Hey, Old Timer...

I am very aware of how near retirement and impending doom I am, but I was walking down to the dock in Steilacoom when a bright red BMW pulled off the road and stopped. I walked up and leaned towards the open window, hoping it would be the mythical long legged red head looking for guidance. It wasn't but was a young soldier with sunglasses perched on his head and three metal qualification badges on his digital Desert Camo Uniform, he leaned towards me and asked "Hey, Old Timer, would you like a lift?"

As soon as "Old Timer" came out I was thinking Gabby Hayes and cringing internally in denial. I had just slipped in the movie of my mind from leading man, the hero, to comic relief sidekick, how had that happened? I kind of smiled and told him the walk was my exercise and thanks for the offer, as he sped off I hoped he just wanted to be nice and show off his ride - not that he thought I really needed a ride, I hadn't been limping nor lumbering on. I was enlisted for the Vietnam War in 1967 and stuck around through other military operations to including Desert Shield and Storm in 1990 and '91. But I started putting that life together with riding my motorcycle up behind a car waiting at a stop light, and reading the Memorial tribute in the window, of a young man, born in February of 1991, when I was getting prepared to invade Iraq with the French, that died in our current wars in 2009, he hadn't gotten to nineteen. So in honor of those Veterans, the "Old Timers" everywhere I will tell you about Samuel.

He was born before the turn of the Century, the Eighteenth Century, and grew up big and strong and joined the King's Dragoons to fight in wars on the Continent, against France or Spain. After the first little war he came home and everyone admired the fine Calvary saber with the gold inlay and shining sharpness -- asking how he had come by such a fine saber. He said modestly that a French officer had no further use for it and he had. His military career had gone on and the places would change but Samuel didn't for he went to the sound of the guns. In one of the many wars against France he rode off and came back with a fine pair of horse pistols,matching French pieces. When asked to tell the tale about that, he again replied that the French officer having no further need for them had given them up to him. He couldn't go on being a gallant dragoon forever, so he settled down to a small farm and small wife, raising crops and children and getting old. His years were wearing and he limped a little and later a lot, but there was no quit in him.

On April 19th, 1775 with the country rising up in arms to stop the British regulars Samuel Whittemore took up his musket, his horse pistols and cavalry saber and went out to do battle for his family and neighbors. He took up a strong position behind a stone wall about a hundred and fifty yards from the road and began to fire upon the advancing British redcoats. His fire was effective for they sent a squad of flankers to eliminate the position believing there were several rebels there. Samuel got several shots off from his musket before he had to pick up the pistols, and he got two shots off wounding with one and the other, he was drawing his saber when one of the regulars shot him in the face, taking away part of his jaw. the others quickly bayoneted him about a dozen times and left him for dead, then hurried back to the marching column, not wanting to be left behind in the coming darkness with the rebels everywhere.

Samuel's friends and neighbors came out after they left and went to see what they could do, expecting to find him dead, but they found him trying to re-load. They got a door off a home, laid Samuel on it and took him to Doctor Tufts. They begged the doctor to save him, but the doctor said it was too late, they asked him to try anyway and he did. When he finished he did tell them quietly that Samuel was going to die, he was seventy-eight years old. The doctor was correct Samuel Whittemore died, eighteen years later - scared horribly but always proud of his service to his adopted country and sure that he would do it again if called. A very dangerous old man, the oldest combatant on the field that day.

So the next time you see someone old and almost ancient, smile before you call him "Old Timer", it would be kinder to ask if he could help you -- for he would be glad to be the leading character in the movie of his life.