My name is Roger W. Hancock.

I have not served. However, I am the son and nephew of veterans who served during WWII and one poet who knows to whom he owes, first to God then to those who serve for liberty.
My father Kenneth Alonzo Hancock served in the Army Air Corp (That was the U.S. Air Force before the U.S. had an “Air Force”). He did not fly but maintained the planes that defended our liberty. He would later fly is own plane for enjoyment, until he began our family.

My Uncle John Hancock, served in the North Africa Theatre, where he earned the Silver Star for actions of valor that saved many in his squad. Those same actions also earned him the Purple Heart for injuries that would contribute to defining the remainder of his solitary life. My Uncle once said that he never married because he did not want to see any woman go through the pain and suffering as his mother did in the loss of two children. A brother and sister had died as children.

He did a lot of drinking for quite some time after the war, until causing an accident with a near fatal outcome. He quit drinking then spent time taking care of my grandmother and grandfather until their departure. Then he spent a lot of time reading and learning. John spent the remainder of his life in self-education. He would teach himself mechanical drawing, cabinet building, astrology, archeology, vintage radio repair, clock repair and building.

Uncle John worked at an elementary school as a janitor. Have a wide range of expertise he was quite an asset to the teachers in their various projects and was often the subject to which they honored our veterans. After several years retired the principal and several teachers showed up at his memorial service. Such was the impact he had made on other’s lives.
As Uncle John lay in the hospital bed, the day before he died, I began to write the following poem, inspired by his life and military service.

Old Soldier Hero
Old soldier long life had lived,
remembering war of long ago.
Kept to himself the sacrifice,
of those with whom he fought beside.
Throughout life he did not brag,
telling few of his Silver Star.
Medals sat in the roll top desk,
out of sight of prying eyes.
Then when time, for him drew nigh,
memories conjured the battle cry.
Unknowing why he took them out,
medals he began.. confide.
Death now ends his memories,
remembrance will be mine.
I now hold his warrior pride,
for years had been his own.
‘Wish I’d known long ago,
his silver proof of valor.
Wounded in battle, kept the fight,
duty to country and comradery.
Though a hero we always held,
not many knew the tale.
Silver Star of bravery;
before me lies, an old soldier hero.
~ Roger W. Hancock
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