Daughters hear father’s Pearl Harbor story

Friday is Pearl Harbor Day, the day that catapulted America into World War II.

Those who came of age in the Great Depression, fought in World War II and, if they lived, returned home to help build their communities, to help build America. And they didn’t talk much about the years from 1941 to 1945, about the war.

They’ve been called the Greatest Generation.

Leon H. Milot was one of them.

I first met Lee many years ago when I was a newlywed and my husband was stationed at Fairchild Air Force Base. Lee was a businessman, manager of the Spokane Flower Growers, and he and his wife Mary were good friends of Liz and Bill Senske, who had taken us under their wing and made us feel part of their family.

We would see Lee and Mary at various Senske family functions, and we were also welcomed into their home. Mary was vivacious, and her personality filled the room. Lee was the quiet one, obviously content to let Mary be in the spotlight. He worked hard, going to work early, coming home late.

He was also a big Spokane booster, serving as president of the East Spokane Kiwanis, lieutenant governor of Kiwanis for Eastern Washington, president of the Lilac Festival Association, an active member of St. Augustine’s Catholic Church.

What I remember most about this man was his mild manner. His daughters – Mary Kay Bakken of Batavia, Ill., and Cammie Link of Palm Desert, Calif. – say he never raised his voice, and while he was frugal with himself, he was generous with friends, community and family. Friends describe him as a gentle man. A gentleman.

Yes, he had been in the war.

He didn’t talk about it much with his daughters as they were growing up. When they asked what he had done to win the Bronze Star they saw framed on the wall, he quietly deflected the question with a smile and said he’d gotten it for peeling the most potatoes when he was in the Army.

That was from another time in his life. He preferred to leave it be.

After 52 years of marriage, his beloved Mary died in 1998. Not long after that, he traveled with his daughters to Europe. He wanted to visit Amsterdam, home of the world’s largest wholesale flower market. They also went to Belgium, Germany and Luxembourg.

And he talked about his war experience, finally.

This florist, who was the son of a florist, had been a company commander in the 320th Combat Engineering Battalion and assistant division engineer of the 95th Infantry Division – part of Gen. George S. Patton’s Third Army. He and his units went in ahead of the troops to find the best route into an area, to build or blow up bridges (depending on what was needed), to clear the way.

He received his Bronze Star for heroism during the assault on the city of Metz, considered the most heavily fortified city in Europe. He went on to the Siegfried Line. And, after that, the Battle of the Bulge – the bloodiest of the battles U.S. forces experienced in World War II, the battle at which America experienced 81,000 casualties, including 19,000 killed.

On his return trip to Europe with his daughters, they took a guided tour to the memorial at the site of the Battle of the Bulge. The tour guide asked if he would share with the group some reflections about that pivotal battle. Always thoughtful and measured, he said he’d think it over. In a way, that was a lot to ask of this unassuming man who had barely spoken of it for nearly 60 years.

And then he did speak. His daughters recall the moment.

Their father was humble and factual in the telling of what had happened there. He talked about the bone-numbing cold and how desperate the civilians were, how the cart he thought was filled with cord wood was actually stacked with frozen bodies. He was deep within his memories.

As they walked around the memorial, a group of Belgian high school students was there as well. The teenagers came over and each shook his hand. Many personally thanked him for what he had done, for what the Allies had done, to free them so many decades ago.

But they hadn’t even been born at that time, nor had their parents. It had been their grandparents’ and great-grandparents’ time. But these young people had heard and remembered their stories. And they were grateful.

Then they circled around him and sang to him.

“Dad just shook his head slowly and looked in disbelief that these young people did this,” his daughter Mary Kay Bakken said.

His heart was full. A hero was honored.

Lee had been spending his winters in California where, at age 90, he golfed regularly. But he returned to his home in Spokane every spring. He came back in November this year to attend the opening of the new Hospice House because Hospice had been so good to Mary in her final months, and also to attend the gala opening of the new Fox Theater.

The day after the Fox event, he was going to have brunch with friends, but when the always-on-time Lee didn’t show up, his friends went to his home to look for him. He had died. He was still wearing his tuxedo from the night before.

Elegant in life, elegant in death.

World War II veterans are dying at a rate of more than 1,000 every day, according to the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs.

Leon H. Milot was one of them.