My mother had two younger brothers who served in the military during World War II. They were close in age, only a little over a year apart. The oldest was named California Horton. My maternal grandmother, Etta Clem Horton, had gotten pregnant with him just about the time she and Granddad Horton had planned to leave their cotton farm in south Alabama and move to California. Granddad told her they couldn’t leave for California with her pregnant. So they stayed and planted another crop of cotton. Grandmother got her frustrations out, however, by naming the baby boy, born on November 19, 1919, “California” Horton. He was quickly nicknamed “Forney”.

The cotton crop must have been good that year, or the weather real cold, because Forney was quickly followed within a year by a younger brother, whom they named “Wofford.” With two little boys nursing at the same time Grandmother never made it to California. The two boys grew up inseparable, more like twins than just brothers. My mother, Lorena Horton, three years older than Forney, and four years older than Wofford was their big sister, mentor and friend.

Forney was 22 years old and Wofford 21when World War II started. They both decided to join the U.S. Navy, hoping to serve together. However, the U.S. Navy was not as enthused as they were about them serving together and promptly, after basic training, sent Uncle Wofford to serve in North Africa and Uncle Forney to serve in the Pacific.

Uncle Wofford’s job initially was on a ship that picked up German prisoners of war from Field Marshal Erwin Rommel’s Deutsches Afrika Corps and brought them to the United States to military prisons. He once told me that he was surprised and a little intimidated to see such a bunch of good looking young men, mostly blond, blue eyed and muscular, but well behaved as they organized themselves by rank and marched on board the U.S. Navy prison ship. He also told me that one day he and a Navy buddy decided to taunt some of the prisoners as they were coming up the gangplank by shouting down at them: “Where’s your man Hitler now?” Suddenly one of the prisoners looked up at them and in perfect English shouted back: “Hitler is probably doing the same thing your man Roosevelt is doing tonight. Eating a good meal, drinking some fine wine and sleeping in a soft bed!” With that Uncle Wofford gave him a “thumbs up” ….as they both smiled at each other. When the war was over Uncle Wofford bought a Texaco Service Station in Brewton, Alabama, about one hour’s drive north of Pensacola, Florida. Over the next few years he parlayed that into 15 more gas stations in Southeast Alabama, plus a Holiday Inn in Brewton.

Meanwhile, Uncle Wofford’s brother, Forney, married Margie Rogers of Greenville, Alabama, simultaneously with joining the Navy. He was assigned to the Seabees, trained as a bulldozer operator, and shipped to the South Sea Pacific islands. His main job was to help build airports and roads on the islands that the U.S. Marines and Army had captured from the Japanese. However, the military also sometimes used the bulldozers as offensive weapons. Apparently that was part of the battle-plan, to bury the enemy alive in their caves with bulldozers. However, Uncle Forney was wounded once in hand-to-hand combat with a Japanese soldier who objected to his cave opening being covered over by the sand that Uncle Forney was pushing with his bulldozer. Several Japanese soldiers suddenly came out of the cave as it was being sealed, with bayonets flashing. Forney joined the Marines to repulse them, but one enemy soldier was able to swipe him across the belly with his bayonet before being shot down by a Marine. A relatively shallow wound, and Uncle Forney was back on duty within a few days.

Uncle Forney regularly sent letters to my mother, Lorena, and his wife, Margie, letting them know how things were going in the Pacific. Apparently things were going quite well after the initial battles, and he was having fun on those Pacific islands. In fact, he couldn’t help himself from bragging to my mother about some escapades he was having with some of the island girls. He even had a friend take a picture with him and a scantily dressed island girl embracing each other in a very suggestive manner. His intention was to send the picture only to my mother. However, he had simultaneously written a letter to his wife, Margie, describing how difficult life was over there. Unfortunately for Forney, he put the picture of himself and the island girl in the envelope addressed to his wife; and sent my mother the letter he’d intended for his wife. When mother received the letter meant for Aunt Margie, she knew immediately that there was a big problem brewing for her little brother. Aunt Margie was really upset when she opened the letter with pictures of her husband with the island girls, and decided to get even with him by eating. By the time the war was over, and Uncle Forney came home, she weighed about twice as much as she had weighed when they had gotten married. Unfortunately, she maintained that weight the rest of her life.

Uncle Forney was discharged from the Navy in November of 1945 and promptly moved to Deerfield Beach to work for my father. While working as a welder and mechanic for Dad for a year or two, he simultaneously studied to get a real estate and broker’s license. As soon as he received that license he resigned his job with Dad and opened up a real estate company on North Federal Highway in Boynton Beach, naming it “Boynton Realty”. He was phenomenally successful.

In the early 1950’s he made one of the largest sales ever recorded in Deerfield Beach. He was the real estate agent/broker who sold the 500 acres between US Highway No. 1, and the Intracoastal Waterway, from Hillsboro Avenue to what is now Lighthouse Point, the area now called “The Cove”, to housing developer Bob Sullivan for $1,500 per acre. It was purchased from the Kester family of Pompano Beach. More of how that sale happened, and the role that my father Marlin Eller played, will be described in future Historical Articles.

David Eller, Publisher

David Eller