Fire In My Eyes: Honor and Pride

By Joseph E. Mitchell

The United States Army was my home for twenty-seven years, one month and nineteen days. It was my first love in this world, and if I had it to do over again, I'd do it just the same—except for the mistakes, of course.

Throughout my years of service, I encountered a diverse cast of characters, from some of the best people in the world to a few of the worst. But with an old sergeant's advice to "do the right thing" as my guide, I persevered through every challenge.

Through my experiences, I discovered that no dream is too big and anyone can rise from humble beginnings to make their mark. From navigating unfamiliar territories to overcoming personal obstacles, my life in the Army was full of adventures and taught me that with grit and determination, the sky's the limit.

This memoir is a testament to the resilience of the human spirit and a celebration of the brave men and women who serve in the United States Army. With gripping storytelling and a deep sense of authenticity, I hope this book inspires readers to reach for their own dreams, no matter how lofty.

• Language: English
• Publisher: New Carolina Holdings LLC
• Release date: Nov 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9798988382102

Book preview

INTRODUCTION

Lately, I’ve been thinking about the beautiful life I had as a soldier in the United States Army. That Army took a poor black kid from the streets of New York and sent him around the world, from the heartland of America to far- off countries I’d never even heard of.

Early on, I traveled from Nebraska to Kansas to the Deep South of Alabama, where black people were treated like animals.

I went to Texas, where instead of two signs for White and Colored, there were three signs for White, Colored, and Mexican.

I sailed and flew to Korea, where ten soldiers lived together in a big tent: eight white and two black. Over there, we were all the same. Yet, when we got back to the States, the white men who ate and slept under the same roof with you wouldn’t speak to you in the street.

As in life, racism was a constant factor in the Army. But I persevered and overcame those barriers. I succeeded far beyond anything I could imagine when I was a seventeen- year-old kid, with limited options and an uncertain future.

Life in the Army wasn’t an easy road, but it took me places I might never have seen and rewarded me with experiences and achievements I might never have had.

I want to dedicate this book to my first love: The United States Army.

FIRE IN MY EYES

HUMBLE BEGINNINGS: LIFE ON THE FARM

I was born Joseph Emerson Mitchell, on October 23, 1933, in my family’s farmhouse in Preston Hollow, New York. A small village of mostly farm families, Preston Hollow rested at the foot of Cheese Hill in the Catskill Mountains. It was definitely boondocks country. I was the thirteenth child born to my parents. One passed away at birth, and I came next.

My father, Eugene Junius Mitchell, was born in Hell’s Kitchen, NYC, in 1886. I knew little of his family history, except he once told me his father was a waterboy for the Union Army at the Battle of Shiloh.

He left school after second grade to work various jobs. It was always tough for a black man to find work. At nineteen he went to Utah to be a sheepherder and cut railroad ties. He told me the story of the farmers’ strange practice on the rare occasion that they found a meteorite. If they didn’t get along with a neighbor, they would put the meteorite close to that neighbor’s barn. Because of all the different minerals and metals in the meteorite, it was supposed to attract lightning and burn down the barn. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t.

My mother, Zettie Agee, was born in 1893 in Missouri. She was working as a schoolteacher when she met my father through a Lonely Hearts Club ad in the newspaper. They wrote to each other for a while. My mother finally took a train to Utah to meet my father. They were married in May of 1913.

Utah was a fairly racist place, so not long after, they moved to Missouri where they had three children. A few years later, they were moving again. The story I always heard was Daddy told off a white man and the townsfolk threatened to kill him if he didn’t apologize. He packed up the family and moved back to New York City where he found work as a mechanic and truck driver.

In New York, they had eight more children. My father bought the 290-acre farm in Preston Hollow before I was born. I was the only child born in that house. By then, he owned his own truck and delivery business while working part- time as a building superintendent in New York City. He only came home to visit on weekends twice a month. Mama and the older children were left to run the farm.

The farmhouse was two stories with about seven bedrooms. There was no water or electricity in the house. We had a pump outside for water and kerosene lamps for light. A stove in the kitchen and dining room provided heat. In the fall, we’d chop all the wood and store it up for the wintertime.

Even with the stoves, it was cold up there on Cheese Mountain. A pitcher of water left on a table would freeze overnight. My room was under the steps. My other brothers and sisters had rooms on the outside walls. The house must have had a lot of cracks. When it snowed, they’d wake up with snow on them.

All my brothers and sisters went to a one-room schoolhouse about a mile up the road. Seven was the usual starting

age, but the teacher, Miss Hess, talked Mama into starting me early at five.

My earliest memories are those walks to school because I