James Carson

James Russell Carson, 89, formerly of 5140 Golf Club Road, died Monday, May 20, 2013 in Danville Regional Medical Center. He was born on July 2, 1923 in Wallace, West Virginia, a son of the late Okey W. Carson and Lillie M. Haught Carson. Mr. Carson was a veteran of World War II and served in the United States Army and was a Prisoner of War for 14 ½ months. He was a retired carpenter and worked for a number of years for Brown Construction. He was a cabinet maker and made beautiful furniture. He was of the Baptist faith. In addition to his parents he was predeceased by a brother Edward Wayne Carson. Mr. Carson is survived by a niece, Teresa Carson of South Daytona, Florida; and a great niece, Stephanie Songchild of Oregon. Graveside services, with Full Military Honors presented by American Legion Post 1097, will be held Thursday, May 23, 2013 at 10:00 AM at Danville Memorial Gardens with the Reverend Joe Northen officiating. The family will receive friends at Townes Funeral Home, Wednesday, May 22, 2013 from 7:00 to 8:30 PM. On October 18, 1943, while he was in North Africa, Mr. Carson wrote this letter to his mother. "Dear Mother, I am getting along just fine. I like it over here all right. Mother, here is a poem that my buddies and I made up in our spare time. My buddies' names are, Butters, Choen and Ciarlante. The poem is called A SOLDIER IN AFRICA Can't write much, Censor's to blame; Just saying I'm well And signing my name. Can't tell when I came here, Can't tell where I'm at; Can't tell when I'll leave here- No one knows that. Can't tell what we are doing, Can't describe this place; Just saying I am healthy And still in the race. Can't mention the weather, Can't say if it rains; All military secrets Must secrets remain. We work in the day time And stand guard at night; We live in pup-tents With candles for lights. We exist on Cornwillie With beans for dessert; No table to eat on, We sit in the dirt. There are lots better places, There are lots worse; But we're not complaining- There's no reason we should. We jump into our bedsacks, At the end of each day; And dream of our homes In the good old U.S.A. Some days I'm happy, Some days I'm blue; But the day doesn't pass I don't think of you. All fooling aside- It's not really so bad; We joke and we laugh And refuse to be sad. Don't take me so seriously- Not having a bad time; This isn't much of a poem, But the sentences do rhyme. This is enough nonsense For one person to write; So I'll call this my letter And close with good-night. This is all I have time for now, so I'll close until the next time. Write real soon. I hope you like this poem. Love, Jimmie." This letter and poem was published in the newspaper.