GREEN TOWNSHIP, Ohio — Frank Wetenkamp walks through his backyard and shakes his head. He’s mad about the leaves.
“For 60 years, I been blowing these leaves,” Wetenkamp said. “And they always come back.”
I ask him how it feels to be 99 years old. He shrugs his shoulders and says the same as it felt to be 98.
“I tell people that and they laugh,” Wetenkamp said. “That’s the story of my life.”
It's a story he shares with as many schools and community groups in the Tri-State as he can. He tells me he spoke to about 14 groups earlier this spring. Mostly because it’s not the typical story you’re used to hearing on Veterans Day.
WATCH: Hear from this World War II veteran in the video below
“I got a whole drawer full of pictures,” Wetenkamp said.
Inside, he pulls out photos. Some from his childhood. Some from his wedding. Some from his military service.
“This is the barge where we were dumping ammunition,” Wetenkamp said.
Growing up during the Great Depression, the Green Township resident was one of 15 kids.
“I was lost in the shuffle,” Wetenkamp said. “I was 8 years old, and I was shining shoes in the bars. It’d get dark and I would go to sleep.”
He pauses.
“Washington Park," Wetenkamp said.
Another pause.
“Central Parkway," Wetenkamp said.
He tells me he often slept outside, and his family life didn’t get much better from there. He joined the Navy, in part, to get away. And then he was transferred to the Marines. After World War II ended, Wetenkamp thought he was being sent home.
Instead, he was sent to the Philippines to clean up the mess left by other deployments. As a 19-year-old, he was put in charge of American prisoners.
"I was used," Wetenkamp said.
But he survived. And a plaque on his office desk lists the following honors:
Philippine defense medal
Philippine liberation medal
World War II victory medal
American campaign medal
Combat action ribbon
He says none of those awards mean as much to him as the artwork from 22 great-grandkids and 14 grandkids on his refrigerator. He shows me a few and eventually starts singing Frank Sinatra.
“I did it my way,” Wetenkamp said. “You ever hear that song? I sang it better.”
He almost trips. Then, he laughs and walks back around the front of his house. He picks up his recycling bin and sits down on the front porch, where there are two chairs.
He sits in one, and the other remains empty.
“I’m here, not for my sake, but for the ones who didn’t make it back,” Wetenkamp said.
