A life of achievement
02/24/10
By Mitzi Brabb
Henry Henkel is a man who knows what
he wants. When he sets his mind to a goal, he goes after
it. And more often than not, he gets his reward.
Born in Dubuque, Iowa on Oct. 25,
1916, Henkel was a member of a large family. With a keen
sense of humor, he playfully claims that having been born the
eighth of nine children, he quickly gained the nickname Henry
the Eighth.
Since the time he was eight years
old, he has been crazy about airplanes. At the age of 24
he won a
scholarship for civilian pilot training.
When the Second World War broke out he enlisted and
pursued a dream of becoming an aviation mechanic.
He was sent to North Africa in
November of 1942 where he trained on damaged airplanes and
performing routine maintenance on aircrafts used in the fight.
Staff Sergeant Henkel was one of the
fortunate WWII veterans who were spared the more horrific
scenes of battle. Admitting that most of his work was
difficult, dull and monotonous, he feels lucky to have avoided
a great deal of bloodshed and the ghastly devastation
firsthand. He feels blessed that he was able to visit
historic landmarks during the war including the Leaning Tower
of Pisa and St. Peter’s Cathedral.
One of his worst experiences
occurred on the trip from Fort Dix, New Jersey across the
Atlantic Ocean to his destination in North Africa.
The ship didn’t leave until
after midnight, and the crew was exhausted. During their
journey they weathered a storm with waves reaching 50 feet.
“We got so sick we thought we
were gonna die. Then we got sicker and were afraid we
weren’t gonna die,” Henkel joked.
The trip took 19 days, rather than
the average trip, which took only four days. A first wave of
ships had been sunk in the harbor of their destination of
Casablanca, and they had to be moved before the ship carrying
Henkel could dock.
Once on land, life was smooth
sailing (as it were), at least until he experienced his first
air raid. The terrified officers quickly ducked for
shelter in the muck after hearing a loud series of booms.
“I saw a plane coming in from
my right to left at about a 45 degree angle.”
The next morning Henkel visited the
spot where he had been during the attack.
“About 200 feet behind me was
a hole 15 feet deep, and 20 feet wide. If they had
released that bomb two seconds earlier it would have landed
right in front of me,” Henkel said.
Henkel spent a year in Casablanca
before he was transferred to Sardinia. He spent seven
months living in the basement of a building in Alghero.
Bombs were stored in that location, and they could
not be deactivated.
The men were in constant fear of an air
raid, in which case the close proximity of the bombs could have
meant disaster.
By the time Henkel was 29 years old
he began to grow restless from the war, and worried he might
end up missing out beginning a life back home and having a
family.
He spent time in Naples, Pisa, and
Rome, primarily working on P47’s. It looked as if
he would soon be transferred to the Pacific theater to work on
B-29s. He was not looking forward to the move.
Then, in 1945 while attending a USO
performance headlined by Maxine Andrews, of the highly
acclaimed Andrews Sisters, he got some great news.
Andrews later was to say it was one of her greatest
moments; she had the honor of telling the boys that peace
had arrived.
The war was over.
Henkel said that after a profound
silence, the crowd broke out into a raucous commotion of
cheers.
“I was super glad that I
didn’t have to go to Japan,” Henkel admits.
Back in the states, Henkel began
corresponding with the widow of his best friend, who was killed
in the invasion of Italy. Within two years the couple
were married and he adopted her son. They had four more
children together, and were married for 56 years.
Henkel took advantage of the
mechanical experience he had learned in the service and began
working for the Greyhound Bus Company. After two years he
switched to an auto repair shop, and became determined to open
up his own garage.
He soon did, and his business
thrived for 45 years. Unfortunately, his marriage was at
times troubled. For years, even some of his own children
tried to persuade him to leave his wife, who had a mental
illness and was difficult to live with. Eventually he did
divorce her and followed one of his sons from Michigan to
Arizona.
His son moved to Tempe, but Henkel
soon realized that Payson was a more suitable location for him.
That was in October of 2003.
Two weeks after establishing himself in Payson, Henkel
observed a beautiful woman by the name of Margaret Darnall at a
Bible study group. Two months later he looked across the
sanctuary at church and saw her again.
“The next Sunday she was
sitting alone again and I asked if I could sit with her,”
Henry beamed.
“How about lunch?” He
asked her the following Sunday
With bright, twinkling eyes and a
broad smile, Henkel finds it irresistible to talk about their
courtship.
“It took me three and half
years. I proposed to her at least six times.”
Both Margaret and Henry had been
married before for over fifty years, and were set in their
comfortable ways. But the couple had a lot in common and
enjoyed life with each other.
“Margaret’s a very
considerate person, and the complete opposite from my first
wife. We can disagree without getting angry,” he
said.
Henkel’s unassuming charm
finally paid off and the couple were married on September 15,
2007. He was 90 years old when he tied the knot with the
love of his life. His bride, who is seven years younger
than him, finally gave in to his alluring persistence.
Now they are often seen together hand in hand, looking
like young teenagers in love.
Henry Henkel is an inspiration to
anyone struggling with the effort of setting out and achieving
goals. Everyday, he still rides his bike around the
neighborhood for 30 minutes, and usually spends another 20
minutes lifting barbells. He won’t even let the
rain stop him; he stands by his commitment to good fitness and
uses a stationary bike on those days.
It will certainly be no surprise if Henkel,
like many members of his family, is celebrating well into a
second century of life.