Person of the Week: Lieutenant Commander Warren W. Broome USN.

Mr. Broome taking a rare break under the trees.

This summer I became aware of an inspiration right in our own backyard as we drove out to Wal-Mart one morning. Back under the oaks and hickories a few houses down in our neighborhood sat a beautiful old Dodge, so perfectly aged and worn in all the right spots that it could've been in a retro poster. The back end was full to the brim with branches and debris, and off in the distance a tall sinewy man bent over a thorny row of Beauty Berry bushes with a long-handled axe, hacking forcibly at their thick wooden roots. The man looked to be at least 70 years old yet worked with the grace and strength of teenager. He himself was perfectly worn in all the right spots just like his Dodge, with neatly trimmed white hair peaking beneath his sun bleached Red Cross baseball cap, bright gleaming eyes set atop strong and surprisingly unwrinkled cheek bones, and an outfit that hasn't been seen in stores in maybe two decades comprised of denim overalls, a plaid shirt, and softly rugged work boots. I had to know who he was, so my next morning jog was down the road in his direction for an introduction. 

     And that is how I came to have the delight of spending a few hours a week leaning against a tree in the forest while Brody throws sticks and I learn the wisdom of the world from a 91 year old (yes I was off by 20 years!) Southern gentleman. Lieutenant Commander Warren W. Broome USN is a true inspiration and embodies the magnificent spirit of our great American Veterans.

     Mr. Broome was born in January of 1922 in Akin County, South Carolina. His father, James Manford Broome, was the local postmaster and ran the only grocery store for miles around, and at age 48 or so had decided he wanted a family. Word spread, and a lovely candidate named Nina Brinson of German descent came to town to be courted, and it all went well I presume because they wed and lived happily together for many years. At the time of his birth, Mr. Broome's home town of Brown's Hill was little more than a railroad stop for the  C & SC Railroad. The Charleston and South Carolina passenger train would start in Augusta, Georgia in the morning, run the route out to somewhere in South Carolina, then return. You could get out in front of the passenger train in Brown's Hill and flag the engineer, who would stop the train for you to hop on. Mr. Broome was really destined to be a railroad man, but the military took him in another direction. 

     His family home was eventually bought by a man named Mr. Starr whom nobody liked because he was just a "d*mned rich Yankee" from the North (I always giggle when Mr. Broome talks about Yankees because I am one). When Mr. Starr died he willed the whole enormous property to the Audubon Society. The year they married, somewhere around 1920,  James Broome built his wife a little chicken coop on their property so she could keep a small flock for eggs. It was built from such good lumber materials that "that sucker is still there today", according to Mr. Broome. It's in disrepair, but it's still recognizable. If you ever find yourself off of State Hwy 28 in South Carolina, stop at the Beach Island Historic Society Gift Shop which Mr. Broome generously funded and you can see the big Lieutenant Commander Warren W. Broome sign and ask if they can show you to a hundred year old henhouse. 

     Mr. Broome served in three wars: WWII, Korea, and Vietnam. He joined the Navy as an Apprentice Seaman, with only an eighth grade education, and retired 30 years later as a Lieutenant Commander. That's quite a jump! Every time he had shore duty, he enrolled in night classes, doing two years at the University of Hawaii among others. He attributes his diligent pursuit of education as the reason for his advancement to an officer, although I might add that his rock solid and unwavering disposition likely had a lot to do with it as well.  

     During one of the major battles of Guandalcanal during WWII, Mr. Broome was on a destroyer named the USS Fletcher DD445. They were engaged with the Japanese Fleet who had battleships, cruisers, and other vessels. Our small American fleet of 13 ships went down between two columns of Japanese ships on the night of Friday, November 13, 1942 for a truly awful fight. Five of our ships were sunk, the rest were hit, but the USS Fletcher, the 13th ship in the line-up, left unscathed. The ship directly in front of them literally disintigrated directly in their path under a Japanese blast, but Mr. Broome's lucky ship was the lone survivor. And that is why 13 is Mr. Broome's lucky number to this day, for good reason. 

    On another night, the fantail of the USS Northhampton was hit and the whole ship sank dramatically. Sailors were jumping overboard into the sea, and Mr. Broome had orders to take his ship and rescue as many as he could. They pulled 600 sailors from the sea that night. He says they lost a few, but rescued a lot. I wondered as he told me this story how many of us alive today have Lieutenant Commander Warren W. Broome to thank for saving our own grandfathers or uncles during those brutal long-ago battles. He certainly contributed, with all the brave veterans of WWII, to turning the tide for the Allies and winning an impossible war. The world would look much different today without the iron-willed likes of Mr. Broome.

    Mr. Broome finally retired from his several careers in 1976 and followed his second wife to my new little neighborhood under the oaks in Arkansas. He's the busiest man I know, keeping to his "ship's daily plan" with precision. I cannot believe how many times in a week he fills and empties the back of that Dodge, grooming the acres of woodland that he owns with tenderness and satisfaction. He aims to be the oldest living veteran of WWII. I'm not sure how long he'll have to live to accomplish that, but he's on the right track. My little Brody knows that rain or shine, whenever we see that old Dodge out under the trees, "Broome" as Brody calls him isn't very far away. "What the heck is Broome doing today?" Brody will ask, hoping I'll load him into the jogging stroller to investigate firsthand, really hoping that it's Bonfire Day when half the sticks and pine needles in the neighborhood go up in dancing flames on Mr. Broome's towering ash heap. I hope so too, so I can sit at a bonfire and hear stories of America's greatness from a stalwart hero. What a life!

Proof of his industriousness in the bed of an old Dodge.

Digging up those pesky Beauty Berry bushes by the dozen.