The first family automobile recalled was a beauty; a jet-black 1939 Cheverolet with chrome front and rear bumpers and large side-sections of that metallic trim. In a modern sense, its heavy metal body and chassis suggested of an armoured vehicle. Sherman tanks of that era were not as strong. Dad used his Chevy as a workhorse-
as a farm tractor for plowing, destruction of old barns and houses, and for clearing of land.
Story: Main Body
IF YOU DON'T BELIEVE IN MIRACLES
Dedicated to Harvey Hubbard of Lyon County, Kentucky, Private and combat infantryman, World War II. With Patton' Third Army
Until American participation in World War II ended in 1945, citizens
felt their men and women in uniform were the strongest and most courageous in the world. Kentuckians returning home on leave were treated with great respect and admiration. We fully expected them to be victorious. The stories of horror and deprivation shocked us. Without doubt some stories were true, others outright fabrications; with no means to check-out their authenticity. We believed them in their entirety. One thing the men-in-service relayed to us without reservation is that the enemy is tough, and he fights well. "We may lose." Such revelations frightened we "stay-homers" into accepting gracefully the rationing of items such as s sugar, gasoline, kerosene, and other commodities.
One of the tales Cousin Harvey Hubbard shared involved this author, George Harold Fulks, a young Kentucky boy; not yet five years old.
On a June day during 1944, remnants of opposing forces approached each other on Omaha Beach. Facing those German defenders were a handful of American invaders who had survived the second wave. They'd found a break in German fortifications, but their pathway was by no means easy. At point of entry, there were no barbed wire,booby traps. or vehicle obstacles; just a narrow uphill trench for the invasion force. Hostile soldiers used everything at their means to repel their enemies. What American soldiers found was a drainage-ditch of some sort, but it was an opening for the Americans; a means to overrun, encircle, and outflank the Germans. One hundred yards
onto the sandy beach through that trench, and Private Harvey Hubbard would be on the crest of those dunes and looking down on the defenders. Would he survive that distance?
The helmeted heads of four German infantrymen bobbled-up from behind a dune- three riflemen and a stocky sergeant weilding a stubby sub-machine gun. Following a short
exchange of fire causimg no casualties, the sergeant handsignaled to his troopers. Scurrying toward higher positions, the firing ceased. The Americans, continuing to
ziz-zag and crawl toward the German positions, came to a sudden stop. All hostile fire ceased from both sides.
"What kind of men are you?" yelled Sergeant Hermann Steinbaum."We
have no fight with children! Get that child out of the line of fire!We're going to fight here. We're going to kill you, and the boy will be killed too."
It was during that lull in combat that Private Harvey Hubbard and
German Sergeant Hermann Steinbaum stood facing each other from twenty-yards distance. "That's the son of a cousin of mine. I don't know what the heck he's doing
here. I'll try to get him out of here."
Happy Birthday: June 1944
It was June 3, 1944 and George Harold Fulks' fourth birthday. Few toys and trinkets adorned the household of Rummage and Ella Belle Fulks, their four girls and one boy. The girl's clothing was cut from chickenfeed sacks; gaudily decorated with colorfully flowered designs; hand stitched by use of borrowed patterns. Grandmother Carie Pinegar Fulks, Aunt Avel Fulks, and the girls themselves gathered around quilting frames and made the girl's clothing. Some clothing items were pass-downs or bought at flea markets. Most people were into subsistent survival tactics. One reality of those times was that much of humanity were engaged in contests to determine which ideaologolies would ccntinue to dominate world history; a question men are still trying to determine.