Roses for Mary, from Paul in Saint Paul

by Michelle Meyers Berg •This piece is from Blue Collar Diaries, a show that will be included in the History Theatre’s 2009 season. This piece is about my father, who was seriously affected by the heavy combat he experienced in the Korean War, which Truman conveniently downsized into a police action so that he would not need to go before Congress for permission. This war saw nearly as many casualties in three years as Vietnam saw in ten years’ time. The failure to identify it for what it really was has been a source of anguish for countless Americans over the years and particularly so for the veterans, whose stories remain largely untold.

My father used to rust. Especially in the summers. In the heat of the machine shop, his pores would open wide and drink in the micro-fine shavings of metal in the air. Later on, they would re-emerge in an orange stain he would sweat out while sitting in his car or lying on his pillow. Not to worry, though. My dad had a fold-up cushion that he used in the driver’s seat of his car and a special pillowcase that he used on his pillow. It’s important to take care of what you have. He had one suit that he said was for hatchings, matchings, and dispatchings. Otherwise, he wore green dickies, white crew socks, black loafers, and a black belt. He had his own chair, just like Archie Bunker, and you couldn’t sit in it even if he wasn’t home. Ever. He had a gun in his underwear drawer. For a short period. Once he learned that each of us had quietly slid his drawer open to look at it lying in the folds of his clean tee shirts, he got rid of it. My dad knew a lot about guns. He was an expert marksman and served in the 555th field artillery battalion in the Army in the Korean War. He was in two of the three worst battles documented there. One day I was sitting on the front porch when he rolled up the driveway. He came into the kitchen holding two dozen roses. I could hear my sister ask him about them through the open window behind me. “Hey, Dad. Wow! Who’re all those roses for?” No answer. “Are they for your anniversary?” “No.” “They’re not? Then what are they for? They’re not for Mom’s birthday, are they?” “No.” “That’s right—her birthday’s not until the twenty-fifth. Well then, what are they for?” “Well . . . when I was over in Korea, I got into a tight spot with Charlie Company. We were overrun. I had to get out of there, and I got separated from my unit. I didn’t know where I was. So I prayed to Mary. I said, ‘Mary, if you get me out of this one, I’ll give you a dozen roses.’ And I never had a chance to do that yet. So today, when I got my bonus, I went over and picked some out and I’m gonna bring ’em to her. Down at the cathedral. If your mother calls, tell her I’ll be home soon.” Years later I learned that the tight spot that my father was in was a battle called Kum Song Salient. Some 72,000 enemy soldiers, three entire divisions, poured through his company’s position, just days before his twenty-first birthday. I’m sure he would have made good on his promise sooner, but money was tight until he got that bonus. It was his first and only bonus.