A Story Waited in a Pile of Postcards
By Samantha Riggin VT’16, Corps museum curator
In the Corps Museum’s archives are about 100 reply postcards from 1944, sent to members of the Virginia Polytechnic Institute Alumni Association, that queried their preferred tribute to alumni who died while in service during both world wars. The suggested tributes were: a chapel, a bell tower that pealed on the hour, an infirmary, and scholarships.
Replies from alumni as far back as the Class of 1899 reveal a spirited debate, culminating with the selection of the university’s revered War Memorial Chapel and Pylons.
An errant postcard is mixed in with the reply cards, addressed to the VPI Alumni Fund of 1944. The date and location of the sender is given as, “Somewhere in France — 19 July 44.” Beneath is a lengthy note, a portion that reads: “Puss, Don’t have my check book [sic] with me but am enclosing a ‘5 Franc’ note as a personal souvenir of the invasion to you. I landed on D-Day in the assault and after crawling the first two miles got things under control and pushing on to victory now. This a hard way to make a living…” It is signed by Maj. John G. Hughes ’27.
Puss was Coach Henry Redd of the football team, of which Hughes was a member. Hughes, Class of 1927, graduated a Skipper – a fifth year private – as an electrical engineer.
His home was Arvonia, Virginia, and he was a member of the Virginia National Guard. Called to serve at 38 years old, Hughes joined the 111th Field Artillery unit, arriving on Omaha Beach on one of the few DUKW amphibious vehicles, known as Ducks, that hadn’t sunk. His commanding officer dead, he and his executive officer escaped with Canadian forces.
Hughes survived, returning to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, where his wife, and a daughter born after his deployment, anxiously waited. His daughter, Virginia Boyce, told me among her tears that her father was loyal and honorable. Hughes’ granddaughter, Alicia Boyce, recalled when her grandfather returned from World War II, he said he would eat ice cream every day, and he did. He had a freezer devoted to the creamy confection.
The amount Hughes’ donated as he dodged shrapnel “somewhere in France” is unimportant; his actions are not. He epitomizes Ut Prosim (That I May Serve), with gracious service to his country, and his Corps of Cadets buds. A humble man, it took 78 years before his story was uncovered.
Well done, sir. Well done.
