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Former Army sergeant Ben Harris, now 102, served in Pacific Theater (Mark McCarter/mmccarter@al.com)
The framed newspaper story, now turning the shade of your favorite khakis, hangs on the wall in the bonus room Ben Harris added onto his New Hope home.
Two decades old now, the clipping tells the saga of Harris' ambitious cross-country motorcycle riding, with wife Mary riding along. His life-long love of motorcycles grew even greater upon his retirement from the Russel Erskine Hotel in the 1970s.
It is with some regret we must report that the motorcycle days for Ben Harris have ended.
They stopped four years ago.
He was 98 years old then.
Now a vigorous 102, Ben and Mary Harris will take a more conventional mode to join fellow veterans at the Victory Day 2015 festivities, set for Aug. 10 at the Space & Rocket Center, marking the 70th anniversary of the end of World War II.
Harris served in the Pacific Theater with the 81st Infantry Division - "The Wildcats" - which formed at Fort Rucker, then did considerable jungle training in Hawaii. It was there one day a sleek touring car pulled up and the passenger was easily recognizable: President Franklin D. Roosevelt.
With Harris and his mates firing massive guns "with bullets this big," he said, holding his hands more than a foot apart, the 81st landed at Guadalcanal in 1944. They hopscotched across various locations in the war against Japan, from the Palau Island chain to Australia and to the Philippines, where "we were shooting at a bunch of Japanese soldiers when we heard the war ended."
VICTORY DAY 2015
- The 70th anniversary of the end of World War II will be marked on Monday, Aug. 10 from 10 a.m. to 1 p.m. at the U.S. Space & Rocket Center with "Victory Day 2015" festivities. For information and for veterans to register to participate, see the Victory Day website here. This is the second in a three-part weekly series profiling local World War II veterans. Reach columnist Mark McCarter at
His division fought not only the Japanese, but also a typhoon, supply shortages and the challenges of the wide-open seas and small island chains. The 81st was sent to northern Japan in the aftermath of the war and Harris recalls, "If you had a pack of cigarettes, you could get 20-dollar bill from the Japanese for it."
Once the war ended, it wasn't until Dec. 5, 1945 that Harris arrived back in Huntsville. Not long afterward, he moved his then-wife and young daughter moved to California, not far from where he had been stationed at Camp Beale, in the northern part of the state. His great-grandson, Chris White, is now in the Air Force and stationed at the same place.
Harris owned a variety of businesses, including a body shop, paint shop and liquor store. The liquor store proved nearly as dangerous as the Pacific Theater. Twice he was held up, but once he beat the intruder with a baseball bat.
After 30 years in California, he returned to Huntsville, where he had spent his formative years at Lincoln Village. Before the war, he made his living at the mill and, he confesses, "gambling in a pool hall." Some weeks, the latter more effectively paid the bills.
That's where his love for motorcycles began. A group of men regularly rode their bikes on Sundays. Recalled Harris, "If one of their wives wasn't there with them, I'd crawl on and go with them and they'd bring me back. If their wives were there, I couldn't go."
Thirty-two years ago, he met Mary, 20 years his junior, who had never been on a motorcycle, but would spend much of the next three decades happily riding behind Ben.
Ben and Mary Harris at their New Hope home (Mark McCarter/mmccarter@al.com)
"We rode all over the place," said Ben, showing a visitor the room where motorcycle art and knick-knacks dominate the decor alongside an inviting pool table.
Their blended family, which includes Ben's daughters Ann Moore and Debbie Parker, totals six children (one deceased), five grandchildren, nine great-grandchildren and six great-great-grandchildren. There's barely enough room left on the refrigerator for the door handle, so many smiling faces are on display.
Harris is not atypical among World War II veterans, with some stories that come easily, others best left untold. There is a thread of modesty that runs among them, one that will make next month's ceremonies a bit humbling and uncomfortable.
"I don't feel like I did anything to be (honored)," Harris said. "I just feel like I did my job the best I could."