Memorial Day

Grand Marshal of the Memorial Day Parade

Henry S. Ryon

5/10/25—a nickel, a dime, and a quarter. That’s how to remember Henry S. Ryon’s birthday. One hundred years later, the numbers ring again. Born in Brooklyn on Fenimore Street, Henry grew up in the shadow of the legendary Ebbets Field, home of the Brooklyn Dodgers. Walking home from school, he could see when the bleachers were full, and hear the roar of the crowd.

Summers were spent with family in a rented cottage in Peconic, where life was simple—no electricity, and water only when the windmill turned the pump. But that hardly mattered. The breathtaking view from the cliffs overlooking the Sound, and long, carefree days on the beach, were all they needed.

During high school, Henry attended Boy Scout camp in the Catskills. Though World War II had begun, he was still too young to enlist. In his senior year (1943), he took the Army Program Test and scored high enough to be accepted into the Army Specialized Training Program. That September, he began basic training at Fort Benning, Georgia, before returning to Brooklyn to study. But the military’s growing need for troops ended the program in February 1944, and he was reassigned to Kentucky to join the 75th Division in preparation for overseas deployment.

They boarded a small British liner and joined a convoy, arriving in Liverpool fifteen days later. The new troops were heading to the Ardennes, little did they know so were the Germans.

On Christmas Eve, they arrived in the Ardennes and were immediately thrust into the Battle of the Bulge—Hitler’s last desperate attempt to break out of the allies’ circle of containment. His platoon was tasked with transporting much-needed ammunition to the front lines. He remembers vividly seeing 36 B-17s flying low overhead under heavy fire from below. Hundreds of white parachutes drifting down and three of the planes going down in flames. From there, they advanced toward the last French city held by German forces. While resting in an old barn, they discovered German soldiers hiding in the hayloft above their heads. No one in the platoon spoke German, but one soldier spoke Yiddish—just enough to negotiate the German troops surrender.

In the spring of 1945, they pushed up the western side of the Rhine, encountering small skirmishes along the way. In one particularly harrowing mission, his platoon had to transport ammunition under heavy mortar fire. They crossed a creek, then scaled a 15-foot retaining wall while under attack. For his bravery during this operation, Henry was awarded the Bronze Star.

After the war ended, soldiers with the most time in combat were sent home first. While waiting for his turn, Henry’s unit was assigned to clear out leftover ammunition. Tragedy struck one morning during breakfast—half of the platoon was in the ammo depot when it exploded. Debris rained down on the mess tent. Half of his unit was gone.

Upon returning home, Henry used the GI Bill to attend Cornell University, earning a Bachelor’s degree in Liberal Arts. He later obtained a teaching license from Adelphi and began teaching english at Port Jefferson High School. In 1957, he married Theora Newcomb whose family-owned Newcomb Brothers Garage in Port Jefferson, built a home in Poquott, and raised two sons, Christopher and Thomas.

In the early 1960s, Henry took a sabbatical to study at the University of Virginia, earning his Master’s degree. He then became Director of Pupil Personnel at the Charlottesville School District during the first year of school integration—a historic moment. Though the title was prestigious, the pay was not, and the family soon returned to their Poquott home.

In 1967, Henry became Head of the Guidance Department at Bellport High School, eventually concluding his career in the North Babylon School District. He now has three granddaughters and five great grandchildren.

Heny Ryon at 100 years old on May 10th will be riding and waving to the crowds this year in the Setauket Memorial Day Parade.

Note: It took my father a long time to talk about the war. He would dismiss any question and try to move on. One day, while walking through the quiet snow-covered woods, he turned to me and said, “this is what is was like just before the Germans came through and all hell broke loose”. Decades later in his early 90’ we were having dinner with the whole family. He walked to his room and returned with a booklet about his battalion history, we had never seen it before. The only thing now he is worried about is that he can’t get the WWII jacket to button in the front anymore for the parade. He now realizes at 100 years old that it is important to share his story of the men and women that sacrificed their lives and prevented a tyrant from taking over the word.