John Albert Thomas Solo Piano

Tribute To A Veteran Of WWII

by his daughter Karen K. Spooner

The following journal entry was written by Pvt. John W. Kellogg in Dec. 1944 in Belgium.

“The morning of Dec. 17th or 18th, memory fails me as to date, I found myself alone with three buddies on the east side of a swift moving stream in the Ardennes, near Clerveau. It had been an exceedingly tough night. The remnants of our battalion had fought all day in a small village east of Clervaux and we had finally been pushed out of the village into the meadow beyond where we dug in for what the morning might bring. The line such as it was had gone far beyond us and as far as we knew we were an isolated unit. We expected nothing but to fight until the end whatever that might be. The outlook was anything but heartening. The village we had just left was but a mass of flame. God knows whatever became of the villagers. The last I saw of them they were all huddled in the basement of the last house in the village. They weren’t a bad bunch. I only hope that when I can look into the face of utter ruin I can be as stoical as they.

To get back to my story : The terrain was fairly well-lighted from the flames of the village and it was possible to see our outfit digging in for quite some distance. We had dug our machine guns in on the perimeter and Johnny Zero, my buddy and I had dug a slit trench nearby and failed it with straw to lie on. We stood guard on the guns for quite some time. When we considered our duty was about up, I endeavored to find our relief. It was quite a job as the ground was covered with slit trenches and the platoons and companies pretty well intermingled. We finally found our relief and them retired to our own private slit trench. Johnny had left his coat with our jeep which was back in the burning village, as were our packs, so my overcoat had to cover the two of us. It had been two nights since I had had any sleep and now I can’t remember whether I dropped off or not, but I recall Lieutenant Mason, our platoon leader telling us to knock our gun down and load it on the jeep of H company and to round up the rest of our boys. As we were pulling out, finding the boys was a difficult job but I know all of our squad was there. The boys burrowed so in the……..”

After about 10 days avoiding the enemy behind the German lines, Pvt. Kellogg was taken prisoner and place in a POW camp. They were forced to march from camp to camp, in snow and wet. John had no overshoes as he had traded them earlier for a loaf of bread. He suffered from frost bitten feet. It was February 22, 1945 when my mother, Margery, received word from him that he was a POW. On April 5th she received a letter saying the Allies had freed him. He reported later that he had been left behind when the Germans fled the coming Allies as he was too ill to walk. He was transferred to a hospital in Liege, Belgium, where he weighed 125 pounds and had pneumonia. Unable to walk, he eventually was able to move about a little in a wheelchair. On May 13th he wrote he was able to take a few steps and on May 30, he was transferred to a hospital in Paris before being shipped to the U.S. He then spent several months in Rhodes Hospital in Utica before returning home to Adams Center.

I was only two when my dad returned home. My brother, Dave, was three. It had been a rough year for my mother and dad’s family. The winter had been terrible; food and gas were scarce. However, nothing was as bad as the winter my father had endured. He had dreamed of banana cream pie and homemade meals. He worried about his brothers and brothers-in-law who were still involved in the war. The people of Adams Center and area prayed for all their men who were serving their country. Some made it home, some didn’t. Those who came home were glad to be there as they struggled to put their lives back together.

Dad was a lawyer and eventually went back to Watertown to practice. I remember many nights when he would come home from work and make the rounds of Adams Center visiting widows, making sure they didn’t need anything. In 1974 when he passed away, we received many calls and letters and people stopping by asking what they owed Dad for legal work he had done for them. My mother would smile and say they owed nothing. Dad left no bills for many folks. He was just glad to be able to serve –first his country, then those who needed his help at home.

I never heard Dad say a bad word about anyone. He never spoke ill about the Germans. He was a proud American. On this Veterans Day, let us remember those who have served
this country and those who serve it now to protect our country and to make a better world for all the peoples of the world. God Bless America!

An Executive Summary of Life

This was my dad’s first sermon after being ordained as missions pastor at First Baptist Church in Helen, GA.  It is one of the most powerful presentations of the Gospel of Jesus Christ that I have heard, and he gave me permission to share it with you.

An Executive Summary of Life

At least two people gave their lives to Christ.  They were under such conviction that they left the church, went to their car, and came back.  They said they just couldn’t leave and wanted to be saved.  They were baptized the next Sunday.  It was all of God.

Did You Lose Your Horse Today?

From Dan Miller (http://48days.com) newsletter:

Once there was an old man who lived in a tiny village. Although poor, he was envied by all, because he owned a beautiful white horse. People offered fabulous prices for the horse, but the old man always refused. “This horse is a friend, not a possession,” he would respond.

One morning the horse was not in the stable. All the villagers said, “You old fool. We told you someone would steal that beautiful horse. You could at least have gotten the money. Now the horse is gone, and you’ve been cursed with misfortune.”

The old man responded, “Perhaps. All I know is that my horse is gone; the rest I do not know. Whether it be a curse or a blessing, I can’t say.”

After fifteen days the horse returned. He hadn’t been stolen; he had run away into the forest. Not only had he returned, he had brought a dozen wild horses back with him. Once again the village people gathered around the old man and said, “You were right – what we thought was a curse was a blessing. Please forgive us.” The old man responded, “Perhaps. Once again you’ve gone too far. How do you know if this is a blessing or a curse? Unless you can see the whole story, how can you judge?” But the people could only see the obvious. The old man now had twelve additional horses that could be broken and sold for a great deal of money.

The old man had a son, an only son. He began to break the wild horses. Unfortunately, after just a few days, he fell from a horse and broke both his legs. Once again the villagers gathered around the old man and said, “You were right. The wild horses were not a blessing; they were a curse. Your only son has broken his legs and now in your old age you have no one to help you. You are poorer than ever.” But the old man said, “Perhaps. Don’t go so far. Say only that my son broke his legs. We have only a fragment of the whole story.”

It so happened that a few weeks later the country went to war with a neighboring country. All the young men of the village were required to join the army. Only the son of the old man was excluded, because he had two broken legs. Once again the people gathered around, crying because there was little chance their sons would return. “You were right, old man. Your son’s accident was a blessing. Our sons are gone forever.”

The old man spoke again. “You people are always quick to jump to conclusions. Only God knows the final story.”