EC's War Story

I just had a visit with my eighty-something year-old step grandfather, EC Cravens. If I'm really honest, I went because I felt a little guilty that I didn't visit last time I was in Arab, the town I grew up in. My visit with him was like every interaction I've ever had with him, it left me thinking what a cool old dude he is, and that one day I hope I have some stories that are half as good as his.

I will first give a little history about EC. My family first came to know him when my Mammaw, Mrs. Arizona Beam, casually announced that she was leaving in two weeks for a drive to Wyoming with her new "feller," who none of us had met, and, by the way, they were getting married. Now my Papaw, Hoyle Beam, a stern but good hearted man, died of a heart attack in 1980, so I barely remember him. After some time Mammaw found a group of girlfriends and began to emerge from her cocoon of mourning as a youthful, energetic, dancing machine. She went from withdrawn mother of seven to working single hottie in about a five year period. It didn't take long for her to find company with CB, her first boyfriend since Papaw. They had regular Thursday night dancing date night until cancer took CB away. Then came John, who didn't last as long as CB. I think it was a heart attack or a stroke that took him out.

So, with due respect to all involved, about the time the last shovel of dirt covered John, apparently EC was down on one knee, ready to seal the deal. He wisely figured that there was no time to waste. I don't blame him one bit, because they have been together for seven happy years now.

Since I have known him, EC has had a full head of fluffy white hair, a quick smile, and speech that is generously peppered with four letter words, but somehow, he never seems too foul. His southern drawl has an appealing resonance, and his unassuming, plain spoken manner leaves plenty of room for surprises. Every time I sit down with EC, I find out something I didn't know before. For instance, once I found out that he used to run moonshine. Then he was a race truck driver. Yea, that's what I meant to say, a race truck driver. He was actually in the movie, Smokey and the Bandit driving his huge truck.

The interaction with him that changed our financial life exponentially happened when EC convinced his sister, Geneva Jackson, (our dog Ginny Jackson's namesake) to sell Amanda and I our first house for what turned out to be the bargain of a lifetime. Even though we could barely make the payments for the ten or so months that we owned the house, we were so glad that we did, for we were dumbfounded when a big developer from Atlanta offered to buy the house from us at an unbelievable profit at the peak of the real estate market bubble.

Besides learning about his longstanding friendship with Alabama's current Governor, Bob Riley, today, I found out that he fought in World War II. This was one story he was a bit reluctant to tell. I asked him what he remembered about the War, and at first he said "I don't want to remember." But soon he reverently recalled the night he spent in a building that had been bombed by a German tank during the Battle of the Bulge, the single biggest and bloodiest battle in US history according to Wikipedia.

"The first group of men they sent in were all killed," he said. "But they went ahead and sent us on in after that." He and his entire group of infantry men survived after he noticed a German tank repositioning and they followed his suggestion to go down to the basement for cover.

I write this to say, if there is someone in your life from that Greatest Generation, do not overlook them. They have been there. And there is so much to learn by just sitting and listening as they unpack their life's treasure chest of experience.

Do this! Go visit and force yourself to just listen with no agenda other than to hear what they have to say. Be patient, and you are guaranteed to find something worthwhile. You will both be better for it.