Meeting the man from Mitchell

The press release from Congressman Broun’s office was intriguing: World War II veteran to receive medals.

That was how I met Marion Snider of Mitchell, Ga.

I didn’t get Mr. Snider’s age, but when you are a World War II vet these days, you are pretty much already in the overtime period of life.

My first impression of Mr. Snider was entirely positive. He looked good in a suit and tie, and his bride of 10 years looked good too. Mr. Snider laughed when I joked, “Took you a while to work up the courage to ask her to marry you, huh?”

Of course, she is his second bride, and I never did hear the story of their courtship. The medal ceremony interrupted the story.

I’ve never been to Mitchell, but I’ve been to Gibson. Which is on the way to nowhere.

“Mitchell is a suburb of Gibson,” quipped Mr. Snider.

He told me his story of service in World War II. It was not a story of great heroism. But it was a story of sacrifice, nonetheless.

He was assigned to the mechanized cavalry in the U.S. Army. Trucks. His was a vital job of keeping the lifeline flowing to the men on the front.

He eventually was stationed in the Philippines, on the New Guinea side, so he never crossed paths with another hero, Cobern Kelley, a mate on the USS Narwhal, a submarine that ferried people and supplies from Australia to the Philippines and back. Kelley was later the physical director at the Athens YMCA.

Mr. Snider’s truck company was preparing for the invasion of Japan when he heard about the atomic bomb.

“We knew then that the war was over,” he said.

Soon, he was on a ship to San Francisco, stacked in bunks below decks. He ate one meal a day and relieved himself off the deck. Some times reporters learn too much information.

He arrived back in San Francisco in the dead of night. No cheering crowds. He did get a steak dinner.

“It was good,” he said.

He went into trucking for a while before going to work for the Veterans Affairs. But he had always wanted to be a rural mail carrier, and he made the right connection to deliver mail in Mitchell. It doesn’t get more rural than that.

By the time he retired, he had 42 years of service with Uncle Sam, and he had raised a family. There are now grandchildren and even great grandchildren.

The medal presentation was necessitated because he misplaced the original issues. That was where Congressman Broun stepped in. For the record, Mr. Snider received the Good Conduct Medal, Meritorious Unit Commendation, Asiatic-Pacific Campaign Medal with three Bronze Service Stars, World War II Victory Medal, Philippine Liberation Ribbon, Honorable Service Lapel Button for WWII and Marksman Badge w/ Rifle Bar. 

But he also received a little moment in the sun. The respect that fellow serviceman Congressman Broun expressed to Mr. Snider for his service was heartfelt.

There is certainly more to the story of Marion Snider, but just to hear a slice of his life was a treat.

Thank you, Mr. Snider.

‘Big Daddy’ was friend to all he met

From time to time it becomes necessary to report on the death of people prominent in a small community like Oconee County. George Hillsman was prominent almost before Oconee County was a community. Unfortunately, I did not have the pleasure of getting to know him before he died recently. So here is the story that appeared in The Oconee Enterprise about a week after his death.

George Hillsman was affectionately known as “Big Daddy.”

The nickname aptly described him. He lived a large life, and he took practically everyone he met under his protective wing.

Hillsman, 83, died Wednesday, March 13. He had collapsed the day before at Hot Thomas Restaurant, one of his favorite hangouts.

David Williams said he thought that Hillsman earned the nickname in the late ‘60s when he was supervising a crew of laborers, Williams included, who were working on soil tests in Georgia and nearby states. Williams was with the Southern Piedmont Experiment Station at the time.

“He was a big man,” said Williams, “probably 375 to 400 pounds. And he was always looking out for us young guys. I believe it was Wendell Hardigree who said, ‘George is trying to look after us like a big daddy.’ And the name stuck.

“He took me under his wing,” confirmed Fred Hale, who worked for Hillsman.

“One of his main deals was where would we eat,” Williams said. “Over in Saluda, S.C., he found a boarding house that served country dinners. And not by the plate. You sat down at a table, and they brought you all you could eat.”

Williams said he talked to Robert Sheats at the funeral last Saturday. Sheats had been one of those who worked for Hillsman.

“Robert told me that George was like a father figure to him,” Williams said. “Big Daddy was an appropriate nickname. He was an encourager. He was one of those people that made you feel better anytime you were around him, and he was generous to a fault.”

Hillsman was born and raised in Oconee County and lived most of his life here. He was in the military, and Sidney Bell recalled that Hillsman once worked in Irwinton, Ga., where he lived next door to Bell’s aunt.

Bell was another one who went to work under Hillsman at Southern Piedmont.

“He had a way of taking care of you,” said Bell. “He was Big Daddy to a lot of people.”

Bell was close in age to one of the Hillsman sons, Charles.

“I always loved going over there,” he said. “I’d go help him haul straw. We built barns and picked up dead chickens. Charles and I had children about the same age, and George was like an uncle to my children.”

Steve Maxey said that Hillsman was like a brother to him. They were born 11 days and a mile and a half apart.

“We used to ride tricycles down the road to see each other,” said Maxey. “We stayed at one or the other’s house all the time. We were down at the creek, building dams across the branch or fishing or playing in the woods.”

Maxey became a commercial roofer and worked out of Atlanta for many years. But the two stayed in touch. Maxey would buy beef from Hillsman when he killed a cow. When Maxey retired and returned to the area, their friendship resumed.

Hillsman had a reputation as a good cook, particularly when it came to chicken mull or turtle mull. Hale remembered the times they caught a turtle, fed it and then made turtle mull. “He made sure everybody got something to eat,” Hale said.

Hillsman farmed too, growing chickens and raising cattle.

“The Hillsmans were always willing to try something new,” said Russ Page.  “They put part of their farm in farmland protection 10 or 12 years ago. When the University of Georgia came out with a new kind of alfalfa that could be grazed on, they tried it out.”

Williams recalled a misunderstanding based on Hillsman’s willingness to try new things. Hillsman had purchased a Simmental bull and was going to cross-breed it. One of his friends told someone that Hillsman had bought a “cinnamon tree bull.”

“George was always trying to help someone,” said Williams. “He’d help them with their cows or their hay. He was the tax man too. There is no telling how many income tax returns he did for people. He told me the other

day that he was even doing some this year. It was just something he did for people.”

Charles Osborn said that Hillsman paid for Osborn to go to soil conservation camp when Osborn was 12 years old.

 “He was a friend to everybody,” Williams said. “He wanted to know everybody. And if he saw you in Publix and didn’t know you, he would try to find out who you were.”

Like as not, he would find some connection and even kinship to any new person he met.

Williams said that he suspected that Hillsman had sleep apnea before anyone knew what to call it.

“He would fall asleep at the drop of a hat,” Williams said. “He could go to sleep standing up.”

Bell said that he had not spoken to Hillsman since August when he came to the Antioch Church barbecue. “My job changed the last three years, and I have not spent as much time with him and that is very regrettable.”