Frank Gray's Thursday column is on Harold Kneller, a Fort Wayne man who lost a leg in WWII.
Kneller
enlisted out of college in 1942 and served in Africa and Sicily in
World War II through 1943. One day, while camping in Sicily, he got a
letter. It said he had done well on a qualifying exam and had been
granted an appointment to West Point. He had taken the test more than a
year before, though, and the letter, it turned out, was a year old by
the time it reached him. He tore it up and threw it into the wind on
the slopes of Mount Etna.
A year later, on Sept. 16, 1944, he
was in Germany, driving on a dirt road when a camouflaged anti-tank gun
fired on the Jeep that he and three other men were riding in. He
ordered the other soldiers into a ditch on the side of the road where
they could take cover.
When he lifted his leg, though, something felt funny. He looked, and it had been blown off below the knee.
It
was odd, Harold said. It didn’t bleed, and it was a neat cut, as neat
as could be, like it had been sliced off with a cleaver. His other leg,
though, was badly mangled by the blast. So he set off, crawling on his
belly, toward the American line.
As he crawled, a passing German
patrol saw him. One soldier shot him in the head with a pistol. The
bullet bounded off his helmet. Another German stabbed him and then went
on his way. Harold crawled on.
[...]
There’s a Bible
verse, Harold said, a verse he learned as a child that popped into his
head as he lay on the ground behind a Jeep with one leg missing and the
other mangled. That verse has helped him through life: “Call upon me in
the day of trouble and I will deliver you and you shall glorify me.”
Harold
Kneller, with one leg missing and one mangled, with four Purple Hearts
and a French Croix de Guerre and Belgian Fourragere, was delivered and
went on to a career as a teacher and tutor and salesman and speaker and
father – confined to the first row of the bleachers.
And whether he knows it or not, a hero to some.
He's right; Kneller is a hero, to more than he might realize.
As
a young student at St. Paul Lutheran School, I knew him as Mr. Kneller,
the kindly old man who tutored several students one-on-one. He had a
special gift for making the kids he taught feel like part of a special
club rather than someone who needed extra help. His students always
came back to class with another story or joke he had shared with them.
And then there was the Holy Grail: when he let them sneak a peek at his
wooden leg.
I was never personally tutored by Mr. Kneller, but I
remember him as vividly -- and as fondly -- as I do any of my full-time
teachers. He ate in the school cafeteria every day (his wife June was
the head cook) and would interact with students before and after the
meal.
When I was in fourth or fifth grade, he gave me a brand
new copy of "The Caine Mutiny." I still have no idea why. I never did
read the book (I was intimidated by its length and hard-to-understand
words), but each time I cleaned out my bookshelves, I couldn't bring
myself to get rid of it. I think that was because of the respect I
still had for him.
I assume that by the time he came to St.
Paul, Mr. Kneller was retired from his "real job." Rather than heading
down to Florida or enjoying lazy lunches with fellow retirees, he chose
to spend his time with eight- and nine-year old kids, helping them
learn. And making them feel special in the process.
I had never
heard the story of how he lost his leg until reading Frank's column
this morning, but even before that I already knew that Mr. Kneller was
a hero.
I just thought it was only in the classroom.
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