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‘I had a blessed life’
Long Beach Peninsula resident, veteran recalls the old days and World War II
By DAVID CAMPICHE
The white shingled
house sits on a shaded lot in
Seaview, Washington, and
seems proud to have served
the Williams family for
the last hundred years with
shelter and comfort.
The oldest living recipi-
ent of that quiet grace is one
Warner Williams, a young
93, and a man anyone would
choose for a mentor or as
a coveted member of an
extended family.
“This is my home. Went
to the first grade in this
place,” he says.
Indeed, Williams talks
about catching the nar-
row-gauge railroad that ran
down the street. How his
uncle, Reese Williams, mis-
creant and a marvelous story
teller (a family tradition),
saw to it that his nephew
arrived home safely.
Williams remembers the
horse-drawn wagon peddling
milk, eggs and vegetables
down his street. He talks
about learning to swim with
sand underfoot at China
Beach in Ilwaco, Washing-
ton, long before that beach
was altered in the dredging
of the new Port of Ilwaco.
Clamming was close to home
— the frontal dune just west
of the family house.
The ocean was in his
backyard, and Williams
learned to both love and
respect it. In those days,
struggling with a wild
unpredictable ocean without
GPS or modern tracking and
communication systems,
many a fisherman drowned.
About the time of his birth,
an entire fishing fleet disap-
peared in a sudden spring
storm.
Though he has a Ph.D.
from Stanford and was for
years the dean of undergrad-
uate studies at Portland State
University, Williams denies
any love affair with com-
puters. “Don’t like them,
particularly. Can’t use ‘em
well,” he says. “Best I ever
did was play a few games
of solitaire.” Does he prefer
a slower way of life? Ask
the man, and you will get a
warm comforting smile.
September afternoons find
him licking up the last of the
summer sun and engaging in
the art of conversation, often
covering ground with his wit
and an extraordinary sense of
humor.
If he is in a serious mood,
one might pry out a war
story, though he wishes such
violence never happened.
“War is bad,” he declares up
front. Bad, as in the Battle of
the Bulge; Pfc. Williams and
his buddies fought at Elsen-
born Ridge, where, vastly
outnumbered, they held
off two divisions of crack
German soldiers until, five
days later and out of fuel,
the Germans moved south.
Elsenborn was the only
line that held firm against
the German surprise attack
in the Ardennes forest. He
was in harm’s way again
at the famous Ludendorff
Bridge at Remagen. He
crossed with one of the first
platoons and remembers
stumbling and dropping his
machine gun and the sound
it made, scraping across the
steel grates of that strategic
bridge, as it plunged into the
Rhine River. He remembers
PHOTO BY LAURIE ANDERSON
Peninsula resident Warner Williams, 93, grew up in Seaview
and saw action in Europe during World War II.
PHOTO BY LAURIE ANDERSON
Warner Williams, 93, lives in the same house in Seaview, Wash-
ington, that he was raised in.
his fellow soldiers being
slaughtered while crossing
the Danube, and his anger
at the loss of dear friends,
comrades at arms.
“War is bad,” he repeats.
“War is always bad.”
I wrote a bit about
Williams some years ago.
His generation is slipping
away and so are the rich and
powerful stories. Williams
fought in the heat of World
War II, and though he choos-
es not to acknowledge it, he
is a hero.
“I’m no hero,” he de-
clares. “The real heroes lie
in graves at Normandy and
across Europe and the Pacif-
ic. You have to understand;
heroes are the ones who
didn’t make it home.“
If anything, Williams
remains a humble man who
understands himself.
He sips on his coffee,
and his sharp eyes penetrate
across the warm space of a
kitchen smelling of porcini
stew and my wife’s fresh
apple pie. “Anyone who
says he wasn’t afraid is men-
tally lost. I was scared every
day,” he says.
He talks of war movies,
and how only one, “Saving
Private Ryan,” seems to cov-
er the truth. Williams was in
the first unit to enter Dachau
Concentration Camp. He
stood on a communal grave
that held 60,000 murdered
Jews. At that he draws in a
deep breath. “60,000,” he
repeats. In 1945, he found
himself angry. Infuriated.
Asked his God, “Why?”
God didn’t answer.
We talked about the long
road of life. “I’m no smarter
now than I was in the sixth
grade,” he says. I laugh
quietly and think, You must
have been quite a prodigy,
Warner Williams, because
friend, look at you now.
We talk about free speech
and the Aryan Nation. “Peo-
ple who draw swastikas and
form fascist groups can’t re-
ally know what Hitler stood
for: evil incarnate,” he says.
“Every person is my
brother and sister. I don’t
care who they pray to.
Each deserves my love and
respect.” We talk about life
after death. He hopes for
a reunion with loved ones.
“I believe in that,” he says.
“I wouldn’t change much.
I had a blessed life. When
we get together, I want to
see my brother Rod, and my
parents. Sylvia, my beloved
wife. What a blessing she
was. And the son we lost.”
Life is full of loss. The
Buddha prepared us for pain
and joy. Jesus for salvation.
We talk of luck, fate and
karma. There simply are
never enough answers.
He bites into Laurie’s
sublime apple pie and smiles
broadly. Perhaps the pie
triggers fond memories?
Warner Williams met Syl-
via in the choir at Whitman
College. On a slow day after
Pearl Harbor, Williams and
three friends enlisted. They
thought they would finish
college first. Stick with the
reserves. No such luck —
just months later, Williams
found himself in Normandy.
Soon, he landed in Patton’s
Third Army, and by now,
you know some of that story.
But what can anyone
really know? War is savage
and memories are mostly
kept secret. Buried with time
and dust. The people who
know war best are the foot
soldiers. Williams earned
many medals for valor.
They hang in his home in
Seaview, lonely-like but
distinguished, on a painted
wooden wall. He would
trade them all for one of the
friends he lost in Belgium.
To this day, Williams
remains proud and humble,
an intelligent human being,
gilded with courage and dis-
tinction. “Nobody ever wins
a war,” he says.
The other day, he had
just positioned himself in
a chair in his front yard to
soak up some late summer
sun. Suddenly there was a
downpour. When asked if
he was disappointed, his
response was, “I don’t care!
I’m in Seaview!”