They gathered to remember a fallen soldier, decades later

It’s a long way from South Korea to Southview Cemetery.

On Wednesday, the distance was 7,180 miles and 66 years.

Nephews, nieces, friends, former classmates and military veterans gathered at the edge of this old mill town to pay their respects to Cpl. James Edward “Jimmy” McAbee.

Folks who never knew him, who weren’t even born when he died in combat, came to say goodbye. They stood with their hands over their hearts. They recited the Lord’s Prayer. They slapped at the thick, summer air with fans provided by the gracious staff at Fletcher-Day Funeral Home.

Jimmy went halfway around the world and never came back. The Korean War was barely a month old when he lost his life fighting near Hadong, South Korea.

Although there was no grave, no hole in the ground or flag-draped casket, he was given a military funeral. There was a three-gun salute. From the corner of the cemetery, taps was played on the bugle.

A marker was placed next to the headstone of his brother, Charles.

Glenn Gilstrap, the pastor at First Presbyterian Church of Thomaston, told those gathered they were there to “celebrate Jimmy’s life, honor his service and entrust his soul to the loving arms of an almighty God.’’

The McAbee family has carried its grief for generations. Charles and Jimmy, the youngest of six children, died within weeks of each other on different continents.

Charles — the one they called “Red” — was a second lieutenant in the Air Force. He dropped out of school at R.E. Lee Institute in Thomaston in 1945 and lied about his age to join the Army Air Corps. He was sent to Europe as an aerial gunner during the final days of World War II. After the war, he came home and earned his GED at Gordon Military College in Barnesville, then enrolled at Georgia Tech for two years to study textile engineering.

He rejoined the Air Force, went through pilot training and received his wings on Sept. 30, 1949. He was pinned by a young lady named Gwendolyn Davis of Waco, Texas. Two days later, they were married. She went with him on his assignment to Munich, Germany.

He had been stationed in Europe less than a year when his F-84 fighter jet crashed on Sept. 2, 1950. (If he were still alive, he would have celebrated his 90th birthday two weeks ago today.)

A “regrets” notification arrived two days after the crash. It was sent to the home of his father, Alonzo P. McAbee, at 550 Second St.

As if the family’s hearts weren’t heavy enough, another notification came less than 24 hours later.

The second letter brought the news that Jimmy, the baby of the family, had been declared missing in action on July 27, 1950. The McAbees refused to let go of hope, especially after Jimmy’s wallet and dog tags were found. They believed he might have been captured and was being held as a prisoner of war.

He was officially presumed dead three years later — on July 27, 1953 — the same date the armistice agreement was signed, ending the war.

ALL-AMERICAN BOY

Bill McAbee, a retired attorney from Savannah, worked tirelessly to have his uncle honored with a memorial service. Bill’s father, Cecil, was the McAbees’ oldest son. Bill was 7 years old when Charles and Jimmy died.

He answered a call of duty of his own: a homecoming for his uncle in the town where Jimmy grew up, but never had the chance to grow old.

Bill chose July 27 as the day Jimmy would be remembered.

He researched stories on the McAbee brothers in the archives at the Thomaston library. He attended informational MIA meetings, trying to learn everything he could.

Jimmy was killed less than two days after his combat unit arrived in South Korea in a battle for which it was unprepared and poorly equipped to fight.

He was 21 years old, barely old enough to vote. Or drink a beer.

In many ways, Jimmy was an All-American boy. He played football and basketball at R.E. Lee. He was cadet captain and a company commander of the school’s Junior ROTC program. He loved science and joined the chemistry and biology clubs. He was a member of the Beta Club and National Honor Society.

Like other young men who were not of draft age during World War II, he was called upon to work in the mills to help the war effort. He and Charles were both influenced by an older brother, Howard, who was trained by the Royal Canadian Air Force and flew more than 100 missions.

Jimmy was a corporal in the Army and was sent to Okinawa for occupation duty with the 24th Infantry. When the U.S. entered the conflict in Korea in June 1950, Gen. Douglas McArthur ordered the infantry to begin six weeks of combat training.

But the situation was so dire there was no time to train. The troops were hurried onto transport ships and sent to the port city of Pusan. They arrived on July 25 and were issued their weapons the next day. The battle started that night. Of the 220 men in the company, 115 were killed, declared missing in action or taken prisoner. Jimmy was among those unaccounted for when they pulled back.

“He was a soldier, but not a combat veteran,’’ Bill said. “The North Koreans had a seasoned army. The Americans and South Koreans were quickly overrun.’’

The McAbees had been worried for weeks before receiving the MIA notification. They had last heard from Jimmy in a letter dated July 26, when he told them he had been assigned a Browning automatic rifle.

At the close of the service, the minister read a poem called “For the Fallen,’’ written by English poet Robert Laurence Binyon in 1914.

They went with songs to the battle; they were young,

Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.

They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,

They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old:

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning.

We will remember them.

As the last cars pulled out of the cemetery, a soft summer rain began to fall.

This story was originally published July 29, 2016 at 11:49 AM with the headline "They gathered to remember a fallen soldier, decades later."