Calvin Hawk: Another Good One is Gone.

Although I know it is inevitable, it always pains me when another veteran, that I’ve come to know personally, passes away.  Calvin Hawk died this last Sunday, and will be buried today.  He was 87.

I first met Hawk nine years ago, in January 2002, when  I visited him at his home to learn about his experiences in World War II.  It was a cold winter day, but he had the wood stove fired up.  We gabbed for a time about the latest project he was tinkering on and about his days as a tool maker at Flint & Walling.  Fellow machinists love to talk shop.  We became fast friends.

When it came to World War II, he confessed that he’d never really talked about it before.  It didn’t surprise me.  I could tell that he was a quiet sort, not prone to big stories or the limelight.  I just stayed out of the way, and let him take the conversation wherever he wanted it to go.

Calvin Hawk - 95th Infantry Division

Hawk fought through Northern Europe as a rifleman with Company L, 379th Infantry, 95th Infantry Division.  His unit came to be known as the “Iron Men of Metz” for their two-week assault on the fortress city.  A house-by-house street brawl at Saarlautern, Germany followed, then the Battle of the Bulge.  Hawk earned the Purple Heart for shrapnel wounds received along the Saar River in March 1945.

Hawk also admitted that it was difficult when he first returned from war. Loud noises, like cars back firing, sent him to the ground, looking for cover.  Nightmares haunted his sleep for years.  However, in time, these carryovers from war mellowed.  Hawk and his wife, Ethel raised a family and lived a rich, full life.

By all accounts, Hawk was a wonderful man–pleasant, kind, a friend to all.  But one thing from the war stayed with him.  Though he couldn’t shake it, I’m sure he stored it deep within.

Hawk asked me to keep this one aspect of our conversation “just between us, at least til after I’m gone,” he laughed.  I’m a man of my word, and I’ll take him at his.  My guess is that he didn’t want the attention.

Perhaps due to his days growing up in the country, Hawk became an expert marksman in the Army.  Consequently, once in war, he was often employed as a sniper.  That’s no secret.  He had shared that with others before.

But being a sniper in World War II didn’t come without consequence, at least not for this humble man.  Eying a human target through the scope, locking a real person in the crosshairs, then pulling the trigger and ending a life, he never forgot the faces.  Yes, it was war and Hawk dutifully did what he had to do.  But his eyes told me that human beings aren’t wired to kill that way.   Remembering a mark’s simple mustache or wire-rimmed glasses, it was all too personal.  The memories of these men followed Hawk for sixty-five years, likely to his grave.  Thankfully, most of us will never know the burdens our combat veterans carry, even long after the guns have gone silent and the wars have ended.

Another good one is gone.  A grateful community and nation mourn the loss of American hero, Otis Calvin Hawk.

Well done soldier.  Maybe now, you’ll find everlasting peace.

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