I never met my great-grandfather, but I feel like I know him in some way.
That’s thanks to the day he sat my grandmother down and told her she could ask him anything about the war, and that after that day he didn’t plan to speak about it again.
Starting at the beginning, Pete Hasapopoulos and his brothers George, Sam and Ted all decided to serve after Pearl Harbor. Pete, my great-grandfather, joined the Marines and eventually became a part of Edson’s Raiders of the 1st Marine Raider Battalion, named after commanding officer Merrit A. Edson. This battalion, along with one other Raider Battalion, are believed to be the first United States special operations forces to organize and see combat during World War II.
The original Raiders were eventually disbanded as they were never truly used in a special operations capacity in a way that justified their existence, and the conception that they were an “elite force within an elite force” led to some resentment within the ranks.
But, that’s another story. Edson’s Raiders were alive and well during Pete’s tenure, island hopping around the Pacific Theater before a fateful day in Guam that left my great-grandfather laying in the jungle, his leg riddled with enemy fire.
I don’t recall exactly how much time passed in my grandma’s retelling, but he laid in the jungle for at least a day before he was found and flown to a military hospital in California. He would stay in that hospital for over a year, possibly even two, recovering from a gangrene infection and subsequent amputation, as well as the considerable jungle rot that had spread on his neck and back.
What stuck with me the most of anything Pete had to say was what he told my grandma the worst part of his experience was. Joining the military as a young unmarried man, he spent a lot of time in the hospital watching wives and girlfriends come to visit their seriously injured, and in some cases deformed, husbands and boyfriends. Several of them would never visit again, and this made Pete certain that he wouldn’t find a girl who wanted to be with someone who had just one leg. Fortunately, he met my great-grandmother Betty not too long after.
Pete was a very good baseball player before he joined the military, and losing his leg struck a deeper chord for him. It stripped a part of his identity. Because of that, Pete pivoted to business with his brothers, who fortunately all came out of the war alive, and they went on to own various restaurants around the area after returning home.
I don’t know what year it was, but I’m certain it preceded the enactment of the Sullivan Law when Pete and his youngest brother Sam met up by chance at a military base. They hugged and cried and expressed their love to one another before going their separate ways, not sure if they’d ever see each other again. I believe it is a blessing for my family that they were able to do business together for many years afterwards. My great-great Uncle Sam just passed away a few years ago, and even as Alzheimer’s affected his memory over the years he still had a great love for his country and the Armed Forces.
Because he was a ballplayer, and frankly because he grew up in a different generation, my great-grandfather Pete was ashamed of his wooden leg, believing it to be a sign of weakness.
I hope that he somehow knows his great-grandson Aaron is very proud of the sacrifice he made for his country.
