A very belated thank you to the hero I never knew that I knew

Joe Davey, an American hero

As a teenager growing up I was always around water, living on a small pond in New Hampshire before I was married I became an avid waterskier, as did my brother and sister. I got married and moved out, but there was always time for waterskiing on the weekends. 

  Eventually my mother and step-father sold the house on the pond and moved away from the water, but they could not stay away from the water so they rented a Summer camp on Island Pond in Derry. We had many good times there with the family; boating, swimming, grilling, and waterskiing. The boys loved to go swimming and boating there in the Summer. 

  We haven’t been there in years, I can’t remember how many, but it is probably close to ten years since the last time my mother and step-father rented the camp. The camp was owned by a man named Joe. He was an older man, a good and friendly man. Joe had an awkward limp, his knee almost seemed to bend backwards as he walked, but still he would always come over for a swim and conversation when the family was there. He owned a boat also and loved the water and he loved the fact that people were enjoying his property. 

  I still remember the day that we convinced my sister that it was a good idea for her to try to do a “slide start” waterskiing. Joe had one of those curved pool slides set up that went into the pond, the idea was that my sister would go to the top of the slide– and much like a dock start where you stood on the dock as the rope slowly tightened before yelling “go” and jumping off the dock– she would slide down the slide as the boat pulled away and would land in the water and ski away. Timing was everything, she almost pulled it off, but not quite. Joe was there that day and although we could see that he was a little nervous and apprehensive about this idea, he never said anything, he just watched. But we all knew when we watched the video tape later that night  that he was not happy. 

  I haven’t seen Joe in years, and honestly I hadn’t thought about Joe in years. Joe passed away on February 26th at the age of 88. My brother called me to read me his obituary, knowing that I would be interested in what it contained. I was shocked to learn what I didn’t know about the man I knew. 

  Joe was a true American hero. 

  See, Joe was a WWII veteran who stormed Omaha Beach in Normandy on June 6th, 1944. Joe saw a hell on that day that is truly unimaginable, but pressed on all the way to Saint Lo where he was critically injured. 

  But his story didn’t stop there, once Joe had recovered, he reenlisted for a second tour of duty that led him to the Ardennes Forest where he fought the Nazis during the Battle of the Bulge. Joe was critically injured once again. During WWII, Joe earned two Purple Hearts, four Bronze Stars, and a Distinguished Unit Badge. 

  All of those years at the camp I was in the midst of a true American hero, a man to whom I owe the freedom which I enjoy. A man whose sacrifice made it possible for me to enjoy all of those days at the camp and I never knew it. I had no idea what he had gone through in order to protect and defend this country. 

  But now Joe is gone and I have found out for the first time what he did and I owe him the thank you that I never gave him in person while he was alive. Now I wonder about Joe’s awkward limp and wonder if it was a burden that he carried all of these years as part of his sacrifice for the country he served and that I love.

 Thank you Joe. I owed you this long ago, I am sorry it is so late. Too late.