Their enemies called them “Devils in baggy pants.” During the Second World War, our civilization was being threatened by a mad man’s terrible ideology. While Adolph Hitler raged in Berlin, here in the States there were a group of young men who were being trained to fly in at night, jump out of a plane, and “take care of business.” Many of them were from the south, where much of our fighting force comes from. Most of them were farm boys, prized for their ability to shoot well. One of them was Wilson Freeman, a boy from Bowdon Georgia. He was a Devil in baggy pants. A paratrooper in the 101st and 82nd Airborne.
His divisions were trucked into Belgium, into a brutal winter storm. Their job was to hold back the German at this little piece of ground called Bastogne. And they held that ground. They held it even when they didn’t have big guns and had to use homemade molotov cocktails to throw up into the gears of the German tanks. They held it even when their feet started turning black with the cold.
They climbed an alpine mountain up to Eagle’s Nest…Hitler’s command post. They liberated a concentration camp, opening the gates to Dachau…helping the starving people take their first steps to freedom.
He didn’t talk about it much. Even when people asked him, he didn’t go into great detail. And when somebody called him a “hero,” he just said he was doing his job and trying to stay alive, just like everybody else did.
He talked about it on that clear October day, though, as we drove south toward Ft. Benning. It was Pop’s birthday and he was going down to the base to see the young men and women parachute out of planes. My friend Leslie’s daddy is a retired Colonel in the army and had called out to the base about Pop. They were glad to hear from us, and invited us down to observe some jump training.
We arrived early in the morning. There was mist thick on the ground. We arrived at the command post and met Major Risdon. He was the “ex-o” for the Airborne school based there at Ft. Benning. Second in command. Out of respect to Pop’s service, he had volunteered to be our tour guide for the day.
First we went to the “sweat shed.” That’s where the paratrooper trainees wait before they make their jumps. As we walked through the heavy metal doors, Major Risdon told us that the trainees inside were about to make their very first jump. As we entered, I saw rows and rows of uniformed people, men and women. Most were very young. Most were very nervous. There were roughly 400 of them, sweating and waiting.
There were officers there and their eyes lit up when they saw Pop. They all shook hands and talked for a minute or two, swapping old war stories. Then Pop started moving down the row of nervous kids, chewing the fat with them a little. I was pretty sure he was telling them that he’d been nervous too, on his first jump, and here he was to tell the tale. It worked, whatever he said, because as he passed down the line, faces relaxed and nerves seemed to calm a little.
Major Risdon told us that instead of sitting in the bleachers (like the rest of the civilians who would be watching the jump) we were going up to the drop zone. Ground Zero. When we got there, the mist was still thick on the ground so we drove to the highest point and waited for the weather. There were other folks already there. They were all in uniform…still wearing those baggy pants tucked snugly into their boots. They were waiting too.
Suddenly, we heard the low roar of the big troop plane. The soldiers began moving around at a smart clip. Some “big brass” was dropping in for a visit. The Commanding General of the Airborne Forces there was about to jump out of a plane.
We shielded our eyes against the sun. We watched, as the plane grew closer. Suddenly we saw chutes blooming like morning glories against the blue sky. The soldiers came down swiftly, only suspended in the air for a minute or two before they landed gracefully in the plowed field. They rolled their chutes up and headed for the top of the hill.
A man came up and shook Pop’s hand. I noticed Pop snap to attention. It was Major General Ferriter. The general chewed the fat with Pop for a minute or two, telling old war stories. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy commemorative coin. He presented it to Pop. Then the Commanding General of the Airborne Forces at Ft. Benning shook my dad’s hand and thanked him for his hard-bought service to our Nation.
I suddenly became aware that the sky above us was still full of chutes, drifting down out of a gentle autumn sky. Pop looked up too, and if I live another 100 years, I’ll never forget that sight. His face was radiant, like he could look past the blue and see the gates of heaven. And I’m not sure if there were streets of gold, but I am sure about one thing. There were Angels in baggy pants.
This column was originally printed in the Times-Georgian. Mimi Gentry’s stories can be read every Thursday in the Times-Georgian.