My Grandpa Sutton



Sometimes, I hear my thoughts as voices. I’ve written a lot about my grandpa Townsend. His voice is prominent in my mind. I can hear my sister, my mom, and my dad in my memories. The ones that I spent the most time with growing up are very strong. My wife’s voice is probably the strongest. I’ve spent more time with her than any of the others since we’ve been married for almost 33 years and been a couple for almost 36.

There is one voice that doesn’t exist in my head. My grandpa Sutton’s voice was silenced many years before I showed up. He was born in 1895 and I was born in 1968. If he had lived to see my birth, he would have been 73 years old. Unfortunately, he died of complications from medicines he was taking in 1953.

When my grandma Sutton passed away, we opened my grandpa Sutton’s footlocker that had a small snapshot of his life in it. From his belongings I have a pipe wrench that he used at The Stokley’s plant that was on Harrison street just off of 19. I have his wool bathing suit, the 48 star flag off his casket, and a handful of things he brought home from World War One.

Among the souvenirs of milestones in his life, there was a set signaling mirrors, a leather courier’s pouch, and a set of rosary beads. My dad, my aunt, and my uncle let me keep those.

The signaling mirrors were my grandpa’s. He took the pouch and rosary beads from a German soldier that he killed in battle. Until recently I thought it was in hand to hand combat, but my dad told me they were actually on motorcycles. My grandpa was a courier during the war. He took information from the front lines to the safety of a camp away from the battle where officers made plans for soldiers next moves.

Since my grandpa doesn’t have voice in my head, I hear my dad’s voice and my aunt Margret’s voice narrating his story. In my head I see him and a German soldier roaring down some war torn road on motorcycles in France firing pistols at each other. No matter the duration of the battle between them or the number of shots fired, the reality is I’m here, and my grandpa won.

I have a few other stories, but this one is one of the stories that paints a picture of strength and resolve. My grandpa Sutton, like thousands of others, volunteered to fight in a war halfway around the world. Though I’ve never met him, I have a deep respect for him and every man and woman that walked willingly into battle in order to protect this country and it’s citizens. Sometimes I think we forget how many men and women from from Miami county served our country. Thank you all for your service.

The man on the left is my grandpa. This was taken when he enlisted in the army if I remember correctly. 

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