Military vet remembers: Ex-soldier who began military career in Florida reflects on being called to serve
MIAMI -- The year was 1944 and the war effort on the homefront was in full swing.
Patriotic Americans were doing all they could to support the soldiers.
A young man named Phil was living the carefree life of a teen in Chicago -- but then he was drafted.
"I got a letter from the draft board when I was just 18," he recalled, "They drafted me!"
As America pauses Friday to honor and pay tribute to its military veterans, Phil spoke to CBS 4 about his life in the U.S. Army and how it shaped his path.
He had no idea how his life was about to change forever.
"At 18 I was a pretty sheltered boy," he said. "I had no idea of what war was all about.".
That's when he arrived in Florida to attend basic training at Camp Blanding near Starke.
"In Boot Camp they taught me how to kill people and my life was mainly built on loving people," Phil said, "that was very hard for me to do."
"I was in the Army Infantry (and) I'd always say, 'A buck private in the rear ranks,'" he said recently through laughter. "That's what I tell people. I wasn't a sergeant. I wasn't an officer or anything, I was just a plain ol' American."
Soon after, he was sent to Okinawa in the South Pacific, a hot spot known for nightmarish suffering.
"Did you ever see those pictures on the television, they got the rifle above their head and they're walking in water?" Phil said. "Well that's how we go there," he recalls. "We were like dead ducks. They were firing at us while we were getting off the landing craft
"It was like hell," he said. "You don't know if you're going to be there tomorrow or not and I feel I was fortunate enough to hit the beach and I laid flat on my belly for quite a while. I don't know how long, just to get out of the firing."
Just four days after arriving in Okinawa on May 11, 1945, the young soldier would come face to face with death while clearing terrain for a landing strip that could accommodate a massive B29 bomber.
"While we were doing that, that's when I stepped on a mine," he said. "Because I can remember going up in the air and then coming down on my back."
He was gravely wounded.
"The medics came. That's the only reason I'm here today because of the field hospital," Phil said. "I can still see the guys carrying the stretcher heading toward me to pick me up to bring me to the field hospital. My right leg was blown off completely. My left leg was mangled so bad that they had to amputate above the knee."
Word of the injury made it back to his relatives in Chicago.
A telegram telling his family he was "seriously wounded on Okinawa."
The injury meant it was time for Phil to figure out what to do with the rest of his life.
"My ma said 'Phil, the Lord never gives you more than you can handle.' I dwelled on those words for quite a while," he remembers.
Relying on a strong faith, Phil returned stateside after months of grueling rehab and being fitted with wooden legs.
He returned home to a hero's welcome.
The community gathered donations to buy him a car with special equipment so he could drive.
He went to school, opened an accounting and bookkeeping firm and then on a blind date 10 years later, his life would change again.
"My ma said, 'Phil, you gotta go out and meet Dorothy, was her name."
He took her out and it was love at first sight.
Six months later they were married on Thanksgiving Day 1955 and remained husband and wife for the next 63 years until Dorothy's death in 2019.
"I feel our marriage was made in heaven," Phil said with a smile.
Their story was one of love, and one they hoped to fill with chapters about their children.
But when the couple realized they couldn't have kids, Phil and Dorothy came up a with an alternative.
"That didn't bother Dorothy," Phil said. "She said, 'Well, we'll go to the orphanage.'"
And they did and over the next 10 years adopted five children, including CBS 4 reporter Ted Scouten, affectionately known as Number 5.
"Now's probably a good time to tell you, Phil's last name is Scouten. He's my dad!" Scouten said.
If you see us around South Florida, you'll see my dad proudly wearing his Purple Heart hat.
When people tell him "Thank you for your service,' his response is simple, "I always say, 'It was my privilege.'"
