Robert Lloyd Johnson

West Point, 1951

Be Thou At Peace

Posted by Fabienne Brush on April 24, 2008:

My father was the personification of a man of faith. He mentioned something of a tent meeting when he was a child being the first time he committed himself, but said he always believed. He was unwavering, constant with the innocence of a child, and never questioned why. He simply trusted the Lord no matter what. He read the Bible through many times, and attended Church regularly. He was an eager and willing participant in all he did for the Lord. He had the attitude of a patriarch and a helpmeet, rather than a victim. He gave above and beyond of himself in both time and money to anyone in need. Yet, despite his strength of character, accomplishments, and courage, he was always a humble man. He suffered most of his life as a result of the Korean War. He lost his left leg above the knee, had a bullet pass through his right foot, and had shrapnel throughout his right leg. Because of the many blood transfusions to keep him alive at the time, he incurred Hepatitis C. This disease did not manifest itself until three years ago and ultimately led to the death of his earthly body. He endured phantom pains which became progressively more severe and frequent as he aged. He was not one to show pain or complain, but he was visibly and audibly uncomfortable during these fits. The prosthesis he wore was always a burden in many ways, but he would not be without it, even when it caused him pain, because he did not want to demonstrate to anyone that he was in difficulty. In fact, in his younger days, he walked with no limp at all, climbed a mountain, mowed the lawn, and danced with his wife and daughters. To show he was handicapped was completely unacceptable to him. He never wanted pity or sympathy. Less than twenty four hours before he died, he still insisted on putting on his leg, getting out of bed in the morning, and serving the Lord for what time he had left. He was on Hospice for only about fourteen hours. He passed peacefully, quietly, and with great dignity. He would not want me to expand on these sad facts, however, so I must tell you that Dad had a quick, vibrant, mischievous, and very dry sense of humor. Rather than dwell on his trials, he would turn his artificial leg upside down at the mechanically hinged knee, and rest a drink on the sole of his shoe. This made him the topic of conversation and laughter at every party! When I was a child, he would invite my little girlfriends to sit on the left side of his lap, while tapping his pipe on it for effect. If they had the guts to take him up on it, he would then proceed to crack nuts in the hinged knee. Many exited the house in haste and never came back. A few hearty ones invited me to play at their houses, instead. To add to my embarrassment, when I was a teenager and began dating, he would invite my suitors to check my teeth to see if I was worthy of their intentions. He measured all our rear ends with his cane to ensure that we were not getting too fat, and told us in various amusing ways if we were. He called us fleshy, wide, or some other choice term. We learned to take it cheerfully, knowing he was teasing out of love. I have always been a night owl and had a difficult time getting up in the morning for school. But I quickly learned to jump out of bed on the first warning, lest I endure a cold, wet washcloth plopped on my face. He did this in Australia in winter, where we had no central heating and open vents (by law) in the exterior walls! When he was still in the Army, he and Mom attended many social events. I remember them getting ready to his very off-key rendition of You get a line, and I’ll get a pole, and we’ll go down to the crawdad hole, Honey, Baby, mine! Across every bridge he sang Shenandoah, whether it was the Missouri River or not, and his favorite all-time hymn was The Old Rugged Cross. His rendition of Delta Dawn What’s that Flower you got on?, accompanied by my sister, Enid, while both donned cowboy hats, left everyone in stitches. To hear Dad sing was an especial treat, because he had the tin ear of all time with a capital T! Once, when he was in Viet Nam, my brothers wrote to him saying his letters were boring. I guess they wanted a little more detail about the ‘glories of war.’ Anyway, shortly thereafter, we received quite an appropriate response from him. The letter was burned around the edges, holes were shot through it, and some red substance was smeared all over it. Dad wrote, tongue in cheek, of course, that he was at the time under his desk, receiving heavy mortar fire from the Viet Cong, and that his Sergeant Major had just died in his arms. He felt a great affinity for the Hoosier Poet, James Whitcomb Riley. Many a lazy summer afternoon we would wile away an hour or two listening to him read from our volume of Riley’s Complete Poetical Works on the front porch of our home in Frederick, Illinois. Such favorites as The Old Swimmin’ Hole, Out to Old Aunt Mary’s, Where the Children Used to Play, The Bear Story, and When the Frost is on the Punkin took him back, I’m sure, to the innocent days of his childhood farming with his dad in Schuyler County. The tradition continued throughout his life, leaving his grandchildren with the same love for Riley’s poetry. Dad had us all wrapped around his little finger and we spoiled him rotten. If he needed a glass of water, we jumped. His glasses, we jumped. The newspaper, we jumped. He was a pretty picky eater, and had a restricted diet that he hated, so we were always trying to come up with meals he would like. He would kind of scowl at what we were cooking, ask what it was, and when we told him, say, Ooh, Yum! Toward the end, he had to be in a wheelchair most of the time, and we were all terrible at negotiating it. Every time we ran into something, he’d say, in a low monotone voice, Bump…or…Bang, to our great chagrin. When Dad spoke, everyone listened. He was never much of a talker, coming from Pennsylvania Dutch, stoic farm stock. But when he did, he was profound. As Honorary Commander of the Ninth Infantry Manchu Regiment, he could articulate off-the-cuff speeches that left the audiences dumbfounded with their wisdom and wit! Only in later years did he speak of the war, sometimes amusing, and sometimes shocking us with stories of his experiences. He taught us how to get along in life, by a few simple phrases he used in just the right circumstances. You gotta roll with the punches, Fabi! is one I bring to mind often, as well as, Make a decision and stick with it. (Fickleness is one of my greatest challenges in life!) He was the quintessential American soldier. He graduated proudly from West Point in 1951. Not only did he fight in the Korean War, but in the Vietnam War, too, even as an amputee. Interestingly, he was the first above the knee amputee since the Civil War to make a career of the Army and achieve the rank of colonel. As an Aerospace Engineer, he helped to develop the Patriot missile of Desert Storm fame. He loved his country unequivocally, and would have given his life gladly for the cause of Freedom. Indeed, in the end, that is exactly what he did. He will be buried with full honors at Arlington National Cemetery on February First. As West Point brothers in arms would say, he now stands in the Long Grey Line. Rest in Peace, Daddy! I am extremely jealous and, at the same time, elated that you are with Jesus, face to face, now. I wait most impatiently to join you, but I know you want me here, with my siblings and our descendants, to carry on your legacy for a time, and also to take care of Mom. We will do exactly that as long as God wills.

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