I haven't made any blog posts for quite a while, I know. To be honest, I think I'd just lost my passion for writing.
Until today.
It took some terrible, terrible news to get me in front of my laptop in order to tell you about Joe.
I first met Joe Wendling in August of 1984, during my first few months at Mansfield PD. He was one of four Wendling brothers to serve the citizens of our city while wearing a badge. One brother, Jim, had already retired from the department before I started, having been shot in the line of duty during a very short gun battle. Jim killed his assailant during the encounter, but suffered a gunshot wound to the abdomen which ended his career. I've yet to have the pleasure of meeting him. John, Joe and Jan were still working, though and, through the coming years, I'd get to know each on a personal level, at one point serving on night shift under Joe's command. Great, great policemen, all of them highly-decorated by the city and veterans of the United States Marine Corps.
All four brothers saw combat in Vietnam. A lot of it.
There are many memories I could recount involving the brothers and the police department; some comical and others tragic. It was when I interviewed Joe for a story about his service in the Marines, years after we'd both put down the badge, that I gained a totally different insight and level of respect for this man. Not that I didn't respect him before but I was to learn just how decent, honorable and...well, heroic... he was over the three hours we spoke.
It was a late autumn afternoon when I rang the bell on Joe and Candy's house, a spacious, two-story stone and brick affair in a quiet suburb southwest of the city, the lawn meticulously trimmed to perfection. Joe, his usual affable self, invited me in. We sat at his dining room table, looking through photographs from that time so long ago when the young Marine was nineteen or 20, dropped into the middle of green, stiflingly hot jungle to defeat Communist insurgency.
Joe wanted to tell me about Operation Union 2 but he couldn't; this man, who I'd witnessed arrest hardened criminals, was lost for words, tears welling and voice strained by the memory. Instead, he handed me his Bronze Star with valor device citation summary, which recounted his actions when his company came under fire as soon as the transport helicopters landed.
Entrenched Communist troops. hidden in thick vegetation at the edge of the LZ, opened up with machine gun, mortar and recoilless rifle fire on the exposed Marines, killing or wounding many of them. Joe, who'd been returning fire with the M-60 machine gun he carried, ran 100 meters into the clearing and dragged/carried four wounded men to safety before collapsing due to heat exhaustion.
The corpsman attached to his company thought he was dead.
"My brother came to inside a body bag" his brother Jan had told me after the story had been printed. I cannot comprehend the horror Joe must have felt; I fully understand why he hadn't spoke of it.
Joe served two tours in Vietnam, his interview giving me more than space would permit in the newspaper. I had a word count, you see, and his story was very tough to cut down in order to meet that count.
After retiring in 2009, I asked Joe why he hadn't every applied for the Chief's job; he would have been perfect for it. "I don't want the headache of dealing with all the politics involved", he'd told me, which I should have expected. Joe would have always put his street coppers first because he was a true leader.
At the end of the interview Joe thanked me for listening. This man, this true American hero, showed his gratitude by giving me a chromed bayonet. I was at a loss for words and didn't want to accept the gift, but he insisted. "It meant a lot to have someone listen."
Joe Wendling, retired Lieutenant of the Mansfield Police Department and also retired Lt. Colonel from the Ohio Air National Guard, died this morning...
...and I will grieve and miss him greatly.
God rest your soul, Joe; you earned it.
