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Thomas “Sug” Collins returned from service in World War II’s European Theater and lived 66 quiet years in Laramie. He stayed in the first and only house he and his wife ever bought; where he fathered their four daughters and welcomed their eight grandchildren and nineteen great-grandchildren. Sug – short for sugar, short for “Little Sugar” – was a nickname he grudgingly endured from his older brothers as a kid, but a name he later kept and answered to from most everyone he ever knew.
Sug died at 89 on October 22, 2008.
His story was not formally published or widely known of. In fact, only a handful of people outside his family knew the details of his service. He was interested in living life, not on dropping his own name and letting his part in the war be known.
Though he fought with individual heroism, his story blends with the great number of deeds and sacrifices given by the myriad of WWII fighters. The collection of selfless actions provokes solemn awe in those dwindling members of the current generation who appreciate it. Instead of remaining disconnected, those few fix a purposeful gaze on the smooth, white marble of a cross or Star of David, or any marker on the grave of a veteran, and feel their chest tighten slightly in a sweep of speechless gratitude.
Photo: Mine. Taken in Luxembourg.
Maybe one day, a young person will stand before Sug’s headstone and be humbled that a WWII soldier lived through battle and many decades longer. But on October 29, Sug’s funeral didn’t stop traffic or merit a moment of silence. His was one of two military honors burials that week.
There was, though, a small group of young adults present, outside his family, who cared. Sug was buried amid the respectful formality and tradition of military honors drills by Air National Guardsman.
Precision in a step, a salute, a rifle volley: the marks of a military honors funeral. With the number of WWII, Korea and Vietnam veterans who die each day, some servicemembers report for duty at a cemetery. About 686,000 veterans died in 2007. The number of funerals near larger populations can be between seven and thirty daily.
Two National Guardsmen, along with American Legion and VFW members stood for the noon funeral. Sug’s family was there: his wife, Mildred, and his daughters, from youngest to oldest: Sally, Karen, Janet and Jeannie.
The honor guard presented Sug’s widow with a folded flag. They had been married for 63 years, 2 months and 28 days.
The four daughters said the service was sad, touching, lovely and respectful. It made them proud. “He very well deserved it,” Jeannie said of her father.
The women describe their father as strong and steady – a man who didn’t get shaken up easily. During the tornado that roughed Laramie up a bit in the spring, Sug sat square in the living room and didn’t worry about it. If it’s going to hit, it will hit.
They say skin color and class didn’t exist in their father’s eyes. He was very conservative. He hunted, but only for the meat and never for the trophy. As parents, community members and surrogate parents to local children in need of care, the four women describe both their mother and father as goodhearted people who didn’t expect anything in return.
Sug’s family plucks his story from the mass of war stories. By the way they describe him in soft, loving tones, he was a great man in each of their lives.
A few years after Sug graduated from Laramie High School he was drafted into the Air Force, then the Army Air Force. It was April 1, 1942. Not even four months after the Pearl Harbor attack, he was in training to be a ball turret gunner: manning a gun in the rotating ball underneath B-17 aircraft. He was supposed to protect the vulnerable belly of the plane, and it was one of the most dangerous jobs.
He was sent overseas, stationed in England in late 1943. He flew 25 missions in five months. One mission showed the gut of Sug’s character: the co-pilot was shot, and all the crew jumped in panic. Sug stayed. He helped the pilot land the burning plane.
After those missions, he came home.
Sug was a true war hero when he was honorably discharged from the Army Air Force and then the reserves three years after he returned home. For his brave actions in the war his uniform was decorated with pins and ribbons, including the Distinguished Flying Cross and the Oak Leaf Cluster.
Though Mildred couldn’t remember the dates right away, she and Sug met the year he returned home and were married on July 27, 1945. “Sixty-three years is a long time to think back!” she said.
Mildred knew Sug’s parents before she ever saw him. During his time overseas, Mildred first got a job helping his mother on their Colorado ranch. After that she went to visit her sister in Washington state, not expecting to stay long. Mildred was supposed to return home for school, but instead she got a job working on war ships.
She laughed at the thought of being one of WWII’s Rosie the Riveters. “I was young then; it didn’t seem like hard work,” she said.
She and Sug wrote letters over the months. She said he asked for cookies and wrote nice, interesting letters. So when he returned home they weren’t strangers; although their first meeting wasn’t exactly love at first sight.
Sug was in Ault, Colorado at a roadside bar where one of his brothers worked. Mildred was with friends outside. When Sug came out of the bar, she figured he was drunk and didn’t pay much attention to him.
They still got together. Sug was stationed in Colorado Springs at Peterson Air Field for the remainder of his service as a reservist. He didn’t have a car, so he would take Greyhound to visit Mildred.
She said they never had a real date until after they married, and that when he proposed he gave her a pin of wings instead of an engagement ring.
She never finished school. “All my schooling I got from Sug. He taught me a lot,” she said.
Mildred and Sug bought that one-story house in Laramie with the paychecks Sug had sent home to his mother, and which his mother gave back to the new couple. With the four girls they had there, two more rooms were added on to the house.
“I was [Sug’s] eyes, and he was my legs; so we got along pretty good,” Mildred said of growing old with Sug.
Sug lived in the house which used to stand alone on the edge of prairie land. As West Laramie built up around him, Sug stayed Sug. For his family, his memory is solid and consistent. He was a good man who fought good in the war and lived good afterwards.
The only photo found from Sug’s war service shows a crew of 10 men sitting and kneeling in front of a B-17 painted with a nude woman holding a peace sign and sitting on a bomb. Sug stands on the left, the shortest of the six men standing, with eyes shadowed by bright sunlight. He is smiling.
Basie's Boots 