My father, Clarence McNair was a member of 3-3. He told me several war stories only when I asked him. He did not talk about the violence of war but he felt strongly that wars would be much shorter if those who were making war decisions from great distances were on the front lines. His stories were interesting. I asked him about jumping from a plane, thinking it must have been exciting. He didn't like it much, landing was unpredictable and hard, with chances of injury. He mentioned the craziness of smokers who sometimes lit-up while on patrol.....very dangerous. Once at a farmhouse at night he prepared to toss a grenade inside. The pin was pulled and the solid door was ajar. He didn't see the screen door which made a great deal of noise when his hand armed with a grenade smacked against the screen. He had a GSW on Jan. 6th 44 but recovered. He had taken cover behind a rock that was slightly larger than his head. A machine gunner was firing at him from an elevated position. The bullet struck him in the upper back, hit ribs and came out above his waist. I asked him what it felt like to be shot and he explained it felt like someone had driven a pik-axe into his back and the breath was knocked out of him. Dad was awarded a Silver Star for looking after his men. I asked him about how he got his foot wound later that year. That was an interesting story. He was on a ship in a room where weapons were being handed out. He said someone accidentally pulled a pin from a grenade and dropped it to the floor. During the first moments the live grenade was being kicked about. Dad saw where it was , kicked it into the corner of the room and put his foot on it. The blast sent him to the roof of the room. Miraculously, his foot was badly cut and he was hospitalized but a very serious situation was averted. I did ask why he chose these actions and he said, I thought I could contain the blast with my foot. He was right. He was a pretty amazing father, considerate, kind, with a wonderful sense of humour. I just wish I had been more interested in asking him more. Rod McNair
My father, Clarence McNair was a member of 3-3. He told me several war stories only when I asked him. He did not talk about the violence of war but he felt strongly that wars would be much shorter if those who were making war decisions from great distances were on the front lines. His stories were interesting.
I asked him about jumping from a plane, thinking it must have been exciting. He didn't like it much, landing was unpredictable and hard, with chances of injury. He mentioned the craziness of smokers who sometimes lit-up while on patrol.....very dangerous. Once at a farmhouse at night he prepared to toss a grenade inside. The pin was pulled and the solid door was ajar. He didn't see the screen door which made a great deal of noise when his hand armed with a grenade smacked against the screen. He had a GSW on Jan. 6th 44 but recovered. He had taken cover behind a rock that was slightly larger than his head. A machine gunner was firing at him from an elevated position. The bullet struck him in the upper back, hit ribs and came out above his waist. I asked him what it felt like to be shot and he explained it felt like someone had driven a pik-axe into his back and the breath was knocked out of him. Dad was awarded a Silver Star for looking after his men. I asked him about how he got his foot wound later that year. That was an interesting story. He was on a ship in a room where weapons were being handed out. He said someone accidentally pulled a pin from a grenade and dropped it to the floor. During the first moments the live grenade was being kicked about. Dad saw where it was , kicked it into the corner of the room and put his foot on it. The blast sent him to the roof of the room. Miraculously, his foot was badly cut and he was hospitalized but a very serious situation was averted. I did ask why he chose these actions and he said, I thought I could contain the blast with my foot. He was right. He was a pretty amazing father, considerate, kind, with a wonderful sense of humour. I just wish I had been more interested in asking him more. Rod McNair