loss of 1,000 men and 1,500 wounded," Charles said.
Charles told me the horrors of war caused fighting men to slip back into their tents after a battle and pull the trigger on a rifle logged under their chins so they could end their own lives. They simply didn't want to go back out there, he said.
Charles, on the other hand, was a fighter. I don't mean a hand-to- hand combat soldier, because he was a medic. I'm referring to his mental resiliency. The man who shrank down to 97 pounds from the conditions of war was absolutely determined to come home. After all, he had the "love of his life" Alice waiting, and he had his family in Alameda anxious for his return.
This was the side of Charles I saw. I knew him as a man who kept meticulous records of the war. Who chronicled his battles, dates, mileage and locations like a pilot keeping a log. I knew him as a man who took photographs and developed them in X-ray solution. A man who kept a scrapbook of a war that most wanted gone from their collective psyche.
At the memorial, I learned more about Charles' personal side. I listened to his son Peter recall a time when he was a young boy, and how his dad helped a neighbor.
"Your dad is a really special. Do you know that? Not everyone would help," the neighbor told Peter.
That's when Peter said he realized that helping a neighbor was more than just lending a hand.
"My dad came from the generation that took responsibility without hesitation," he said. "They just knew what to do."
He said his dad was a tough guy when he had to be, but he never talked tough. That's something I remember about my own grandfather, a World War I vet. Maybe that's what war does to a person and a generation.
Then there was Charles' best friend, Bruce Morton, who took Charles on road trips when his mobility and ability to hike began failing him. The two would head out to see the fall colors.
I learned Charles had a tremendous passion for nature, the environment and life. He could have been bitter after what war showed him, but instead he saw beauty in the world.
The youngest of his sons, David, said everything in his father's life was an adventure. Perhaps he relished life more than most of us ever will, after seeing so much death.
But no matter who we are, or what generation we are in, I believe we can all appreciate Peter's closing remark:
"My dad brought pride and honor to his family, life and country."
As the Marines saluted the flag in Charles Manley's honor and turned it over to the family, I could not help but think how fitting a time Charles chose to pass on. It was just days before Dec. 7, now known as Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day.
Moryt Milo is the editor of the Willow Glen Resident. She can be reached at 408.200.1051 or via email at mmilo@community-newspapers.com.
