Eldon Farmer was born in Newton County, Arkansas on August 23, 1912.
He enlisted in the US Air Force, serving in the Pacific Theatre in the 421st Night Fighter Squadron.
He was killed in action on November 4, 1944 and buried in the Philippines.
Years after the war, his body was returned to Vendor, where he was interred at Smith Cemetery.
The following information is taken from 'The 421st Night Fighter Squadron In WW2' by Jeff Kolln:
'At 7:45 on the morning of November 4th , the darkest day in the history of the 421st NFS would transpire. The squadron would lose six of their men in a Japanese attack. There would be no alarm given, and at that time of day many of the men were still at breakfast or taking showers. The personnel killed would include: FlO George Garenger (RIO); S/Sgt. Rubin J. Kaplan (Engineering); Sgt. Eldon Farmer (Engineering); Sgt. John Efstathiou (Mechanic); Sgt. Lynn Ballard (Mechanic); and Cpl. Albert T. Bloomgren (Engineering). A number of men were seriously wounded and sent to be hospitalized, including: Sgt. Armand GiaITUsso; Sgt. Eric C. Sandstrom; and Pvt. Luther E. Meadors. The attack began as four low flying Japanese "Zero" fighters came in from the west at about eight to ten thousand feet up. They were obviously making a bomb and strafing run on the airfield while all the American planes were still on the ground. What they did not know was that Captain Bob DeHaven and his wingman, Lt. Walter Leaf of the 7th Fighter Squadron, were up on patrol that morning in their P-38 fighters near the strip. As the Japanese began their attack run the P-38s cut them off, splitting the Japanese into two groups of two. The Japanese fighters, armed with bombs, dropped them immediately and made a run for it. The Japanese bombs struck near the squadron's mess area and among the tents located nearby. Most witnesses in the 421st NFS saw two of the Japanese planes as they came over and then headed off in separate directions, with the P38s on their tails. The bombs that struck the 421st NFS camp caught the squadron completely by surprise and gave them no time to take shelter. Captain DeHaven chased one of the Zeros, and in firing a burst hit it mid-fuselage. The aircraft rolled, and the pilot of this plane jumped out and opened his parachute. The Japanese pilot landed near the village of Jaro and was captured by U.S. troops a short time later. DeHaven, who had now achieved his 14th victory of the war, returned to Tacloban after about an hour. His wingman, Lt. Leaf, had been separated and had tangled with another group of Japanese fighters. His P-38 was shot up during this engagement, and he also headed back to Tacloban. He was lined up to make a landing, but another aircraft squeezed him out of the pattern and he was forced to go around again. Leaf's plane did not make it, and he crashed in San Pedro Bay during the attempt. The pilot and aircraft were both lost. Meanwhile, on the ground at the squadron's campsite the experiences of those few minutes were many, but the war as a whole became very personal and closer to each and everyone of them. Curtiss Burgess later wrote: The bombing raid killed six of our men, one within an arm's reach of me while I was hugging the base of a palm tree. I was knocked coo-coo for two or three hours. There was not a drop of my blood lost, and that same day I was given a "shot" of combat whisky and they offered me the Purple Heart, which I refused. It sounds hard to believe, but I had my hand on Harold Bloomgren. He was from Harrington, Kansas, and he was 37 years old. We called him "old man." One of the kindest, gentlest, and best men I would ever care to know. We were clutching the base of the tree when the bomb hit and I got knocked out. A large fragment hit him in the head. I remember he gave a loud groan and went limp as my hand grasped his. Oh God! What a loss. Jake Loran was also lucky on that day: I was in the chow line near a wall of cases of C-rations about five feet high. A bomb hit about 40 feet away, and the blast knocked me to the ground. I think the wall of C-rations saved my bacon, as it was between me and the exploding bomb.'
This information was graciously sent to me by Dr. Arnold M. Huskins, South Carolina. The family is deeply indebted to him for his kindness in letting us know the details in what happened to this brave man.
I penned this short story about my distant cousin Eldon:
The happy land of Canaan may be a Biblical story, but for some of us it truly was fact.
Growing up on the land my ancestors settled in the 1850s was a true blessing. It gave me common ground, a heritage, a place and, most importantly, a history. My people were among the first white settlers in the 1850s in the place now known as Newton County, Arkansas. My 5th great-grandfather and his sons took residence here, although both he and most of his sons would move on South to other locations. My direct ancestor stayed here and fought through the War, survived an assassination attempt, and raised his children here that became my direct line.
The thought of 'dying for one's country' is a truly noble ideal. Many a young Southron boy has had that thought in his head, in his misguided belief that that was what was right.
But this story is about a neighbor of mine who I never got the privilege to meet, who embodied that ideal.
My cousin grew up in the same valley I did. Though our paths are many years apart, we still trod the same road. Her father, Samie, served in the US Army, along with his brother, Eldon.
Eldon was born on August 23rd, 1912, on Big Creek, Newton County, Arkansas.
His brother, Samie, was born in the same place on December 14th, 1918.
Growing up for these two was the usual Ozark lifestyle. They helped their folks and did what they could to help the growing family scratch by. Samie was to marry into my family, and he was well thought of and often spoke highly of for his high character, which, I am sure, his brother Eldon shared.
When the Second World War came, both Eldon and Samie were pulled into the vortex.
Samie was a TEC5 in the Army. He survived the war, but spoke very little about it, according to his children. He was a man to fix things and teach both his children how to do so themselves, as to not leave them 'unarmed' as things would unfold.
Eldon, however, was not so fortunate. Eldon served with a different unit and was killed in action. His death date was listed as November 4th, 1944. His family never knew where he was. Eldon was buried far from his home. He was to remain there some years.
Truth is, the family still to this day doesn't know exactly where Eldon was killed, or who he was with, or any of the details surrounding his death.
All they know is that the common country boy that they all knew and loved went off to fight for 'democracy' or whatever nebulous reason they assigned, and never returned.
My cousin said 'They said he was serving down on one of them big planes and fooled around and got shot somehow.' But that was the extent of our knowledge.
Samie came back home.
As a child, I well remember walking through Smith Cemetery with my grandparents and great-grandparents. My great-grandma, Edna, would gently guide me and tell me little anecdotes about the folks who laid there. Her son, my great-uncle Stanley, lies there in an early grave, not due to war service or any such thing, but due to a vehicle accident deserving of its own article. But, I remember my Grandma Edna rolling out green carpet and heaping sand upon the graves there in Smith Cemetery. She was repeating a long passed down tradition. My great-grandmother knew and loved tradition and all that it entailed. I well remember walking around Smith Cemetery and listening to her talk of the people she had known that rested there.
One of Edna's sons was married into the Ewing family, and they were closely tied together.
As we trod Smith Cemetery, I never realized the grave that stood so closely to my own family, nor the gravity of what it meant.
Years after the war, the government (mostly mothers of those lost) began a movement to reinter those killed in their native lands. Eldon was brought back home to rest in the cemetery in Vendor, Arkansas, so near where he was born.
Samie's daughter remembers that when they finally brought Eldon home, that they told her father that the funeral would be held at a certain date. Samie refused to attend. He told his family 'That ain't him, it's just a bag of sand.'
Samie lived out his life, dying in Vendor, Arkansas, while out checking his traps.
As I strolled the rows in Smith Cemetery as a young child, I had no idea of the things that I would later realize. There are people there that exemplify what I should be: men who were men, who died for a cause WORTH dying for.
There are men who were forced into things that they would later regret, and never recover from.
There are men who lived their lives out and never thought a whit about conflict or such things.
But, as I stroll the graves here at Smith Cemetery, I still see my great-grandma Edna. I can't help but think if her pouring sand is a strange compliment to a boy who fell so far from home.
Eldon was brought back to Newton County, Arkansas. A monument to those who think about serving the Yankee war machine for a living, and who always come up short, he lies there.
He gave his all, as did his brother. The difference is, one survived and one didn't.
On a bright, sunny day, in Vendor, I struggle along behind my great-grandmother as she tends to the graves there. She rolls out green 'boat carpet' and tends to the weeding and care of the stones.
I have no ideal about the nearby stone for Eldon Farmer, nor his brother Samie, save for he was our kinfolk and he should be remembered and revered.
Eldon's stone has one of the greatest epitaphs I've ever read, one I spent years walking around.
SGT. ELDON FARMER
AUG 23 1912
NOV 4 1944
I WILL LIFT MINE EYES UP UNTO THE HILLS
We in the hills shall always remember you, sir.
He enlisted in the US Air Force, serving in the Pacific Theatre in the 421st Night Fighter Squadron.
He was killed in action on November 4, 1944 and buried in the Philippines.
Years after the war, his body was returned to Vendor, where he was interred at Smith Cemetery.
The following information is taken from 'The 421st Night Fighter Squadron In WW2' by Jeff Kolln:
'At 7:45 on the morning of November 4th , the darkest day in the history of the 421st NFS would transpire. The squadron would lose six of their men in a Japanese attack. There would be no alarm given, and at that time of day many of the men were still at breakfast or taking showers. The personnel killed would include: FlO George Garenger (RIO); S/Sgt. Rubin J. Kaplan (Engineering); Sgt. Eldon Farmer (Engineering); Sgt. John Efstathiou (Mechanic); Sgt. Lynn Ballard (Mechanic); and Cpl. Albert T. Bloomgren (Engineering). A number of men were seriously wounded and sent to be hospitalized, including: Sgt. Armand GiaITUsso; Sgt. Eric C. Sandstrom; and Pvt. Luther E. Meadors. The attack began as four low flying Japanese "Zero" fighters came in from the west at about eight to ten thousand feet up. They were obviously making a bomb and strafing run on the airfield while all the American planes were still on the ground. What they did not know was that Captain Bob DeHaven and his wingman, Lt. Walter Leaf of the 7th Fighter Squadron, were up on patrol that morning in their P-38 fighters near the strip. As the Japanese began their attack run the P-38s cut them off, splitting the Japanese into two groups of two. The Japanese fighters, armed with bombs, dropped them immediately and made a run for it. The Japanese bombs struck near the squadron's mess area and among the tents located nearby. Most witnesses in the 421st NFS saw two of the Japanese planes as they came over and then headed off in separate directions, with the P38s on their tails. The bombs that struck the 421st NFS camp caught the squadron completely by surprise and gave them no time to take shelter. Captain DeHaven chased one of the Zeros, and in firing a burst hit it mid-fuselage. The aircraft rolled, and the pilot of this plane jumped out and opened his parachute. The Japanese pilot landed near the village of Jaro and was captured by U.S. troops a short time later. DeHaven, who had now achieved his 14th victory of the war, returned to Tacloban after about an hour. His wingman, Lt. Leaf, had been separated and had tangled with another group of Japanese fighters. His P-38 was shot up during this engagement, and he also headed back to Tacloban. He was lined up to make a landing, but another aircraft squeezed him out of the pattern and he was forced to go around again. Leaf's plane did not make it, and he crashed in San Pedro Bay during the attempt. The pilot and aircraft were both lost. Meanwhile, on the ground at the squadron's campsite the experiences of those few minutes were many, but the war as a whole became very personal and closer to each and everyone of them. Curtiss Burgess later wrote: The bombing raid killed six of our men, one within an arm's reach of me while I was hugging the base of a palm tree. I was knocked coo-coo for two or three hours. There was not a drop of my blood lost, and that same day I was given a "shot" of combat whisky and they offered me the Purple Heart, which I refused. It sounds hard to believe, but I had my hand on Harold Bloomgren. He was from Harrington, Kansas, and he was 37 years old. We called him "old man." One of the kindest, gentlest, and best men I would ever care to know. We were clutching the base of the tree when the bomb hit and I got knocked out. A large fragment hit him in the head. I remember he gave a loud groan and went limp as my hand grasped his. Oh God! What a loss. Jake Loran was also lucky on that day: I was in the chow line near a wall of cases of C-rations about five feet high. A bomb hit about 40 feet away, and the blast knocked me to the ground. I think the wall of C-rations saved my bacon, as it was between me and the exploding bomb.'
This information was graciously sent to me by Dr. Arnold M. Huskins, South Carolina. The family is deeply indebted to him for his kindness in letting us know the details in what happened to this brave man.
I penned this short story about my distant cousin Eldon:
The happy land of Canaan may be a Biblical story, but for some of us it truly was fact.
Growing up on the land my ancestors settled in the 1850s was a true blessing. It gave me common ground, a heritage, a place and, most importantly, a history. My people were among the first white settlers in the 1850s in the place now known as Newton County, Arkansas. My 5th great-grandfather and his sons took residence here, although both he and most of his sons would move on South to other locations. My direct ancestor stayed here and fought through the War, survived an assassination attempt, and raised his children here that became my direct line.
The thought of 'dying for one's country' is a truly noble ideal. Many a young Southron boy has had that thought in his head, in his misguided belief that that was what was right.
But this story is about a neighbor of mine who I never got the privilege to meet, who embodied that ideal.
My cousin grew up in the same valley I did. Though our paths are many years apart, we still trod the same road. Her father, Samie, served in the US Army, along with his brother, Eldon.
Eldon was born on August 23rd, 1912, on Big Creek, Newton County, Arkansas.
His brother, Samie, was born in the same place on December 14th, 1918.
Growing up for these two was the usual Ozark lifestyle. They helped their folks and did what they could to help the growing family scratch by. Samie was to marry into my family, and he was well thought of and often spoke highly of for his high character, which, I am sure, his brother Eldon shared.
When the Second World War came, both Eldon and Samie were pulled into the vortex.
Samie was a TEC5 in the Army. He survived the war, but spoke very little about it, according to his children. He was a man to fix things and teach both his children how to do so themselves, as to not leave them 'unarmed' as things would unfold.
Eldon, however, was not so fortunate. Eldon served with a different unit and was killed in action. His death date was listed as November 4th, 1944. His family never knew where he was. Eldon was buried far from his home. He was to remain there some years.
Truth is, the family still to this day doesn't know exactly where Eldon was killed, or who he was with, or any of the details surrounding his death.
All they know is that the common country boy that they all knew and loved went off to fight for 'democracy' or whatever nebulous reason they assigned, and never returned.
My cousin said 'They said he was serving down on one of them big planes and fooled around and got shot somehow.' But that was the extent of our knowledge.
Samie came back home.
As a child, I well remember walking through Smith Cemetery with my grandparents and great-grandparents. My great-grandma, Edna, would gently guide me and tell me little anecdotes about the folks who laid there. Her son, my great-uncle Stanley, lies there in an early grave, not due to war service or any such thing, but due to a vehicle accident deserving of its own article. But, I remember my Grandma Edna rolling out green carpet and heaping sand upon the graves there in Smith Cemetery. She was repeating a long passed down tradition. My great-grandmother knew and loved tradition and all that it entailed. I well remember walking around Smith Cemetery and listening to her talk of the people she had known that rested there.
One of Edna's sons was married into the Ewing family, and they were closely tied together.
As we trod Smith Cemetery, I never realized the grave that stood so closely to my own family, nor the gravity of what it meant.
Years after the war, the government (mostly mothers of those lost) began a movement to reinter those killed in their native lands. Eldon was brought back home to rest in the cemetery in Vendor, Arkansas, so near where he was born.
Samie's daughter remembers that when they finally brought Eldon home, that they told her father that the funeral would be held at a certain date. Samie refused to attend. He told his family 'That ain't him, it's just a bag of sand.'
Samie lived out his life, dying in Vendor, Arkansas, while out checking his traps.
As I strolled the rows in Smith Cemetery as a young child, I had no idea of the things that I would later realize. There are people there that exemplify what I should be: men who were men, who died for a cause WORTH dying for.
There are men who were forced into things that they would later regret, and never recover from.
There are men who lived their lives out and never thought a whit about conflict or such things.
But, as I stroll the graves here at Smith Cemetery, I still see my great-grandma Edna. I can't help but think if her pouring sand is a strange compliment to a boy who fell so far from home.
Eldon was brought back to Newton County, Arkansas. A monument to those who think about serving the Yankee war machine for a living, and who always come up short, he lies there.
He gave his all, as did his brother. The difference is, one survived and one didn't.
On a bright, sunny day, in Vendor, I struggle along behind my great-grandmother as she tends to the graves there. She rolls out green 'boat carpet' and tends to the weeding and care of the stones.
I have no ideal about the nearby stone for Eldon Farmer, nor his brother Samie, save for he was our kinfolk and he should be remembered and revered.
Eldon's stone has one of the greatest epitaphs I've ever read, one I spent years walking around.
SGT. ELDON FARMER
AUG 23 1912
NOV 4 1944
I WILL LIFT MINE EYES UP UNTO THE HILLS
We in the hills shall always remember you, sir.
Eldon Farmer was born in Newton County, Arkansas on August 23, 1912.
He enlisted in the US Air Force, serving in the Pacific Theatre in the 421st Night Fighter Squadron.
He was killed in action on November 4, 1944 and buried in the Philippines.
Years after the war, his body was returned to Vendor, where he was interred at Smith Cemetery.
The following information is taken from 'The 421st Night Fighter Squadron In WW2' by Jeff Kolln:
'At 7:45 on the morning of November 4th , the darkest day in the history of the 421st NFS would transpire. The squadron would lose six of their men in a Japanese attack. There would be no alarm given, and at that time of day many of the men were still at breakfast or taking showers. The personnel killed would include: FlO George Garenger (RIO); S/Sgt. Rubin J. Kaplan (Engineering); Sgt. Eldon Farmer (Engineering); Sgt. John Efstathiou (Mechanic); Sgt. Lynn Ballard (Mechanic); and Cpl. Albert T. Bloomgren (Engineering). A number of men were seriously wounded and sent to be hospitalized, including: Sgt. Armand GiaITUsso; Sgt. Eric C. Sandstrom; and Pvt. Luther E. Meadors. The attack began as four low flying Japanese "Zero" fighters came in from the west at about eight to ten thousand feet up. They were obviously making a bomb and strafing run on the airfield while all the American planes were still on the ground. What they did not know was that Captain Bob DeHaven and his wingman, Lt. Walter Leaf of the 7th Fighter Squadron, were up on patrol that morning in their P-38 fighters near the strip. As the Japanese began their attack run the P-38s cut them off, splitting the Japanese into two groups of two. The Japanese fighters, armed with bombs, dropped them immediately and made a run for it. The Japanese bombs struck near the squadron's mess area and among the tents located nearby. Most witnesses in the 421st NFS saw two of the Japanese planes as they came over and then headed off in separate directions, with the P38s on their tails. The bombs that struck the 421st NFS camp caught the squadron completely by surprise and gave them no time to take shelter. Captain DeHaven chased one of the Zeros, and in firing a burst hit it mid-fuselage. The aircraft rolled, and the pilot of this plane jumped out and opened his parachute. The Japanese pilot landed near the village of Jaro and was captured by U.S. troops a short time later. DeHaven, who had now achieved his 14th victory of the war, returned to Tacloban after about an hour. His wingman, Lt. Leaf, had been separated and had tangled with another group of Japanese fighters. His P-38 was shot up during this engagement, and he also headed back to Tacloban. He was lined up to make a landing, but another aircraft squeezed him out of the pattern and he was forced to go around again. Leaf's plane did not make it, and he crashed in San Pedro Bay during the attempt. The pilot and aircraft were both lost. Meanwhile, on the ground at the squadron's campsite the experiences of those few minutes were many, but the war as a whole became very personal and closer to each and everyone of them. Curtiss Burgess later wrote: The bombing raid killed six of our men, one within an arm's reach of me while I was hugging the base of a palm tree. I was knocked coo-coo for two or three hours. There was not a drop of my blood lost, and that same day I was given a "shot" of combat whisky and they offered me the Purple Heart, which I refused. It sounds hard to believe, but I had my hand on Harold Bloomgren. He was from Harrington, Kansas, and he was 37 years old. We called him "old man." One of the kindest, gentlest, and best men I would ever care to know. We were clutching the base of the tree when the bomb hit and I got knocked out. A large fragment hit him in the head. I remember he gave a loud groan and went limp as my hand grasped his. Oh God! What a loss. Jake Loran was also lucky on that day: I was in the chow line near a wall of cases of C-rations about five feet high. A bomb hit about 40 feet away, and the blast knocked me to the ground. I think the wall of C-rations saved my bacon, as it was between me and the exploding bomb.'
This information was graciously sent to me by Dr. Arnold M. Huskins, South Carolina. The family is deeply indebted to him for his kindness in letting us know the details in what happened to this brave man.
I penned this short story about my distant cousin Eldon:
The happy land of Canaan may be a Biblical story, but for some of us it truly was fact.
Growing up on the land my ancestors settled in the 1850s was a true blessing. It gave me common ground, a heritage, a place and, most importantly, a history. My people were among the first white settlers in the 1850s in the place now known as Newton County, Arkansas. My 5th great-grandfather and his sons took residence here, although both he and most of his sons would move on South to other locations. My direct ancestor stayed here and fought through the War, survived an assassination attempt, and raised his children here that became my direct line.
The thought of 'dying for one's country' is a truly noble ideal. Many a young Southron boy has had that thought in his head, in his misguided belief that that was what was right.
But this story is about a neighbor of mine who I never got the privilege to meet, who embodied that ideal.
My cousin grew up in the same valley I did. Though our paths are many years apart, we still trod the same road. Her father, Samie, served in the US Army, along with his brother, Eldon.
Eldon was born on August 23rd, 1912, on Big Creek, Newton County, Arkansas.
His brother, Samie, was born in the same place on December 14th, 1918.
Growing up for these two was the usual Ozark lifestyle. They helped their folks and did what they could to help the growing family scratch by. Samie was to marry into my family, and he was well thought of and often spoke highly of for his high character, which, I am sure, his brother Eldon shared.
When the Second World War came, both Eldon and Samie were pulled into the vortex.
Samie was a TEC5 in the Army. He survived the war, but spoke very little about it, according to his children. He was a man to fix things and teach both his children how to do so themselves, as to not leave them 'unarmed' as things would unfold.
Eldon, however, was not so fortunate. Eldon served with a different unit and was killed in action. His death date was listed as November 4th, 1944. His family never knew where he was. Eldon was buried far from his home. He was to remain there some years.
Truth is, the family still to this day doesn't know exactly where Eldon was killed, or who he was with, or any of the details surrounding his death.
All they know is that the common country boy that they all knew and loved went off to fight for 'democracy' or whatever nebulous reason they assigned, and never returned.
My cousin said 'They said he was serving down on one of them big planes and fooled around and got shot somehow.' But that was the extent of our knowledge.
Samie came back home.
As a child, I well remember walking through Smith Cemetery with my grandparents and great-grandparents. My great-grandma, Edna, would gently guide me and tell me little anecdotes about the folks who laid there. Her son, my great-uncle Stanley, lies there in an early grave, not due to war service or any such thing, but due to a vehicle accident deserving of its own article. But, I remember my Grandma Edna rolling out green carpet and heaping sand upon the graves there in Smith Cemetery. She was repeating a long passed down tradition. My great-grandmother knew and loved tradition and all that it entailed. I well remember walking around Smith Cemetery and listening to her talk of the people she had known that rested there.
One of Edna's sons was married into the Ewing family, and they were closely tied together.
As we trod Smith Cemetery, I never realized the grave that stood so closely to my own family, nor the gravity of what it meant.
Years after the war, the government (mostly mothers of those lost) began a movement to reinter those killed in their native lands. Eldon was brought back home to rest in the cemetery in Vendor, Arkansas, so near where he was born.
Samie's daughter remembers that when they finally brought Eldon home, that they told her father that the funeral would be held at a certain date. Samie refused to attend. He told his family 'That ain't him, it's just a bag of sand.'
Samie lived out his life, dying in Vendor, Arkansas, while out checking his traps.
As I strolled the rows in Smith Cemetery as a young child, I had no idea of the things that I would later realize. There are people there that exemplify what I should be: men who were men, who died for a cause WORTH dying for.
There are men who were forced into things that they would later regret, and never recover from.
There are men who lived their lives out and never thought a whit about conflict or such things.
But, as I stroll the graves here at Smith Cemetery, I still see my great-grandma Edna. I can't help but think if her pouring sand is a strange compliment to a boy who fell so far from home.
Eldon was brought back to Newton County, Arkansas. A monument to those who think about serving the Yankee war machine for a living, and who always come up short, he lies there.
He gave his all, as did his brother. The difference is, one survived and one didn't.
On a bright, sunny day, in Vendor, I struggle along behind my great-grandmother as she tends to the graves there. She rolls out green 'boat carpet' and tends to the weeding and care of the stones.
I have no ideal about the nearby stone for Eldon Farmer, nor his brother Samie, save for he was our kinfolk and he should be remembered and revered.
Eldon's stone has one of the greatest epitaphs I've ever read, one I spent years walking around.
SGT. ELDON FARMER
AUG 23 1912
NOV 4 1944
I WILL LIFT MINE EYES UP UNTO THE HILLS
We in the hills shall always remember you, sir.
He enlisted in the US Air Force, serving in the Pacific Theatre in the 421st Night Fighter Squadron.
He was killed in action on November 4, 1944 and buried in the Philippines.
Years after the war, his body was returned to Vendor, where he was interred at Smith Cemetery.
The following information is taken from 'The 421st Night Fighter Squadron In WW2' by Jeff Kolln:
'At 7:45 on the morning of November 4th , the darkest day in the history of the 421st NFS would transpire. The squadron would lose six of their men in a Japanese attack. There would be no alarm given, and at that time of day many of the men were still at breakfast or taking showers. The personnel killed would include: FlO George Garenger (RIO); S/Sgt. Rubin J. Kaplan (Engineering); Sgt. Eldon Farmer (Engineering); Sgt. John Efstathiou (Mechanic); Sgt. Lynn Ballard (Mechanic); and Cpl. Albert T. Bloomgren (Engineering). A number of men were seriously wounded and sent to be hospitalized, including: Sgt. Armand GiaITUsso; Sgt. Eric C. Sandstrom; and Pvt. Luther E. Meadors. The attack began as four low flying Japanese "Zero" fighters came in from the west at about eight to ten thousand feet up. They were obviously making a bomb and strafing run on the airfield while all the American planes were still on the ground. What they did not know was that Captain Bob DeHaven and his wingman, Lt. Walter Leaf of the 7th Fighter Squadron, were up on patrol that morning in their P-38 fighters near the strip. As the Japanese began their attack run the P-38s cut them off, splitting the Japanese into two groups of two. The Japanese fighters, armed with bombs, dropped them immediately and made a run for it. The Japanese bombs struck near the squadron's mess area and among the tents located nearby. Most witnesses in the 421st NFS saw two of the Japanese planes as they came over and then headed off in separate directions, with the P38s on their tails. The bombs that struck the 421st NFS camp caught the squadron completely by surprise and gave them no time to take shelter. Captain DeHaven chased one of the Zeros, and in firing a burst hit it mid-fuselage. The aircraft rolled, and the pilot of this plane jumped out and opened his parachute. The Japanese pilot landed near the village of Jaro and was captured by U.S. troops a short time later. DeHaven, who had now achieved his 14th victory of the war, returned to Tacloban after about an hour. His wingman, Lt. Leaf, had been separated and had tangled with another group of Japanese fighters. His P-38 was shot up during this engagement, and he also headed back to Tacloban. He was lined up to make a landing, but another aircraft squeezed him out of the pattern and he was forced to go around again. Leaf's plane did not make it, and he crashed in San Pedro Bay during the attempt. The pilot and aircraft were both lost. Meanwhile, on the ground at the squadron's campsite the experiences of those few minutes were many, but the war as a whole became very personal and closer to each and everyone of them. Curtiss Burgess later wrote: The bombing raid killed six of our men, one within an arm's reach of me while I was hugging the base of a palm tree. I was knocked coo-coo for two or three hours. There was not a drop of my blood lost, and that same day I was given a "shot" of combat whisky and they offered me the Purple Heart, which I refused. It sounds hard to believe, but I had my hand on Harold Bloomgren. He was from Harrington, Kansas, and he was 37 years old. We called him "old man." One of the kindest, gentlest, and best men I would ever care to know. We were clutching the base of the tree when the bomb hit and I got knocked out. A large fragment hit him in the head. I remember he gave a loud groan and went limp as my hand grasped his. Oh God! What a loss. Jake Loran was also lucky on that day: I was in the chow line near a wall of cases of C-rations about five feet high. A bomb hit about 40 feet away, and the blast knocked me to the ground. I think the wall of C-rations saved my bacon, as it was between me and the exploding bomb.'
This information was graciously sent to me by Dr. Arnold M. Huskins, South Carolina. The family is deeply indebted to him for his kindness in letting us know the details in what happened to this brave man.
I penned this short story about my distant cousin Eldon:
The happy land of Canaan may be a Biblical story, but for some of us it truly was fact.
Growing up on the land my ancestors settled in the 1850s was a true blessing. It gave me common ground, a heritage, a place and, most importantly, a history. My people were among the first white settlers in the 1850s in the place now known as Newton County, Arkansas. My 5th great-grandfather and his sons took residence here, although both he and most of his sons would move on South to other locations. My direct ancestor stayed here and fought through the War, survived an assassination attempt, and raised his children here that became my direct line.
The thought of 'dying for one's country' is a truly noble ideal. Many a young Southron boy has had that thought in his head, in his misguided belief that that was what was right.
But this story is about a neighbor of mine who I never got the privilege to meet, who embodied that ideal.
My cousin grew up in the same valley I did. Though our paths are many years apart, we still trod the same road. Her father, Samie, served in the US Army, along with his brother, Eldon.
Eldon was born on August 23rd, 1912, on Big Creek, Newton County, Arkansas.
His brother, Samie, was born in the same place on December 14th, 1918.
Growing up for these two was the usual Ozark lifestyle. They helped their folks and did what they could to help the growing family scratch by. Samie was to marry into my family, and he was well thought of and often spoke highly of for his high character, which, I am sure, his brother Eldon shared.
When the Second World War came, both Eldon and Samie were pulled into the vortex.
Samie was a TEC5 in the Army. He survived the war, but spoke very little about it, according to his children. He was a man to fix things and teach both his children how to do so themselves, as to not leave them 'unarmed' as things would unfold.
Eldon, however, was not so fortunate. Eldon served with a different unit and was killed in action. His death date was listed as November 4th, 1944. His family never knew where he was. Eldon was buried far from his home. He was to remain there some years.
Truth is, the family still to this day doesn't know exactly where Eldon was killed, or who he was with, or any of the details surrounding his death.
All they know is that the common country boy that they all knew and loved went off to fight for 'democracy' or whatever nebulous reason they assigned, and never returned.
My cousin said 'They said he was serving down on one of them big planes and fooled around and got shot somehow.' But that was the extent of our knowledge.
Samie came back home.
As a child, I well remember walking through Smith Cemetery with my grandparents and great-grandparents. My great-grandma, Edna, would gently guide me and tell me little anecdotes about the folks who laid there. Her son, my great-uncle Stanley, lies there in an early grave, not due to war service or any such thing, but due to a vehicle accident deserving of its own article. But, I remember my Grandma Edna rolling out green carpet and heaping sand upon the graves there in Smith Cemetery. She was repeating a long passed down tradition. My great-grandmother knew and loved tradition and all that it entailed. I well remember walking around Smith Cemetery and listening to her talk of the people she had known that rested there.
One of Edna's sons was married into the Ewing family, and they were closely tied together.
As we trod Smith Cemetery, I never realized the grave that stood so closely to my own family, nor the gravity of what it meant.
Years after the war, the government (mostly mothers of those lost) began a movement to reinter those killed in their native lands. Eldon was brought back home to rest in the cemetery in Vendor, Arkansas, so near where he was born.
Samie's daughter remembers that when they finally brought Eldon home, that they told her father that the funeral would be held at a certain date. Samie refused to attend. He told his family 'That ain't him, it's just a bag of sand.'
Samie lived out his life, dying in Vendor, Arkansas, while out checking his traps.
As I strolled the rows in Smith Cemetery as a young child, I had no idea of the things that I would later realize. There are people there that exemplify what I should be: men who were men, who died for a cause WORTH dying for.
There are men who were forced into things that they would later regret, and never recover from.
There are men who lived their lives out and never thought a whit about conflict or such things.
But, as I stroll the graves here at Smith Cemetery, I still see my great-grandma Edna. I can't help but think if her pouring sand is a strange compliment to a boy who fell so far from home.
Eldon was brought back to Newton County, Arkansas. A monument to those who think about serving the Yankee war machine for a living, and who always come up short, he lies there.
He gave his all, as did his brother. The difference is, one survived and one didn't.
On a bright, sunny day, in Vendor, I struggle along behind my great-grandmother as she tends to the graves there. She rolls out green 'boat carpet' and tends to the weeding and care of the stones.
I have no ideal about the nearby stone for Eldon Farmer, nor his brother Samie, save for he was our kinfolk and he should be remembered and revered.
Eldon's stone has one of the greatest epitaphs I've ever read, one I spent years walking around.
SGT. ELDON FARMER
AUG 23 1912
NOV 4 1944
I WILL LIFT MINE EYES UP UNTO THE HILLS
We in the hills shall always remember you, sir.
Family Members
Flowers
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