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Some Stuff I Wrote and Some Stuff I Didn't (2011) H. Morris Williams







                 ‘Dr.  Mont’  introduced  Fred to the Christian  life and led  him toward  a
                 life  of  service  to  others.  Dr.  Mont  became  the  ‘father figure’  Fred
                 never had-and both became better for the relationship.


                 So, it was natural that Dr.  Mont,  a Princeton University graduate and
                 a superb wordsmith,  that the town  turned to to  articulate their grief.
                 Dr. Mont wrote the newspaper tribute to Fred.  Dr.  Mont spoke Fred’s
                 eloquent  eulogy.  Dr.  Mont  preached  the  funeral  service.  And  Dr.
                 Mont grieved along with the rest of us.  One great man  lamenting the

                 loss of another great man.


                 Ironically,  Fred,  killed  in  the  war,  could  have  delayed  and  possibly
                 avoided  going  to  war  at  all.  He  could  have  gone  to  college  on  an
                 academic  or  athletic  scholarship  and  been  at  school  rather  than  at
                 war.  But  not  Fred.  He  knew,  even  at age  18,  he  had  to  serve  his
                 country first.


                  Fred  wrote  these  words  on  June  17,  1942,  in  a  letter  to  his  high
                 school  coach,  Hobe  Hooser.  “Coach,  I  really want to  go  to  college
                  but I just don’t see how I can do that with the war situation the way it

                  is.  I have to serve  our country....I have made my decision and  I am
                  going to stick by it...”


                  Thus,  Fred willingly went into the Naval Air Corps, served our country
                  gallantly,  and  was  killed  less than  3  years  after he  had  written  his
                  coach.


                  I  close on  a personal  note.  I  was just  12 years old  when  Fred was
                  killed.  Now  I  have  lived  my own  3  score  and  10 years—and  I  must
                  say that a part  of  Fred Kinard  lives daily within me.



                  A  lot of what  I  have tried  to  do with  my life,  for our school  system
                  and  community,         has  been  inspired  by  my  memories  of  the  great
                  young Fred Kinard-and Fred never even knew me, except as a small
                  shirt-tailed neighborhood kid.


                   It would be undignified-and a disservice to Fred -to  try to make him
                  larger in death than he was in life.  But  Fred was, in fact,  larger than







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