I was nine years old when he left Earth for Heaven. Lung cancer took him, likely from the Lucky Strikes he smoked one right after the other. A storyteller, my uncle had a knack for transporting any listener into another place and time. His characters were so real that sometimes I believed they were standing in the room with us.
He loved to roll tiny pieces of bread or paper between his fingers, light one cigarette with the one he just finished smoking, and drink Coca-Cola. Tall and lean, he could play any instrument by ear and loved the song “Moon River.”
Toulman Williams Hurt, Jr., better known as “Uncle Tootie” (two-tie), served during the Korean Conflict in the United States Marine Corps – Easy Company, 5th Battalion, 1st Marine Division. Being a Marine meant more to him than anything other than God. When he fought in the Korean War, he often said he fought as if the war’s outcome depended solely upon him.
I learned my patriotism from him. He wasn’t emotional until he saw the flag or heard the National Anthem. Even when a ballgame was on the television, he would stand reverently in our den, in front of the box television as the words “Oh say can you see, by the dawn’s early light…” filled the room.
When he enlisted, he had high hopes of playing in the Marine Corps Band – the trumpet, sax, piano – my uncle could play them all, but it didn’t work out. He used to joke later in life and tell the story about how he had to move a piano once in the mess hall. (So much for a musical career).
There were few prized possessions in his life. His Bible, a picture of his mother (my grandmother), and his Marist High School Class ring. For him, the high school ring held special meaning; it was always a connection to home.
His unit moved to Inji, Korea, in the area of the “Punchbowl,” an extinct volcano of military value in the Taebaek Mountains of Korea. They were to maintain a rim around the valley. The operation went well, with few casualties, until an unexpected team of North Korean soldiers came behind them.
There were three left in his unit after the attack, my uncle being one of them. His best buddy, who he called Cro-Magnon because the man stood 6’5″ and weighed 270 pounds, was hit while attempting to flee into the protection of their bunker.
My uncle ran into enemy fire, found Cro, and dragged him to safety, not realizing that in his attempt to save Cro, he was hit by several bullets himself. In the security of the MASH unit, my uncle became aware that in all the chaos, he lost his Marist High School Class of ’47 ring.
While it seemed insignificant then, he later realized how much the ring would become a symbol of home to him.
Almost a year after his injury in Inji, Uncle Tootie found himself in a snow-blanketed bunker. The Marines had taken control of a village, and he was waiting for relief.
His replacement came in the form of a Virginia boy named Gentry Blackwell. The two spoke briefly, and somehow, the conversation led to rings. My uncle told the four soldiers in his bunker about his Marist ring that he had lost in Inji.
With an astonished look on his face, Gentry reached into his satchel and whispered, “I found this ring on a trail in Inji.” He placed the gold band with the familiar blue stone in Uncle Tootie’s hand, with the engraved initials TWH on the inside.
Nothing had felt so concrete or real since he had arrived in Korea two years before – a piece of home in an icy cold bunker in Korea. He later said, “I never want to forget what it felt like in that bunker. I never want to forget the feeling of home.”
Uncle Tootie used to say, “I never thought I’d come home from that war until I found myself in a bunker with a guy who had my Marist class ring. Then I knew, somewhere in all of this, God had to be there, and I would make it home.”
And he did.
He received a Purple Heart and the Presidential Citation for Bravery for his rescue of Cro-Magnon. His Marist ring now belongs to my mom. His stories live deep within my heart.
To all our veterans, thank you. We remember and honor you for the sacrifice of your time away from those you loved, for the depth of your loyalty and love for our country, for fighting for those who opposed you, for recognizing what freedom means to us all, and for giving your all as if the war solely relied upon you.
