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In the <em>Birmingham Age-Herald</em> of January 1, 1946 appeared the following:</p>
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“A Bronze Star awarded posthumously Lt. Col. <em>John A. Metcalfe</em>, Birmingham, who was wounded in Normandy June 29, 1944, and died in England two weeks later, was presented recently at Ft. Benning. Ga., to his widow, Mrs. Rosa Pitts Metcalfe.</p>
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“The citation, for which the award was made, specifies:</p>
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“‘For meritorious achievement against the enemy in Normandy, France.</p>
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“‘On June 9, 1944, elements of the First Battalion were pinned down by enemy mortar and machine-gun fire. Utterly disregarding his own safety, Lt. Col. Metcalfe moved forward in the face of intense fire to direct his men in engaging the foe. Lt. Col. Metcalfe’s initiative, courage and devotion to duty inspired the troops and were largely responsible for the success of his organization in seizing its objective, reflecting great credit upon himself and the military service.’</p>
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“Col. Metcalfe was formerly a student at Phillips High School and attracted attention to himself in 1931 by passing the difficult West Point examination more than a year before graduating from the local school. He graduated from the Military Academy in 1935 and served at Ft. McPherson, Ga., and Schofield Barracks, Hawaii. His first war assignment was in Iceland. Later he went to England and assisted in training troops for the invasion of France.</p>
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“He landed in Normandy as an officer of the 29th Division which was complimented by Gen. Montgomery, who declared he was proud to have such men in his command. He is buried in Cambridge, England, but later his body will be brought to Arlington Cemetery.</p>
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“He is survived by his widow and a daughter, living in Ala., his mother, Mrs. John A. Metcalfe, and brother, Charles T. Metcalfe. Col. Metcalfe never saw his daughter.”</p>
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At the Southside Baptist Church, Birmingham, of which he had been a member since the age of seven, a memorial service was held jointly with the communion service, the minister taking as his text “Greater love bath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friend.”</p>
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It would be impossible to write a character sketch of him, for from the first he was a gift from Heaven and retained that role all his life, the years of which were identical in number with those allotted on earth to a certain other One who “went about doing good”.</p>
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His soul was so beautiful, he clothed every relation of life with beauty. He was ever a devoted son, far beyond the call of filial duty; a true and faithful husband; an ecstatic father. When his baby was born, he wrote “Though I have not seen her, I am madly in love with her.”</p>
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Modest, retiring, unobtrusive almost to a fault, he did not on first acquaintance display his sterling qualities — yet those who knew him intimately were well aware of them. During his first year in grammar school his teacher, so impressed by his sweetness and docility, wrote spontaneously to his mother expressing her appreciation of him. The Major for whom he was Adjutant at Schofield Barracks said in his official report, “He is pure gold”. In his deep appreciation of all he had done for her, his mother wrote while he was overseas, “there never was such a son, save Mary’s son.”</p>
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He was born January 14, 1914, in Montgomery, Alabama, the son of John Alfred and May Tallman Metcalfe and was christened John Metcalfe, III. His grandfather, the first John, had, even at the age of sixteen, distinguished himself in the War between the States. He was descended from Roger Williams. One of his ancestors had been President of Brown University; another had held the chair of Doctor of Divinity at Harvard. His childhood was steeped in Southern tradition. Early in life he was taught to follow Christ first and General Robert E. Lee next. These examples influenced him through his entire life.</p>
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At the age of four when he told his first falsehood, someone read to him how a lie was an “abomination unto the Lord” and no member of his family ever again knew of his slightest deviation from the truth.</p>
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In 1918 he began to play war. His mother gazing from the kitchen window, would be startled by the stark realism with which her little boy would fling himself down on the ground shouting, “The Germans have killed me!” Yet he was such a loving little fellow, being particularly kind to a small hunch-back whom he “played with and loved, because the other boys wouldn’t”.</p>
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When at the age of seventeen, without graduating from High School, with a second alternate appointment and on two months’ notice, he passed the entrance examinations for West Point, his parents’ friends predicted that he’d return a snob. He came back, however, the same dutiful son, the same friend of everyone in need.</p>
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Occasionally, however, he was too kind for his own good. When he was a Second Lieutenant, he lent one hundred dollars to a private in his company. The private used the money to buy his way out of the Army. The “Second Loot” never saw soldier or money again.</p>
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The death of his father had placed an added responsibility on him—that of caring for his widowed mother and younger brother. When his mother worried about this, he would tell the story of a little girl crossing the street carrying in her arms a very large baby. When a stranger said to her, “Isn’t that baby too heavy for you?”, her reply was, “No, he’s not heavy, he’s my brother.”</p>
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With all his mildness and apparent timidity he did not fear to challenge authority in order to correct what seemed to him an injustice to any of his men.</p>
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One day on maneuvers the Colonel was surprised to receive a visit from him.</p>
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“I did not send for you, Captain Metcalfe”, he said.</p>
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“No, Sir,” was the reply, “but you did send for Lt. Johnson and I am here to take any reprimand you may have for him.”</p>
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While he was in Iceland, in answer to a query if he were attending church regularly, he replied In the affirmative, adding, “No matter what course others may take, for me it is the only way.”</p>
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It was at this time that he wrote home for Kipling’s “If” and for that issue of <em>Life</em> which carried pictures and a description of the Academy. Instead of yielding to the discouragement which loneliness inevitably brings, he sought to build barriers of character against it. Ever an idealist he set about to make himself the impersonation of the highest West Point tradition. The words of the Cadet Prayer, “Strengthen and increase our admiration for honest dealing and clean thinking. . Make us to choose the harder right...Endow us with courage” were not mere words but a real creed to him.</p>
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Soon he was sent to England and while many of the same rank were complaining of insufficient pay upon which to live abroad, he was dividing that amount with the needy, first to the starving Greeks, then to help a little girl in an English hospital to whom he and his men played Santa. In one of his letters, he wrote, “I’m sure if you could have seen her face when she received the doll it would have been one of the happiest moments of your life.”</p>
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Neither did he forget his native Birmingham. At one time he sent a check for $200 to be given to “some worthy charity”.</p>
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When he was made a Lieutenant Colonel he omitted mentioning it in his letters, explaining later that his rank was cheapened by the fact that several of his friends, deserving men, were still—unjustly—captains.</p>
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On June 6th he landed with his men on the shores of Normandy. This place has since been called “Bloody Beach” because a whole division of Germans was waiting for them. In the <em>Saturday Evening Post</em> of March 16, 1946, Stanley Frank says “At 0630 on D-Day the 116th Regiment, 29th Division hit Omaha, the bloodiest beach...The 116th lost 800 men—30 percent of its strength securing that grubby stretch of sand. It gained a half a mile at such fearful cost that it was never again the same regiment...The men who landed on the 6th had no sleep for the first three days and were not able to shave for three weeks...It can be reasonably suggested that the Blue and Gray caught more artillery fire than any other American division in Northern Europe”.</p>
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None of these things were mentioned by Lieutenant Colonel John Metcalfe. His first letter to his family was to reassure—to mention the valorous deeds of others, “It is strange how this most wicked of man’s pastimes can bring out his most godlike qualities. I did not know that for the last eight months, I had been living in intimate daily contact with scores of heroes.”</p>
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On June 24, he wrote, “I have just finished breakfast of cereal, bacon, eggs and coffee. The weather is fine, not too hot or too cold”. His family were to learn from Ernie Pyle, the intense cold of the Norman nights.</p>
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On June 29th he was mortally wounded.</p>
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From a hospital in England he dictated to his orderly a letter which was to be his last.</p>
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“Everything possible is being done for me. I am so much better than I was.”</p>
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“You, my Son,<br />
Have shown me God<br />
Your kiss upon my cheek<br />
Has made me feel<br />
The gentle touch of<br />
Him who leads us on.<br />
The memory of<br />
Your smiles, when young,<br />
Reveals His face<br />
As mellowing years<br />
Come on apace—<br />
And when you went before<br />
You left the gates of Heaven ajar—<br />
That I might glimpse,<br />
Approaching from afar,<br />
The glories of His Grace.<br />
Hold, Son, my hand,<br />
Guide me along the path<br />
That, coming, I may<br />
Stumble not nor roam<br />
Nor fail to show the way<br />
Which leads us home.”</p>
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<em>—His Mother</em></p>
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