Guest Blog from Ray: A Veteran Dies on Veteran's Day

Yesterday I received the news that Jim Auman passed away at the age of 91. Jim was married to my mother's first-cousin Snooky who had died just a few days earlier. They were a wonderful couple who had four daughters, Peggy, Kathie, Barbie and Patty. When I was a kid Kathie was a close friend and I spent a lot of time at their house. It is also where I met Ray for the first time. He lived down the street. I think we were about ten at the time. I was going to write something about Jim's passing but then I received this email from Ray Beimel. It was so beautiful that I thought I'd post it. He said it far better than I ever could:

    My old friend Jim Auman passed away today. He was 91. Jim enlisted in the Army Air Corps before Pearl Harbor, flew in B-24's in the 2nd Air Division of the 8th Air Force. He was seriously wounded by flak. He owned the grocery store at the other end of the street I grew up on. We were involved in the Historical Society for many years. I probably spent as much time talking to him as I have anyone.

    He was terribly ill, a mere shell of the person I knew most of my life. His passing was expected and anticipated but it still leaves a hole in me.

    When I started writing historical articles back in 1975, the old guy who ran the Historical Society didn't much trust me. Jim would lend me his key so I could sneak in after hours to copy photographs and do research. He was about the kindest, gentlest man I ever knew.

    We drank more than a few beers together over the years. One such night, we were talking about flying over Germany. I don't know what I asked about but he suddenly was overcome with tears and he said some unintelligible things that seemed to mean that in the heat of battle, he fired his machine gun into another American plane and killed or wounded fellow airmen. He only alluded to this one time but I was very much struck by it. He carried this guilt with him, deeply buried for his whole life.

    He was the guy who was in charge of our Bicentennial Air Show back in 1976. And that was a most wonderful event. Jim was mayor of St. Marys in the 1960's. He was part of the Sesquicentennial committee in 1992. No one was a more staunch supporter of St. Marys Church. He was fascinated by wood carving, was a pretty fair painter, and could tell a joke with the best of us. He took me with him on errands when I was young. That's how I became acquainted with Bert Schauer the hermit, how I met Joe Williams the most feared short guy in Elk County, George Erich the last farmer in Pennsylvania who could legally sell raw milk and a host of other characters.

    His store was right across the street from my elementary school and a short distance from my high school. Every afternoon when school was out and after every basketball game his store was flooded with kids. I never saw him lose his good nature not matter how many were in there.

    He took thousands of photographs of St. Marys people. They were artless portraits, technically good, and every one of them was identified usually with date of birth. They are a valuable addition to our collection. It was my privilege to digitize and annotate them. Years from now people will come across those photos in their search for ancestors and I hope they will read the line I put on every one of them; photo by Jim Auman.

    It was his wish to be cremated immediately. There will be a Memorial Mass sometime later. Of course it was his desire but I really wish there would be a wake so his old friends could talk and reminisce and tell the stories and feel close to him one last time.

    I learned many things from him. He encouraged me in my business, in my history work, and in my time as a public servant. He always had time to talk to me, whether I was 10 years old or 50 years old. He sold me a lot of ice cream, pop, and candy over the years. I used to help him unload the truck that brought his orders from the wholesaler. Once I dropped a watermelon. He didn't yell at me, just admonished me to never make a living with my hands, and gave me the cracked melon.

    We disagreed about a lot of things. He was a Republican in his registration and loyalty but he had a kind word for anyone who went into the arena. And of course, at book club which we both attended for many many years, we were often dueling in our views and yet there was never rancor or anger or discord between us.

    Joni Mitchell sang "you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone.." but in Jim's case, I always knew that my friend was a very special person.

    I am always struck by the irony of soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines who are in the midst of the worst life has to offer, survive it all, and live gentle peaceful long lives. Now that Jim is gone, there are only two of the old 8th Air Force people left here, Acky Herr who owned the most wonderful sports store for many years, paradise for the 10 year old with $3 of birthday money in his pocket. Plastic models, photo equipment, art supplies, books, tools, toys, lead soldier molds, everything imaginable to delight a baby boomer boy, now alas in a nursing home fighting his last battle, and Doctor Sharkey, a pathologist who came here from Tyrone and is one of the most respected auslanders ever to settle here. It was a privilege to know these men. And most of all to know Jim.

    I have to tell this one on him. He would laugh along with me. Jim dropped out of school to join the Army. He didn't get much in the way of science education and his spelling remained "creative" but he read voraciously and was always curious about any new thing and how it worked. Once he posited that Valencia and Navel Oranges came from the same tree but at different times of the year. Of course he was wrong but he challenged us to prove it. And of course, nowhere is such a thing written and I like to think he might have smiled in his last moments knowing that he put one over on us for good.

    I don't know where his ashes will rest. I hope they will be in someplace I know and can get to. Like my father and my old Scoutmaster, I would like to visit again if only for a moment and think to myself, "Remember the time we..." It was in late summer the last time I saw him. He was losing touch then and forgetting people's names but when he saw me he said "Ray!" with a warmth that I can still feel now. I never went back. I don't feel bad about that. My last memory of him is his smiling at me, happy to see me. That memory will never go away.

    As Sergeant Harper would say, "every cripple has his own way of limping." Writing stuff like this is how I grieve and I am grateful for the audience who understands. I wish you could have met him. He would have liked you guys and would have listened to your tales with genuine interest. Thanks,  Ray