thedrifter
11-25-08, 07:07 AM
Marine couple teaming up since WWII
Tackle life's trials together
By Garret Mathews
Monday, November 24, 2008
The two old Marines, both legally blind, touch fingers while navigating the living room. Their vision has been reduced to shadows and fuzzy shapes. They work as a team to avoid tabletops and footstools.
"I have nothing but good things to say about my military career," Jean Benedict says. "It was the adventure I always wanted to have."
Big smile.
"And if I hadn't gone, I never would have met my Pappy."
That would be Keith Benedict, her husband of 62 years, who promptly blushes.
"I've never been much of a ladies man. I don't know why she picked me, but I'm sure glad she did."
Keith Benedict, 85, was a forward observer and truck driver during World War II, serving first in New Zealand and later at Pearl Harbor in Hawaii.
Jean Benedict, 88, was a clerk-typist at the same Honolulu duty station. They met in spring 1945.
"I would rent a kitchen off base for 50 cents, and we'd spend the afternoon cooking tuna steaks," the Evansville man recalls. "The girls had what were called liberty passes. They absolutely had to be back at their barracks by 10 p.m."
"The female Marines were kept separated from the male Marines by a big, long fence," Jean Benedict says. "If the fellows wanted to come calling, they had to walk to the guard shack and show themselves. If the girls said it was all right, they'd let him in. Night after night, Keith kept coming over."
She squirms to get comfortable in the big chair.
"Poor thing," he says. "She's had lots of trouble with her back."
Keith Benedict, a Michigan native, had a "serious bout" with colon cancer in 1988, he says.
"That made me think, because I didn't know how much time I had left. I decided I needed to slow down doing all the things I was doing so I could spend more time with my wife."
She retired as a school secretary. He worked 32 years for Bucyrus-Erie and later built greenhouses.
"We don't need live-in help yet," Jean Benedict says, "but that time is coming. We both know that."
Retina degeneration has kept her from driving since 1982. He hasn't been behind the wheel since 2001.
It keeps them going
"We know we're getting up in years, but the one thing keeps us going," he says. "I mean, how many husband and wives can say they served in the Marines in the Second World War and are still around to tell about it?"
Keith Benedict talks about the morning the company commander made his Marines report for morning formation "buck naked," and how some troops got tired of walking around the two-mile stretch of fence that separated the male and female troops, so they cut a big hole in it and formed a shortcut.
Jean was dating a young man from East St. Louis, Ill., who was killed in the war.
"After that, I knew I wanted to do my part to help the war effort. I enlisted in Chicago. My mother went with me, and I remember her being so excited about riding up and down the escalators at the downtown department stores."
The afternoon sun lights up her engagement ring.
"Cost me $82.50," he remembers. "I was pulling down about fifty bucks a month as a Marine. I bought an $18 war bond every month and sent a bunch of other money home. It took me a long time to save up for the ring, but I managed."
"He never really proposed," Jean Benedict says. "It was like we had this mutual understanding."
They live in the same North Side house that Keith helped build in 1951. The place is across the street from where Jean spent her childhood.
"In some ways, I guess I've come pretty far, and in other ways I haven't," she says.
Keith Benedict wears a bright red T-shirt that boosts the Marines. Hers is white.
"I consider myself one of the luckiest guys there ever was. For one thing, I got out of the Marines without being killed. And for the second. ..."
He looks at the tall woman on the couch.
"Well, I'd say that's pretty obvious."
Ellie
Tackle life's trials together
By Garret Mathews
Monday, November 24, 2008
The two old Marines, both legally blind, touch fingers while navigating the living room. Their vision has been reduced to shadows and fuzzy shapes. They work as a team to avoid tabletops and footstools.
"I have nothing but good things to say about my military career," Jean Benedict says. "It was the adventure I always wanted to have."
Big smile.
"And if I hadn't gone, I never would have met my Pappy."
That would be Keith Benedict, her husband of 62 years, who promptly blushes.
"I've never been much of a ladies man. I don't know why she picked me, but I'm sure glad she did."
Keith Benedict, 85, was a forward observer and truck driver during World War II, serving first in New Zealand and later at Pearl Harbor in Hawaii.
Jean Benedict, 88, was a clerk-typist at the same Honolulu duty station. They met in spring 1945.
"I would rent a kitchen off base for 50 cents, and we'd spend the afternoon cooking tuna steaks," the Evansville man recalls. "The girls had what were called liberty passes. They absolutely had to be back at their barracks by 10 p.m."
"The female Marines were kept separated from the male Marines by a big, long fence," Jean Benedict says. "If the fellows wanted to come calling, they had to walk to the guard shack and show themselves. If the girls said it was all right, they'd let him in. Night after night, Keith kept coming over."
She squirms to get comfortable in the big chair.
"Poor thing," he says. "She's had lots of trouble with her back."
Keith Benedict, a Michigan native, had a "serious bout" with colon cancer in 1988, he says.
"That made me think, because I didn't know how much time I had left. I decided I needed to slow down doing all the things I was doing so I could spend more time with my wife."
She retired as a school secretary. He worked 32 years for Bucyrus-Erie and later built greenhouses.
"We don't need live-in help yet," Jean Benedict says, "but that time is coming. We both know that."
Retina degeneration has kept her from driving since 1982. He hasn't been behind the wheel since 2001.
It keeps them going
"We know we're getting up in years, but the one thing keeps us going," he says. "I mean, how many husband and wives can say they served in the Marines in the Second World War and are still around to tell about it?"
Keith Benedict talks about the morning the company commander made his Marines report for morning formation "buck naked," and how some troops got tired of walking around the two-mile stretch of fence that separated the male and female troops, so they cut a big hole in it and formed a shortcut.
Jean was dating a young man from East St. Louis, Ill., who was killed in the war.
"After that, I knew I wanted to do my part to help the war effort. I enlisted in Chicago. My mother went with me, and I remember her being so excited about riding up and down the escalators at the downtown department stores."
The afternoon sun lights up her engagement ring.
"Cost me $82.50," he remembers. "I was pulling down about fifty bucks a month as a Marine. I bought an $18 war bond every month and sent a bunch of other money home. It took me a long time to save up for the ring, but I managed."
"He never really proposed," Jean Benedict says. "It was like we had this mutual understanding."
They live in the same North Side house that Keith helped build in 1951. The place is across the street from where Jean spent her childhood.
"In some ways, I guess I've come pretty far, and in other ways I haven't," she says.
Keith Benedict wears a bright red T-shirt that boosts the Marines. Hers is white.
"I consider myself one of the luckiest guys there ever was. For one thing, I got out of the Marines without being killed. And for the second. ..."
He looks at the tall woman on the couch.
"Well, I'd say that's pretty obvious."
Ellie