Feet Don't Fail Me Now

Feet Don't Fail Me Now

One Wednesday evening, in the spring of 1954, my fifteen year old father had a fight with another boy.  After losing the other youth sullenly walked away.  About two hours later Dad was with his brother George.  George had just completed Marine Boot Camp and returned to visit before going to his next station and follow on training. 

My uncle was showing a group of boys his Marine issue bayonet, and the other youths stood around him, looking at the large knife, in awe.  As Dad stood with the other boys, the kid he had fought with earlier crept up behind him, and hit him in the head with a club.  Dad fell to his knees, momentarily stunned, then rolled aside as the attacker again struck at his head.  When the boy missed, Dad lunged up and grabbed my uncle's bayonet.

The assailant took off running, with Dad doing his best to catch up.  Dizzy and bleeding my father still made a good showing, hot on the heels of the other youth.  They ran up to the local church where the evening service was in progress.  Everyone turned to look as the church doors flew open and the two came flying up the aisle.  The former attacker, club still in hand, with Dad brandishing the bayonet, hot on his heels. 

Luckily for all concerned Dad's Grandpa Allen was in the front row, and caught Dad as he went by.  As great-Grandpa Allen held onto my struggling father, the other boy dove through the church window and ran away. 

It sounds harrowing now, but from all I've heard, it was just a typical Wednesday evening in Casey County, during the mid-50's.