Nov. 8, 2001
Tucked deep in the heart of a little boy are memories of a grown man, tall and strong, a football star, a war hero, an uncle who made a nation proud.
The little boy is 67 now, retired and living in Austin, but every time he thinks about Jack Lummus, Pete Wright feels young again.
Young and in awe.
The friends Wright grew up with in Ennis idolized Jack Lummus, wept when he died, got over him, and moved on. The little boy in Wright never moved on.
A part of Pete Wright is stuck in 1945, riding a bike and throwing snowballs with a war hero, the year Uncle Jack died.
It's hard to know where to begin Jack's story, but let's try Japan, on the battlefield on Iwo Jima, four years after he played end for the New York Giants, and five after he left Baylor as a football and baseball star.
Lummus is 29 and running through enemy fire, bullets flying on his left, grenades exploding on his right. He is 6-foot-3 and 200 pounds of courage, bleeding from wounds to his shoulder and feet, and racing to direct and encourage his platoon.
A first lieutenant in the U.S. Marine Corps, Lummus is bold and dashing. He is handsome. He has a girl.
When the war ends, Lummus plans to come home and marry Ethlyn "Skipper" Bookwalter, his fianc?e. They will build a dream. Their children will build dreams. Jack and Skipper will grow old and watch their grandchildren build dreams.
But now Jack is talking to his men in the 3rd Platoon of Company E, 2nd Battalion, 27th Regiment, 5th Marine Division. He tells them to advance. As the men move forward, Jack steps out front, without taking cover.
The platoon destroys one concrete fortification occupied by Japanese troops. Jack attacks foxholes and spider-traps with his carbine. He steps on a land mine.
His lower torso and legs are mutilated. Jack shouts to his troops, "Don't stop now. Keep going!"
Soldiers lift Jack onto a stretcher and carry him to the 2nd Battalion aid station. A physician, Thomas Brown, begins emergency procedures. Jack turns pale. His eyes close. Then he grins and says, "Well, Doc, the New York Giants lost a mighty good end today."
Pete Wright was 11 years old when he walked into his home and saw everyone crying. Pete asked what had happened, and then he went out back and stayed there a long time, alone.
"When he went off to war," Pete says now, "I prayed he wouldn't die."
Skipper received a telegram from Marine Corps Headquarters on March 30, 1945. "Deeply regret to inform you," it began.
Five days later, Skipper wrote to Thelma Wright, Pete's mother and Jack's sister: "If only we could have been married - even just a little while. ... Our love was as near perfect as anything on this earth could be."
Skipper corresponded with Jack's sister for years. Skipper eventually married, became a widow, married again, and lost touch with the family.
Pete went on to play football at Ennis High, just like his uncle. Coaches even made him an end. "But I didn't have Jack's athletic ability," Pete says.
In the heart of a little boy, a hero grew and grew. Months after Lummus died, the New York Giants erected a bronze tablet in his name at the Polo Grounds. In 1946, President Truman awarded Lummus a Congressional Medal of Honor.
The little boy grew up, married, had two daughters, and talked about Uncle Jack all the time. Other relatives gave him a hard time, on occasion saying he had become obsessed.
Well, more than 40 years after Iwo Jima, the military was still talking about the little boy's uncle. In 1986, a U.S. Navy ship was christened the MV 1st Lt. Jack Lummus. The vessel carries supplies that can support 3,000 Marines for one month in battle.
It was used in the Persian Gulf War. It may be used in the war on terrorism.
Everything Pete Wright knows about the vessel and his late uncle is described in detail at www.jacklummus.com.
Click on, and it doesn't take long to understand that Uncle Jack never died. He is alive, warming a nephew's heart and sailing on the Western Pacific.
