While researching the biographies that I tell in the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial, Daddy and I contacted the families of all three soldiers to help gather as much information about the them as we could. We did this by cold-calling the first family member that we could find. Luckily, we were able to talk to, and make friends with, all three families.

While going through this process I heard many stories and witnessed the birth of many more. As I take a look back at Project Vigil, I can pick out a selection of several stories that never fail to move me deeply. They move me for different reasons, whether it is because of how sad they are, or on the contrary, how beautiful they are. In this blog post, I have decided to tell a story about Stanley Stockins, told by his younger sister, Arlene. I hope you enjoy it.

Stanley Stockins

Stanley E. Stockins was a tough, hard-working, family man who loved boxing and riding his motorcycle. He was born in 1916 to two British immigrants. He grew up in South Side, Chicago, where, at a young age (during the Great Depression) he learned how to be resourceful when it came to earning money, and where he became a resilient young man. In March 1941, he enlisted in the army, and was assigned to the 124th Field Artillery Battalion. By December, war broke out.

Only a few months after having enlisted, Stanley's ailing father died from a long struggle with diabetes. Since a young age, the family's financial burden had been lain upon Stanley's shoulders, as his father was unable to work due to his illness. Several years later, when Stan's father's health failed, Stanley was on the first flight home to be with his family after the loss.

Stanley's little sister Arlene, recounted the following story about her big brother, during the mournful days just after her father’s death.

On leave in Chicago, from his training in Tennessee, Stanley arrived at the Stockins home dressed in his perfectly pressed Army uniform. In his hand he was holding a pair of small roller-skates. As he greeted his family, he handed the pair of new roller-skates to his littlest sister Arlene, who was only 4 years old at the time. He then proceeded to help her get them on and he strapprd them up for her. The two then headed outside and took a stroll around the block, hand in hand, as Arlene learned to ride on her brand new roller-skates. Her older brother helped her find her balance, as the two walked side-by-side, on that cold March day in 1941. For the rest of her life she would cherish dearly the memory of her big brother, guiding her gently by the hand, and how proud she was to be out in their neighborhood with him. Everyone knew and respected Stanley in the neighborhood, and he looked so handsome and heroic in his uniform. She was also so proud of her shiny new skates, quite a luxury in a time when money was so terribly scarce. Little did she know, that would be the last time she would ever see her larger-than-life, big brother, Stanley.

Why this story?

I find this story unbelievably heartbreaking, but I also find it so sweet.
At the time, no one in the Stockins family could have known that the end of Stanley’s visit would mean goodbye forever. It just makes me imagine all the hope and worry that the Stockins family must have felt while he was away during the war and then the inconsolable suffering they endured when they learned he’d been killed on D-Day. Only time was able to tell us that they would never see him again, but what must it have been like for them to live through it?

What I find so beautiful about this story is that when the Stockins family was going through such a hard time, Stanley had the idea and then scraped together the money to buy a pair of roller-skates for his baby sister. Not only did he buy the skates for her, but he took the time and care to walk her around the block and make sure she had a good time. It was an act of pure selflessness, generosity and tenderness, coming from a boxer from South Side, Chicago. I may never have known Stanley, but I feel that this story perfectly depicts what kind of soul he was.