The Canteen

1973

A little boy ran across the field to hug his grandfather.  The older man was tall, wrinkled from years of sun damage and slightly hunched.  The boy, towheaded and freckled ran full speed into the man, causing him to drop an old, aluminum canteen.

“Why do you always carry that canteen grandpa?”

The 50-year-old man smiled and hugged the little boy and said, “You never know when you might need a drink.”

The little boy, whose name was Joey, was puzzled.  “There’s a hose by the barn.”

The grandfather smiled and patted his grandson on the head.  “You’re right, Joey.  Now, let’s go home and see what your grandma has whipped us up for dinner.”

Joey lived with Joseph and Hilda Ryan on a small farm in the northern Mississippi hills.  His mother had died when he was born and his father had died soon after while serving in Vietnam.  When most people were thinking of retirement, the couple faced the challenge of raising a second son. Through waves of grief, they saw the beautiful face of a child who needed their love.  Joseph Ryan stood stoically at his son’s funeral.  A single tear trickled down his weathered face.

1979

The preteen watched his grandfather in church. He noted the way the older man carefully prayed and sang at the top of his lungs. He worshipped with the zest of a man who knew God personally.  Joey listened carefully to his grandfather stress “forgive my trespasses as I forgive those who trespass against me.” Joey also noted the canteen sitting next to his grandfather. “Why?” he’s ask. And his grandfather would never really tell him why.

1986

“But I want a Honda Accord!” Joey protested but got no where with his grandfather. His grandfather was a loving, tolerant man. But he would not bend when it came to Japanese cars. Joey didn’t mind, though. He loved his Chevrolet Camaro. He and his grandfather would ride around with the T-tops out. And next to his grandfather was his canteen.

1988

The cake read, “Happy retirement!”  His grandfather had farmed in the morning and delivered mail the rest of the day. Known in the small town of Corinth as “Mr. Joe,” he was a beloved fixture in the fabric of the community.  Joey came up from Ole Miss for the party.  He hugged his grandfather and gave him a special gift: Two tickets to the Egg Bowl.  It was one the finest days of Joseph Ryan’s life.

1991

The grandfather was Joey’s best man. “Mom and Dad would have really wanted to see me get married,”

“His grandfather took a swig out of his canteen and said,” They’re here.  Trust me, they are here.”

When his grandfather wasn’t looking, Joey picked up the canteen and sniffed it. “I bet the old man drinks.” But it wasn’t booze. It was just plain water.

1996

At the Baptism of the Joseph Ryan IV, Joey heard his grandfather praying for forgiveness again. “Grandpa, do you ever worry about going to hell?”

His grandfather paused and rubbed his chin. “No Joey, I’ve been there.” He picked up his canteen and left it at that.

2013

Joseph Ryan lay dying in his hospital room.  Melanoma cancer had ravaged his body; a curse from years of intense sun damage.  He called his grandson closer and hugged the man.  “It has been my greatest joy raising you.  Your father would be so proud of you. I know your grandmother and I are.” His breathing became more labored and alarms began to sound.  And as he started to pass on, his grandson looked at his grandfather and asked him one last question, “I love you, too, grandpa. But tell me one thing. Why the canteen?”

His grandfather gripped the old aluminum canteen and said one last word, ” Peleliu.”

The next day, Joey allowed the strange word to rattle around in his head. Peleliu. Where had he heard that word before?  Peleliu…what could it mean?

And then it hit him. He remembered it from the miniseries, “The Pacific.” It was one of the most hellish battles of World War II.  He went into his grandfather’s room and saw a small box by his bed. In it was a globe and anchor — the emblem of the United States Marine Corps. An old photograph of a bunch of Marines on a scarred tropical island.  A signed copy of “With the Old Breed at Peleliu and Okinawa” by Eugene Sledge.  Joey read the inscription: “To my good friend Killer. It was an honor to go to Hell and back with you.”

Joey began to read the book.  The battle of Peleliu was one of the fiercest, nastiest battles in the Pacific.  Marines invaded a 5-square mile island what was supposed to take three days to take. It took over 30. The Japanese Army was dug in in over 500 caves.  The island was one big kill zone.  And to make matters worse, it was 115 degrees in the shade. The Marines had no water in the initial phase of the battle.  His grandfather’s canteen suddenly made sense.  He had been to hell. And nearly died of thirst in the process.

At the funeral, Joey and his son stood by the grave as the most important man in their life was lowered into the ground.  Family and friends sprinkled dirt on the coffin as Joey walked up to the hold. He bent down and placed an aluminum canteen on top of the coffin.

“I know you won’t need this where you are going, grandpa. But here’s an extra one just in case.”

And as spring spread its green blanket across the Mississippi countryside, everyone at the graveside toasted their own aluminum canteens the memory of a real American hero.