A 101-Year-Old Veteran’s Journey of Valor, Resilience, and Quiet Wisdom

A Twist of Fate and a Call to Serve

Clyde’s story begins in the rural embrace of Southern Illinois, where he was born in 1923 and raised around Johnson City. “I’ve been around here most of my life, except when I was in the Marines,” he says, recalling a childhood spent riding tractors with his father, a road commissioner. The rhythms of farm life shaped him, but World War II pulled him far from those fields. 

“I was just wanting to get in the Navy,” he remembers with a hint of amusement, “but several of us from this area went up together on the train.” Fate had other plans—he was assigned to the Marines instead, drafted alongside a handful of local boys into a world of uncertainty.

His service unfolded in the Pacific theater, before the invasion of Japan and after Pearl Harbor, though exact dates fade in his memory. As a heavy equipment operator, Clyde took on a role both vital and unglamorous: running bulldozers to carve paths through chaos. 

“Most of the time, I was assigned to bulldoze,” he explains, leveling ground for landing zones under the Navy’s direction. From Okinawa—where he navigated a quarter-mile of water to reach the shore—to near Nagasaki, his work placed him perilously close to history’s turning points. 

“We were pretty close to where they dropped the bomb,” he marvels, crediting his survival to a higher power. “The good Lord protected me. I didn’t get sick.”

Brushes with Danger and the Gift of Survival

Clyde’s wartime years were punctuated by brushes with death that he recounts with a survivor’s calm. He stood on a beach, helpless, as a Japanese kamikaze plane slammed into a Navy ship, flames and explosions claiming lives. “I’ve seen one plane fly into one of our ships,” he says, the weight of the memory clear in his tone. Another kamikaze veered off just before striking the ship where Clyde stood, shot down by U.S. fighters. “He pulled up just before he got to the ship where I was at,” he recalls, a subtle nod to the thin thread of fate.

The trials didn’t end with the war. Back home in Carbondale, Illinois, a doctor delivered a grim diagnosis: a cancerous growth on his chest. “She said, ‘You got a cancer on your chest… it’s the worst kind,’” Clyde remembers. Surgery followed, and with quiet gratitude, he notes, “She got it all out.” That recovery as a young man set the stage for decades more of life—a gift he doesn’t take for granted at 101.

Building Bridges: Compassion Beyond the Battlefield

Clyde’s service wasn’t confined to bulldozers and battlefields; it extended into moments of profound humanity. In Japan, he met young people disillusioned by their leaders’ lies and found friendship instead of enmity. 

“Some of them were friends to me,” he says warmly, recalling a girl who stood at attention as U.S. forces arrived and a young man who became a companion. These connections shaped his view of the world. “90% of them are good people,” he insists, a belief forged in shared glances and small kindnesses.

Years later, that compassion bloomed anew. With his wife, Clyde volunteered at Give Kids the World in Florida, a charity for children with life-threatening illnesses. There, he encountered Japanese teenagers eager to understand American charity—a concept unfamiliar in their culture. “They paid their own expenses to stay in America for a month,” he says with pride, delighted by their curiosity and the seeds of goodwill he helped sow. These acts of connection, spanning decades and oceans, reveal a heart undimmed by war’s scars.

A Life Well-Lived: Reflections from a Century

Now settled at the VA, Clyde’s days are quieter, but his spirit shines bright. He rates his care a perfect ten out of ten, touched by the staff’s kindness. “Everybody’s been very nice,” he says, recalling a doctor who recently introduced him to others, celebrating his age and service. “That made me feel kind of good,” he admits with a humble smile. As his 102nd birthday approaches, he plans a modest celebration—perhaps with friends from his Bible study, including a fellow veteran he met recently, both bonded by service in Japan, Clyde near Nagasaki, the other on Hokkaido.

When asked for wisdom, Clyde offers no lofty sermons, just the steady truth of a life well-lived. “We had a job to be done, and we done it,” he says of his Marine days. His time with the Japanese taught him their goodness, and he treasures their farewells: “I will never forget you.” Reflecting on their lack of charity as a cultural concept, he admires their eagerness to learn from America—a curiosity he helped nurture.

A Legacy of Quiet Heroism

Clyde Edwards is a humble hero whose century-plus journey embodies courage, survival, and kindness. From bulldozing beaches under fire to befriending former foes, his story resonates with the best of the Greatest Generation. As he nears 102, he remains an inspiration—a man who faced danger with resilience, met strangers with compassion, and reflects on it all with quiet gratitude. 

“Thank you for your service,” he’s told, and with a nod, he replies, “It had to be done.”