In Memoriam...(Sunday Thoughts)

The Whistling Boy
He was noisy and rowdy and full of old nick,
That dear freckled face Tommy of ours;
When he'd leap out of bed, always right on the tick
He would set up that whistling noise
It was shrill as a siren and loud as a blast
From the noon whistle down by the track
And we'd stop up our ears while the whistling would last
And complain that our ear drums would crack.

Oh Tommy, for heaven's sake,
Can't you pipe down?
That loud whistling of yours
Can be heard over town!

He'd be off to his play and along down the street.
Going barefoot and whistling his tune.
And the silence he'd leave was a blessed retreat
And the silence he'd leave was a blessed retreat.
And we hoped it would never come noon.
But at noon he'd be back again, whistling more.
Oh, that terrible ear-splitting din,
As his dear freckled face would appear in the door --
Laughing eyes and a bantering grin

Oh Tommy, for heaven's sake,
Please stop that noise.
What a world this would be
If it wasn't for boys!

Then he'd pucker his mouth in a mischievous smile
And pretend he could not hear a word
As he whistled the very same tune all the while
Adding trills like the call of a bird.
Through the house he would go like a minstrel let loose,
Driving sweet solitude through the door.
And our threats and persuasion -- ah, what was the use?
He would set up his whistling the more!

Oh Tommy, for heaven's sake,
Can't this noise cease?
There is never a moment
Of quiet and peace.
When the darkness would turn his steps wearily home
And the day was consumed with his fun,
We could tell by the distant and wavering tone
That he whistled his song at a run.
And his tune he would carry away to his bed,
Never counting the havoc he wroght
As it rang in our ears and it ran through his head.
Till in sleep he remembered it not.

Oh Tommy, for heaven's sake --
Thanks for the night.
Oh, blessed surcease
Till again it is light!

Now there's only the echo that's left in my heart
Of that whistling noise you once made.
Ah, the long barren years that have torn us apart,
And the burden upon me they've laid
Seem to mock at my yearning to hear the glad tune
That you whistled, dear freckled-face boy,
That you whistled at morning and night and at noon
So the world could be fuller of joy.

Oh, Tommy, dear Tommy,
Come whistling once more
Up the pathway that leads
From the gate to the door.

Copyright 1940 - Louis William Larsen, Father
Dedicated to the memory of Thomas W.

With tomorrow being Memorial Day I thought it fitting to post a memorial tribute to man who has touched my family deeply, although none of us left living even knew him personally. Above are photos of my Great Uncle Thomas W. Larsen. He was my father's uncle and my Grandma Louise's brother. "Uncle Tom" as we have come to call him was apparently larger than life. He was full of life and happiness. He had a smile on his face and a charisma about him that people loved. He had curly blonde hair that his mother adored. She loved it so much she grew it long and when he was about 3, his father had enough of the long curly locks. He took him to the barber and had it cut. His poor mother cried over it for days. My grandma still has a locket of those golden curls. In 1942 he enlisted in the Army. He was a member of the 1oth Mountain Infantry. They patrolled on skis in the Alps and other regions. He was a veteran of the Kiska invasion (the Pacific Theatre). He was sent to Mt Belvedere, Italy where his division encountered heavy fighting. Tom was killed on February 20th, 1945. He was buried in Italy until his remains were later shipped home and reinterred here in Salt Lake City.

As a child Memorial Day was a grand affair. We would spend two or three whole days at my grandmother's insistence cleaning the graves with brushes, trimming the grass around them with clippers and decorating them with flowers, usually in the favorite color of the one being remembered. Now, my grandma has passed on and I have wondered the last few Memorial Days at how Memorial Day doesn't seem as important to people. It is often a day for boating, traveling, vacationing, hiking, picknicking...but not really of remembering. With the passing of the Greatest Generation who honored and adored the heroes of World War I and World War II, are we also seeing the passing of Memorial Day with them? On those days we would sit around the graves and my grandmother and dad would tell us story after story about those ancestors. We came to know them deeply and personally in a way. How grateful I am for that. How grateful I am for my mother and her stories about her parents and grandparents. How wonderful for us to have a day to remember those who brought us here and how wonderful to have a day to pass on the lessons and lives to future generations.

Tom's father, my great grandfather Louis W. Larsen was a great man and a prolific author and poet. The poem above he wrote for Tom 5 years before his death. Yes, something a bit prophetic lived within my great grandfather and he was never the same after the death of youngest son. However, today I honor Uncle Tom and his courage and example of duty and faithfulness.