Wendell Goffe Armour
My hero, my Dad
Army First Sergeant Wendell Goffe Armour was 92 years old when he left this world June 26, 2014. He was a brave solider and a man proud of country. He experienced the horrors of war, and once said to me, “you don’t know what its like to have a buddy die in your arms.”
At 17, he joined the 28th Infantry Division of the Pennsylvania National Guard in Pittsburgh. They were called to active duty in February 1941 to Europe, but because he had a mother living in Germany, the Army sent him to the South Pacific. He joined the Army Air Corps and spent WWII with the 7th Bomber Command. He saw action in the Korean conflict in 1950. He served as Platoon leader and later 1st Sgt. with F Company, 24th Infantry Division.
He was awarded the Silver Star for courageous action in Korea. It was during an attack that he was seriously wounded in the left leg earning him a Purple Heart. Other medals include the Bronze Star, Good Conduct Medal, campaign medals, service medals and the Armed Forces Expeditionary Medal and the Combat infantry badge.
He retired from the Army in 1963 at Ft Bliss, Texas. He had served tours in Hawaii, New Jersey, Texas and Army Advisory duty in Taipei, Taiwan.
My Dad taught us to respect the flag and all it stands for. I came across a picture recently of him saluting the flag out in front of our house; he did not know I was taking the picture. He always insisted we fly the flag on the 4th of July, Veterans Day and Flag Day. He fought and almost died for the freedoms we take for granted in our country today and one such freedom is the right to fly our flag.
When he wore his hat with his medals on it, strangers often stopped him on the street to say thank you for your service to our country. I was so proud of him. In his latter years, he walked with a limp and used a cane because of his wounded leg. That was a reminder to me of what he had gone through for his country.
My first remembrance of my Dad was when I was about 2 or 3 years old and my Dad was returning from the Korean War. My mother was holding me in her arms as we stood with crowds of people watching soldiers getting off this big ship in Hawaii. My Dad was wearing battle fatigues and his backpack and helmet. I was scared at first and cried as my mother said, “this is your Daddy.” I warmed up to his wonderful smile quickly.
After his death, I was going through his papers and almost tossed what I thought was a scrape piece of paper. But turning it over, I found scribbled on it in his handwriting, some thoughts that he had written down. It showed me that there was a sensitive man underneath that hard exterior of the tough Army sergeant.
I know he read this somewhere but it made an impression on him and he wrote it down. “Footprints on the sands of time are not made by sitting down.” People who know me, know it’s hard for me to sit down, I guess I get that from my Dad.
Thanks for your footprints, Daddy, footprints you left on the battlefields and those you left in our hearts.
