WWII veteran's story is a source of pride

It doesn't look much like a leg. The knee is gone, and a deep crease divides the thigh. All but two toes were blown off, so a fortified, custom-made shoe protects what is left of the foot.

Still, Elmer Swift stands proud.

How he even has a right leg is a mystery to doctors who have worked on it over the past 57 years as metal fragments slowly and painfully pushed out from the shattered bone. Perhaps it should have been amputated, but there isn't much use second-guessing these days.

"I've done all right," Swift said. "I fought for my country, raised three kids and worked 27 years. I'm ready. My house is in order."

It was the fighting for country part that led me to Mr. Swift's door in the Wilds subdivision of New Port Richey -- along with a letter from one of his loving granddaughters.

She was upset that he had been unable to attend the ceremonies at Sims Park on Nov. 11 as the Miami-based deputy consul of France honored 400 military veterans for liberating his country in World War II.

"I can't seem to let this go," wrote Sonya Maurer, 26. "He deserved to be there so much. I keep thinking about it and wishing that I could make it up to him."

Since the Sept. 11 attacks on New York and Washington by terrorists, Sonya and so many other Americans have been more keenly aware of the sacrifices involved in protecting our freedom and national security. None sacrificed more than the young men of the 1940s. And as they are fast disappearing, newer generations seem eager to express appreciation.

Same with the French government, which has been presenting "Thank You America" certificates to veterans who took part in the Normandy invasion on June 6, 1944, and subsequent battles before Germany's surrender. Swift did not attend the ceremony at Sims Park because skin cancer surgery had left his face covered with red splotches, which is also why he didn't want to sit still for a photo to accompany this column. His daughter, Kathy Lang, provided snapshots, and the French Consulate said last week it will mail him a certificate.

Elmer Swift was like so many young men born of the Great Depression -- poor, sheltered, innocent. His parents divorced when he was 10, and Elmer and his younger two brothers and two sisters moved to an orphanage in Indianapolis because their father could not afford to care for them. He worked on a farm until age 18, when welfare benefits ended. Then another farmer gave him $5 a week and room and board in exchange for harvesting crops.

On Oct. 3, 1942, Elmer turned 20 and joined the army at Fort Benjamin Harrison. He was assigned to the 83rd Infantry Division, 239th Regiment, Company L at Camp Atterbury. And though he had never held a weapon, "you learn fast," he said. He qualified as an expert with a rifle and a machine gun and took his first trip ever out of the state of Indiana -- maneuvers in Tennessee.

At only 5 feet 3, he was hardly an imposing figure as the 83rd left New York for England in early 1944. "I was fine until we passed the Statue of Liberty," he recalled. "And that really scared me. I thought this might be the last time I would see my country."

After months of combat training in England and Wales, the outfit finally shipped out for battle to relieve the 101st Airborne soldiers who had gone ashore at Normandy on D-Day. Swift arrived on June 27 at Omaha Beach, and less than a month later his war was over. While crossing a field between two thick hedgerows at St. Lo, Pvt. Swift was wounded by an exploding tank shell that riddled his right leg with shrapnel. At the same instant, he was struck in the back by two machine gun bullets.

"I didn't see the tank until it was too late," Swift recalled. "I lay there for about an hour and a half until the other guys could chase off the Germans and get me out of there. I really don't recall a whole lot more."

That includes the day in an English hospital when Gen. Dwight Eisenhower visited wounded troops and gave Swift a Purple Heart and the Combat Infantry Badge. "I was sedated," he said, "but they told me later about Ike." The medals hang today on Swift's bedroom wall, along with a group photo of his outfit during basic training.

On Thanksgiving Day, the Army flew Swift in a body cast to a New York hospital. Later he was transferred to the hospital at Camp Atterbury so he could be closer to family. "I laid in bed there for two years before my foot hit the floor."

It was 1951 before Swift was physically able to hold a job, and the Veterans Administration found work for him at the Ertel factory in Indianapolis, where he made valve guards and pistons. He earned enough money to afford a small room in a boarding house and by messy chance wound up meeting the love of his life.

Upstairs in a similar room, a young woman named Delores failed to remove an ice block from her refrigerator as she went off to work one day at the RCA factory. It melted and the water dripped through the floor and onto the bed in the room below.

"He was pretty mad when he came up to complain that I got his shotgun and his fishing gear all wet," Delores recalled. "But he got over it."

Aug. 2, they will celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary.

"She has taken great care of me all these years," Swift said last week.

Swift might have worked longer, but on March 30, 1978, his leg gave out. He had endured awful pain for years, but this was beyond description. He limped home one day and collapsed. For the next eight months, he lay in a hospital bed as doctors removed more of the Nazi metal that pushed from his bones.

Several years later, after one too many Northern winters, the Swifts decided to follow their daughter Kathy and her family to Florida. Elmer spent most of his leisure time fishing near their home in Largo, which is how he came to develop skin cancer on his face. "I was foolish in that sun not to wear protection," he said. But since moving to New Port Richey in June, he has already identified some new fishing holes for when his skin clears.

He hasn't joined many veterans groups, only the Disabled American Veterans. He proudly displays his DAV sticker on his Ford, and Old Glory waves each day from their porch.

"When you think of it, I really had no youth," he said. "That got taken away from me. I lost so many buddies, best friends who were killed right in front of me. But I feel like I have lived for a purpose, and I have no regrets. My family does so much for me and I know they appreciate what I've gone through. So, all in all, I can't complain."

No wonder his granddaughter wrote that letter.

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