Grandpa was born on October 4th 1919. His name is John R. Provan. Grandpa was 22½ years old when he was shot. He went into the service right after he graduated from Syracuse. My Grandpa was a brand new private in the Army when he was put on guard duty at Bowling Field near Washington, D.C., March of 1942.
His job was guarding where the railroad came into the air depot. One night they picked Grandpa up at his post and they proceeded around a dirt road loop. There are some other posts where they had to change the guard. They were coming back past the first post where one of the guards that had just been left off was guarding the P-51 fighter planes. As they were coming along this bumpy, dirt road, there was a loud noise and Grandpa saw a bright flash. It was a panel truck, and they kicked the door open and all jumped out. As grandpa took his second step he felt this warm sticky stuff all over him. His leg collapsed under him. Grandpa said, "Hey, fellows, I've been shot."
They put him back into the truck and ran him back over to the headquarters where they had a medical clinic. They gave him a painkiller and took x-rays. Then they put him in an ambulance. It took him all the way from Bowling Field to Walter Reed Hospital. Grandpa woke up in the morning with his right arm and left leg in a splint. He was there a long time because he had to get physical therapy. The bullet had torn his muscles in his arm and leg. A couple of days after he was operated on two captains from a board of inquiry came out to talk to Grandpa. They let him read the statements from the other soldiers. One of them was from the guard of the fighter planes.
"What happened?"
"Well, there was this strange vehicle in the night." Of course this was the same vehicle that had dropped him off earlier. "I whistled three times and the truck wouldn't stop, so I fired at it."
"Why didn't you fire over the truck as a warning?"
"I was up on this pile of dirt that surrounded each plane, and if I'd fired over the truck I would have fired right into the officer's club."
When the sergeant of the guard saw the bullet enter the truck, he fainted. The bullet hit the bracing in the top of the truck. It split, and one piece went into Grandpa's right arm and the other went into his left leg. The two pieces went past his head on either side. Grandpa was very lucky that the bullet didn't hit his head. He spent 6 weeks in Walter Reed. The military never told Grandpa's parents that he'd been shot. They found out from his friend. When my great-grandma visited Grandpa in the hospital, she was worried that he might have lost his leg. She carefully patted the bed to make sure his legs were both there.
Grandpa missed basic training and learned how to march and shoot a gun by himself. After he got out the hospital he went to Officer Candidate School. He was commissioned as a Second Lt. in the Army and was sent to England. Grandpa never knew the man who shot him. When he left the army 3½ years later he was a Major in the Army.
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