Treatment
On this journey, I have received abundant gifts of love, prayer and new perspective… but, never would I have anticipated what came my way yesterday.
Monday started out routinely until I opened an e-mail that was sent to me via this blog. It read: Dan, Would you happen to be the son of Daniel A. Zenka, a Marine from WWII? If you are, our fathers served together in the fourth marine division after going to grammar school together in Brooklyn, NY. It was signed by John Yackus.
Had I never been diagnosed, I might never have learned the story of two brave Marines and life-long friends from WWII. One of them is my father.
I replied: Dear John: It seems that our fathers both went to Annunciation School on North 5th Street in Greenpoint… And, by your last name I should say “Labas…” (Labas is Lithuanian for “hello” or “hi.” In our parents’ day, Annunciation was one of two neighboring Lithuianian parishes in Brooklyn sharing borders with St. Stanislaus, the Polish parish, and two other Italian parishes.) Yes, Daniel A. is my father. I am Daniel R. My dad is now 87 and living in New Hyde Park, Long Island. How did you happen to come across the blog?
Twenty minutes later my phone rang. It was John.
John had been trying to track my father down for several weeks. He explained that our fathers shared an annual 4th of July call each and every year since before I was born. I learned that my father had lost track of his friend–the phone had been disconnected. A letter to his long-time friend had gone astray for a few months until it worked its way through the mail and ended up in John’s hands. My dad must have forgotten to put a return address or his phone number on the letter because John had spent a good amount of time trying to locate my dad. With my father’s writing, John wasn’t sure of the correct spelling of Zenka. Finally, after a few Google searches using different spellings, he happened upon this blog and my contact information.
John, who is a pilot and trainer for United Airlines flying 777s, explained that his dad passed away in January, 2008–a sad and perhaps too easily guessed, explantion for the missed calls. I gave John my condolences and chatted a bit about the old Annunciation Church. Then John paused before saying: “You may or may not know this about your father…, old soldiers often don’t talk about such things, but he saved my father’s life…”
I was shocked. I had never heard of this part of my dad’s life. Several years ago while sitting in a Ben’s Delicatessen on Long Island, we had tried to pull out some of his history and experience in WWII. As he tried to share some recollections, his eyes filled with tears. My mom reached over and took his hand while she explained that it was very difficult for him to talk about the war. It was, perhaps, the most gentle moment, caring moment I ever witnessed between my parents.
A few moments later, my dad collected himself and was able to tell us of a time after Iwo Jima (he was in one of the early waves of troops) when, on another recaptured island, his superior officer gave orders for him to go down to the docks where supplies were being unloaded and another order to one of his fellow soldiers and friend. As they were about to respond, the officer switched the orders. Twenty minutes later, my dad heard the aerial attack on the harbor and saw the smoke rising on the horizon. He never saw that friend again.
John called me today. He told me of how when he was stationed in the Pacific many years later, his father (John A. Yackus), then in his late 40s or early 50s, visited him. Together they traveled to the island of Saipan in the Northern Mariana Islands. It was there in battle that his father was shot and seriously injured by shrapnel.
As the two walked along the beaches of Saipan, John’s dad located the very spot where he was struck down by opposing fire. He explained to John that the Japanese troops had gained the advantage and the Americans were in retreat. Then he pointed to a sand hill and said: “That’s the hill that Dan Zenka jumped over and onto me to protect me from enemy fire while a small group of Marines fought off the advancing troops…”
In a few short moments this afternoon, I learned that sometime between 1943 and 1945, on a small island in the Pacific, my father rallied a small group of young soldiers to advance into the fray long enough to save a man’s life. The voice on the other end of the phone would never have been around to tell me this story had my father not acted as he did that day. I am amazed that I never knew this about my father and extremely proud of his remarkable act of bravery. If you met my father you would agree that he is a very shy man, not one, as they say, “to put himself out there.” I still recall him being rendered speechless by a border guard while crossing into Canada when I was a young boy.
For their bravery and honor, John’s dad received a Purple Heart and my dad received a Silver Medal of Honor. I too have been given something. Had I never been diagnosed with cancer and started this blog, I would never have received this gift and honor of knowledge. I am ever grateful to John for sharing our fathers’ story. I look forward to seeing the photo of my dad receiving his Medal of Honor that John is sending.
God bless you John A. Yackus, God bless you dad. Thank you both for your service.
Monday started out routinely until I opened an e-mail that was sent to me via this blog. It read: Dan, Would you happen to be the son of Daniel A. Zenka, a Marine from WWII? If you are, our fathers served together in the fourth marine division after going to grammar school together in Brooklyn, NY. It was signed by John Yackus.
Had I never been diagnosed, I might never have learned the story of two brave Marines and life-long friends from WWII. One of them is my father.
I replied: Dear John: It seems that our fathers both went to Annunciation School on North 5th Street in Greenpoint… And, by your last name I should say “Labas…” (Labas is Lithuanian for “hello” or “hi.” In our parents’ day, Annunciation was one of two neighboring Lithuianian parishes in Brooklyn sharing borders with St. Stanislaus, the Polish parish, and two other Italian parishes.) Yes, Daniel A. is my father. I am Daniel R. My dad is now 87 and living in New Hyde Park, Long Island. How did you happen to come across the blog?
Twenty minutes later my phone rang. It was John.
John had been trying to track my father down for several weeks. He explained that our fathers shared an annual 4th of July call each and every year since before I was born. I learned that my father had lost track of his friend–the phone had been disconnected. A letter to his long-time friend had gone astray for a few months until it worked its way through the mail and ended up in John’s hands. My dad must have forgotten to put a return address or his phone number on the letter because John had spent a good amount of time trying to locate my dad. With my father’s writing, John wasn’t sure of the correct spelling of Zenka. Finally, after a few Google searches using different spellings, he happened upon this blog and my contact information.
John, who is a pilot and trainer for United Airlines flying 777s, explained that his dad passed away in January, 2008–a sad and perhaps too easily guessed, explantion for the missed calls. I gave John my condolences and chatted a bit about the old Annunciation Church. Then John paused before saying: “You may or may not know this about your father…, old soldiers often don’t talk about such things, but he saved my father’s life…”
I was shocked. I had never heard of this part of my dad’s life. Several years ago while sitting in a Ben’s Delicatessen on Long Island, we had tried to pull out some of his history and experience in WWII. As he tried to share some recollections, his eyes filled with tears. My mom reached over and took his hand while she explained that it was very difficult for him to talk about the war. It was, perhaps, the most gentle moment, caring moment I ever witnessed between my parents.
A few moments later, my dad collected himself and was able to tell us of a time after Iwo Jima (he was in one of the early waves of troops) when, on another recaptured island, his superior officer gave orders for him to go down to the docks where supplies were being unloaded and another order to one of his fellow soldiers and friend. As they were about to respond, the officer switched the orders. Twenty minutes later, my dad heard the aerial attack on the harbor and saw the smoke rising on the horizon. He never saw that friend again.
John called me today. He told me of how when he was stationed in the Pacific many years later, his father (John A. Yackus), then in his late 40s or early 50s, visited him. Together they traveled to the island of Saipan in the Northern Mariana Islands. It was there in battle that his father was shot and seriously injured by shrapnel.
As the two walked along the beaches of Saipan, John’s dad located the very spot where he was struck down by opposing fire. He explained to John that the Japanese troops had gained the advantage and the Americans were in retreat. Then he pointed to a sand hill and said: “That’s the hill that Dan Zenka jumped over and onto me to protect me from enemy fire while a small group of Marines fought off the advancing troops…”
In a few short moments this afternoon, I learned that sometime between 1943 and 1945, on a small island in the Pacific, my father rallied a small group of young soldiers to advance into the fray long enough to save a man’s life. The voice on the other end of the phone would never have been around to tell me this story had my father not acted as he did that day. I am amazed that I never knew this about my father and extremely proud of his remarkable act of bravery. If you met my father you would agree that he is a very shy man, not one, as they say, “to put himself out there.” I still recall him being rendered speechless by a border guard while crossing into Canada when I was a young boy.
For their bravery and honor, John’s dad received a Purple Heart and my dad received a Silver Medal of Honor. I too have been given something. Had I never been diagnosed with cancer and started this blog, I would never have received this gift and honor of knowledge. I am ever grateful to John for sharing our fathers’ story. I look forward to seeing the photo of my dad receiving his Medal of Honor that John is sending.
God bless you John A. Yackus, God bless you dad. Thank you both for your service.