Bob Linden: If You Feel Your Knees Getting Weak (Stogie's story)

I was barely four years old when my mother walked me over to the Church of the Holy Name in Swampscott. She held my hand and explained that "This is where we go on Sunday mornings to learn about God and his son Jesus. You'll be in Mrs. Walker's class with some of the other boys and girls your age." My mother admonished me that I should pay close attention to what Mrs. Walker said. She was often joined by Mr. Cummings, who looked and talked importantly. the older people at church and at home around our dinner table referred to Mr. Cummings as "Our Rector". For the next dozen years almost all of my activities centered around the Church of the Holy Name and a gathering of friends and family that came to dine at my mother's table.

Life and time went on. Our country went to war. I joined our Army. This meant I had to go over to Europe on a big boat, the Queen Mary, with 17,000 other soldiers. When I said good-bye to my mother, she simply said, "God bless" and "If you feel your knees getting weak, just get down on them." I thought about God and Jesus quite a bit.

I was about 19 years old and near a railroad station in Rudolstadt, Germany when my army pal and squad leader Cpl. John Stojik, known as "Stogie", and I emerged from several weeks in the Thuringian forest. We were part of company E, 346th Infantry, 87th Division and had encountered the German army after we crossed the Rhine river. We had captured and secured most of the city of Rudolstadt when Stogie took our squad into the center of town near the railroad station. He asked me to check out a small railroad signal house about 50 yards down the tracks. I looked in the front door and window, and came back to report that I had found nothing threatening. Stogie said, "Good, I'll check it out." He disappeared around the corner of the building and I heard two sharp cracks. Another man in our squad ran back to me to say that Stogie had been hit. I rushed up to him. He was down, gurgling blood, and couldn't speak. He had two massive wounds in the chest. I couldn't stop the bleeding with two compresses. I was crying.

Stogie's last word was, "Mother," as I cradled him in my arms. I could hear my platoon sergeant yelling for me to come back to where he was. I was stunned, but I got down on my knees. For how long, I don't know. The final moment of Stogie's life was very special and private for me. Today I choose to believe that the attendees were select: God, Stogie, two mothers, me and just one other man who peacefully said, "Amen."