17-year-old forged his way into WWII
Tulsa World kyle.hinchey@tulsaworld.com
BROKEN ARROW — When Kenneth Forrester decided to drop out of Central High School at 17 and join the war effort in 1940, he knew he couldn’t tell his mother without jeopardizing his plans.
The problem was that the Army wouldn’t accept anyone under 18 without their parents’ permission. His would never approve.
So Forrester had a girl who lived in an apartment above his forge his mother’s signature. He then left without saying a word.
How did his mom find out?
“Well, when I was gone a couple days and then didn’t show up,” explained Forrester, now 95 and living in a retirement community in Broken Arrow. “But it had to be like that because they would have objected to me going.”
His mother later showed up during training, trying to persuade him to return home, but he told her it was no use. This is where he wanted to be.
Forrester quietly celebrated his 18th birthday at a California military base. He was flown to Australia to receive machine gun training not long after.
He ended up at New Guinea a month later, tasked with defending the large Pacific island just off the coast of Australia from Japanese invaders.
Within a matter of days, Forrester found himself on the front lines protecting a crucial airstrip alongside a much larger group of Australian soldiers. They were the second line of defense against the incoming Japanese forces.
“We’d been down there a week, green as a gourd and scared to death,” he said. “Guys would fall asleep standing up while it was raining. You’d shake an ol’ boy and wake him up, you know. It was scary.”
The enemy came at night and, as Forrester puts it, made a big mistake by screaming as they advanced in an attempt to terrorize the American and Australian troops. He preferred it this way. It was the quiet that terrified him.
The constant hollering helped him and his allies figure out where the Japanese combatants were coming from. It was in those directions they opened fire with their overpowered machine guns.
Forrester fought relentlessly in the mountainous jungle of New Guinea for five days.
When the enemy finally retreated and the smoke settled, countless Japanese soldiers lay dead around the airstrip.
There were so many bodies that they had to be buried in a massive hole excavated by a bulldozer.
Part of him was surprised he survived the grueling battle.
He later discovered his mother received a letter during this time informing her that his unit had been cut off by the enemy. The implication was that he likely wouldn’t return home.
The emotions experienced by the survivors were impalpable to those who weren’t there to witness the seemingly unending bloodshed.
“We were just happy it was over,” Forrester said.
As it turned out, he never had to endure another major battle during his three years at New Guinea.
But the tropical island found other ways to torment Forrester throughout the remainder of his service. It wasn’t just the constant 120-degree weather due to the proximity to the equator or the 200 inches of rainfall that barraged the area every year.
It was the unceasing assault by mosquitoes. More specifically, it was the malaria they carried. Forrester took a malaria pill every day, but it didn’t matter. The vicious disease was inevitable.
“Nearly everybody had it at one time or another,” he said. “It makes every joint in your body hurt.”
The Army made a deal that after 19 months of combat, soldiers would be rotated back to the United States for a brief break.
Unfortunately for Forrester, everyone in his unit had met that requirement at the time the order was issued.
The higher-ups decided to send soldiers back one at a time, typically in twomonth intervals, rather than lose everyone at once. They sent the married men first.
Forrester, being unmarried and one of the unit’s youngest men, was one of the last to go. They finally called his name in ’45.
Initially he was given 30 days of leave, but on his way home he learned he wouldn’t have to be back for an additional two weeks.
He didn’t immediately realize how big a blessing that extension would be.
“While I was home, the Germans surrendered,” he said. “They came out with a point system, and it only took 80 points to get out (of the military),” Forrester said. “I had 120. So I got right out of there.”
One of the first things he did when he returned home to Tulsa was get married. He met his wife, Jean, through a mutual friend and found enough courage to ask her on a date. He told himself he’d get turned down and then go on his merry way.
To his surprise, she said yes.
“The next night when I took her home, I was hooked, boy. That was it,” Forrester said.
The two wed three months later. They spent 60 years together before she died in 2005.
It turned out finding a career wasn’t as easy as finding a life partner. Without any work experience due to his premature entry into the military, he became concerned that he was illprepared to succeed in the real world.
“I wondered where I was going to work at because firing a machine gun doesn’t give you too much experience in civilian life,” he said.
He worked in the railroad industry for a while and took on a number of jobs before coming across an ad for American Airlines. He landed a position as a mechanic and worked there for 32 years.
Forrester never slowed down after retiring.
In addition to teaching a water exercise class at the Salvation Army three days a week, he goes dancing every Monday night, plays poker on Wednesdays, does laundry on Thursdays, picks
We’d been down there a week, green as a gourd and scared to death. Guys would fall asleep standing up while it was raining. You’d shake an ol’ boy and wake him up, you know. It was scary.”
Kenneth Forrester
out songs for church on Saturdays and leads the choir on Sundays.
He takes walks on the days he doesn’t swim.
His current mode of transportation is a red 2017 Chevy Camaro, but he’s also been known to drive Ford Mustangs, a Ford Thunderbird, a ’73 Cadillac convertible and even a dune buggy.
He developed his love of cars over 50 years with the Shriners organization.
Women are another interest of his. Forrester isn’t shy to point out that out of the more than 100 tenants at his retirement community, only about 30 are men.
And half of them are married, he cheerfully noted.
A sign on his front door reading “top rooster” illustrates the playboy reputation he’s developed over the years.
His philosophy has always been that a welldressed man’s best accessory was a welldressed woman hanging on his arm.
Walking down the hallways of his two-story building, he enjoys flirting with his many female neighbors. They typically flirt right back.
The dance hall is where Forrester’s talents truly shine.
“With there being more women than there are men at our age, a bunch of single ladies show up to dance,” he said. “If there isn’t anyone in particular I really want to dance with or anything, I just kind of spread myself around and help the ones who don’t get to dance too much.”
But despite his knack for flattery and ladiesman bravado, Forrester hasn’t found a woman as good as his wife.
“There was one here that I was pretty close to, but she didn’t dance,” he said with a shrug.