Kenneth Harvey Howard 1924

Kenneth Harvey Howard was born August 16, 1924 to Luther Singleton (LS) Howard and Shellie (Fentress) Howard. He was killed during WW II in Belgium, December 19, 1944, just 47 days after I was born. In a letter he wrote to Mary and Ernest Grider on Nov. 23, 1944 (Thanksgiving Day) He said he had received word of the birth of his new son:

"I got a letter from Irene last night too. She wrote it on the 3rd after little Keith was born on the morning of the 2nd. I guess Irene really had a hard time from what I've been able to find out. Of course she didn't complain to me though. I guess she is pretty proud of the little fellow and I know I'm proud of him. I can hardly wait to get a picture of him."

Even though he never received pictures of me (they were returned unopened with news of his death), my father had seen me in his heart, named me, and made a sketch of mother and me.

His attitudes and talents were a generation or more ahead of his time. His abilities as an artist and writer were not understood by his father who grew up in an era in which physical labor was deified. In the religious era of extreme judgementalism, his attitudes of love, mercy, tolerance, and understanding were viewed by his father (who was a strict fundamentalist preacher) as too liberal. When my father was 12 years old he wrote the poem "WAR'S HORRORS," which tells of the way he later met his death.

WAR'S HORRORS

By Kenneth Howard at age 12

Over your head flies a screaming shell

Someplace it lands and some men it fell.

Be it city or trench no matter where

It leaves it's dead ruins a muddled smear.

You can't tell it may be you

That'll feel the sting of a bullet or two

It may be you that will be next

To have your body with dead men mixed.

'War' that's the word that electrifies millions

That makes them bow on their knees to the Lord

And pray that their sons may not have to go

To that horrible place where the blood doth flow.

You may not think it a talkable matter,

This fear of war and all it's clatter,

But those who have gone want not to go again

To those battle fields of sorrow, death and of sin.

Where one may live through the morning bright,

And never again see the stars at night.

Where life goes quick and death is abound

And follows you always with a roaring sound.

Peace is the thing that our elders want,

Not the war with its sorrows that have been fought

Not the time when life is so cheap,

And the road to success is so hard and steep.

The ones who bring war upon us know

That into the trenches they'll not have to go

It all comes of selfish wants

And not of thoughts that are noble and staunch.

Never jump into war unaware

Thinking not of the griefs, trials and care

Think of the horrors, death and the cost

Think of the lives and the friends that'll be lost.

Fight for our right if fight we must,

Fight only for a cause which is right and just

We must fight the fangs of war

With a strong opposition such as 'Thor.'

Kenneth was married to Emma Irene Simmons. Kenneth entered the army on July 2, 1943. His love for Irene is shown in the poems he wrote during training.

My Wife

by Kenneth Howard 1944

It's late Saturday night

I'm sitting all alone

Thinking of my little wife

And our war disrupted home.

It was so sweet and cozy there

When we said our evening prayer,

Then the lights we'd turn down low

And to bed we both would go.

Tis quite different as you can see

That bed at home, and a cot in the Army

For there no bugle ever blew

To wake me up to the morning new.

There was companionship to the first degree

Here in this cot is no one but me

And all around in other cots are

More fellows training to fight a war.

It doesn't seem quite fair to me

To fight some statesman's enemy

For whose quarrels I'm not to blame

But I'm made to fight just the same.

Where we're attacked - Our cause is just

We'll cure that Jap's hellish lust

For power and strength, land and blood.

We'll sweep over them like a flood,

We'll kill; we'll ruin; we'll devastate,

We'll teach him well we're not too late.

The bombs, the shells, lead and steel - -

He'll get them all til he can feel

His yellow spine began to reel

In a war that he started, but cannot seal.

Those things we're taught - to fight and kill.

Such things go sadly against my will

I'm working and fighting for just one day

When our efforts from war will be turned away.

Then I can return to my dear sweet wife

And we'll build a new and happy life.

Then the big events in life will be

The arrival of a son or an anniversary.

For my wife I love far more than wealth.

And her comfort more than my own health.

I love her face, her eyes and lips

And the cute little way she swings her hips.

I love her more than any tongue can find

A way to impress upon our mind.

She has been a wonderful wife for me

She works and saves so we can be free

From debt, worry, and poverty,

For her heart's as big as the open sea.

SHE IS SWEET AS AN ANGEL

AND BEAUTIFUL AS A QUEEN

WHAT A FINE LITTLE PERSON

IS MY WIFE, IRENE!

Kenny

TO IRENE

There's a lot of miles 'tween me and you
And I've lots of training to go through
But I'll not forget ( no not on my life)
To write that nightly letter to you dear wife.
I work long and hard in training here
With other fellows from far and near
My goal of course, dear, you know
Is to get the war over and homeward go.
Our officers and non-coms are all swell
They train us long and hard and well
We are fed and trained to keep us strong
In all of this there is nothing wrong.
But there is an empty place in my breast
It's a longing for you Irene, and all the rest
Of the things that made our home so dear
To both our hearts during the past year.
I'm saving all my love for you
And all my kisses and hugs too
I'll give you them and many more
When I get back after the war is o'er.

1944 By Kenneth Howard