The first I heard of George Morgan Stocking was when I saw his grave in the Malad, Idaho cemetery on July 4th, 2011. My great grandmother was a Stocking, and her grave is nearby. Since Malad is a small place, I figured George Morgan Stocking was probably kin.
Sure enough, a bit of research revealed George to be my grandmother’s first cousin, although he was born just a few years before my mother. My grandparents, like George, had been born and raised in Malad, but they moved away. My mother was born and raised in another state and never had the chance to meet her older second cousin. In fact, she wasn’t even aware of him.
During World War II, while my mother was in high school, George joined the Marines. At age 19 he fought the Japanese on Peleliu Island. If you’ve ever seen the HBO series, The Pacific, you will have an idea of the horror this young man faced. He was killed in action.
I’ve never met any of my Stocking relations who, for all I know, are ordinary people. But I’m sure George’s family was devastated by his untimely death. Here was a promising young man – the last of six children – who would never marry or have children or enjoy the most satisfying experiences of family life. (Seeing George’s grave also made me think of my own son, currently serving as a Marine in Afghanistan.) My mother, by contrast, has enjoyed a full life. She turned 84 a couple days ago. Last week we had a family reunion for her descendants and more than 40 people attended. It was a wonderful event, made possible in no small part by the freedoms secured by those whose blood has protected this country – patriots whom are easy to forget.
We should try to remember the many George Morgan Stockings who made us free.
