Roy Exum
When Van Barfoot finally grew old enough to retire, he had a peculiar trait that would one day best define the dash in his headstone. That’s right – the dash – the simple mark between the day he was born, June 15, 1919, and the day he died, March 2, 2012 (last Friday).
Every morning for years, up until just a few weeks ago, he would rise early and, at precisely 6 a.m., he would walk solemnly to the flagpole in front of his house and raise the American flag. He would then face that flag, snap to attention, and salute it before going back into his house.
Every afternoon, at precisely 5 p.m., he would lower the flag and respectfully secure his most precious item until the next day. This personal ritual went on for years.
So you may remember that just three years ago, when the 90-year-old Barfoot finally sold his farm in Virginia to move closer to his daughter in a hoity-toidy subdivision closer to town, “the home-owners association” got up in arms after “Mr. Van” had a regulation flagpole placed in his yard. They claimed they had a strict rule that any ceremonial flag must be attached to the house and no solitary poles were permitted. They even threatened to sue. Silly souls! They also had no earthy idea who they were messing with or why the American flag was so very precious in the calm, aged eyes of the old gentleman who now lived in their midst and insisted, quite plainly, the flag, the pole and “he” wasn’t going anywhere.
Van Barfoot, 92 when he died, was one of nine kids who were raised on a hard-scrabble farm in Edinburg, Miss., which is right close to Carthage in the center of the state. In 1940, when the world’s war drums were beating too loudly to ignore, “Mr. Van” walked to the Leake County Courthouse in Carthage to enlist in the Army and that’s when his “dash” first started.As a rough-and-tumble technical sergeant in the 45th Infantry Division, he first fought in Sicily where he was awarded the Bronze Star for gallantry. When the Allied troops then stormed into the intense fighting in Italy, the 24-year-old who learned about life shooting squirrels and mending harrow plows in Mississippi was fearless, earning a coveted Silver Star but – far greater – the admiration and affection of his men.
But then came Anzio where it got even worse. On May 23, 1944, the town of Carano was crawling with well-fortified Germans and Van had scouted for machine-gun placements all night before dawn broke on a day he would never forget. By the way, the next time you think you are having a hard day, please remember how one official account recorded it:
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With his platoon heavily engaged during an assault against forces well entrenched on commanding ground, 2d Lt. Barfoot (then Tech. Sgt.) moved off alone upon the enemy left flank. He crawled to the proximity of one machinegun nest and made a direct hit on it with a hand grenade, killing two and wounding three Germans. “He continued along the German defense line to another machinegun emplacement, and with his tommy-gun killed two and captured three soldiers. Members of another enemy machinegun crew then abandoned their position and gave themselves up to Sgt. Barfoot. Leaving the prisoners for his support squad to pick up, he proceeded to mop up positions in the immediate area, capturing more prisoners and bringing his total count to 17.
“Later that day, after he had reorganized his men and consolidated the newly captured ground, the enemy launched a fierce armored counterattack directly at his platoon positions. Securing a (borrowed) bazooka, Sgt. Barfoot took up an exposed position directly in front of three advancing Mark VI tanks.“From a distance of 75 yards his first shot destroyed the track of the leading tank, effectively disabling it, while the other two changed direction toward the flank. As the crew of the disabled tank dismounted, Sgt. Barfoot killed three of them with his tommy-gun.
“He continued onward into enemy terrain and destroyed a recently abandoned German fieldpiece with a demolition charge placed in the breech. While returning to his platoon position, Sgt. Barfoot, though greatly fatigued by his Herculean efforts, assisted two of his seriously wounded men 1,700 yards to a position of safety.
“Sgt. Barfoot's extraordinary heroism, demonstration of magnificent valor, and aggressive determination in the face of point-blank fire are a perpetual inspiration to his fellow soldiers.
”* * *
Those are not my words. That’s what it reads on his Congressional Medal of Honor citation. That’s what he did in one day. That is his “dash.” Now you know why the hoity-toidy homeowners association didn’t stand a cut-dog’s chance just three years ago when they threatened to sue a kind old man for raising the American flag and saluting it every day at 6 a.m.
Are you kidding me? Before they could even file court papers, the homeowner’s association had two U.S. senators, veteran’s groups, and much of a hell-bent nation descend upon them. Trust me, with all of the major networks crying “How dare you!” the matter was quickly and quietly resolved. Mr. Van’s flag didn’t miss a day. And, in fairness, the record should note President Barack Obama was itching to pounce, too.
There are a lot of people around who remember “Mr. Van” and his scrap with that Virginia homeowner’s association and many who’ll vividly remember the footage of him folding his flag on the nightly news. Sadly, there are far fewer who remember the early ‘40s in Sicily and Carano or what “Mr. Van” did single-handedly for his country in just one day in May. But up until he died last Friday, he could tell you about that flag and what it cost our nation to still be able to fly it.
Never let it be forgotten that “Mr. Van” defended it quite literally all of his life and that never, at even at age 90, did he ever fail his beloved flag.
royexum@aol.com