AFTER MUCH SOUL-SEARCHING, TEEN ACCEPTED THE ARMY’S offer of a commission and reported for the Advanced Infantry Officers’ course at Fort Benning, Georgia. He believed that the Army would be his lifework and provide him an opportunity to be a witness for Christ among soldiers. On March 28, 1947, Teen reported for duty and wrote his sister, Gladys:
Arrived at Fort Benning today and the way things look I’ll be here about a year. I have been attached to the student training regiment, handling Officer Candidate School men like I was in 1942.
The Army is not the same —there isn’t much activity of troops like before. Seems strange to be in uniform, especially away from Helen.
I am in the field with troops from 7:00 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. each day and it takes a lot out of me right now. The heat bothers me a little but I guess I’ll get in shape sometime in the future. I may very well end up a 30-year man.
Helen soon moved to join Teen. The relocation provided more opportunities to visit the Woodbridge family in Savannah. The Woodbridge children enjoyed Helen and Teen’s visits. Teen frequently spent time with them and was genuinely interested in hearing about their lives. Rosemary thought Teen in uniform was “the handsomest man” she had ever seen, and sister Norma was struck by how closely he seemed to listen to what the children had to say. He was also spontaneous, offering an impromptu clarinet lesson to Patsy one moment, launching into a popular song the next.
The families grew closer, drawn together as much by their friendship as by their deep and abiding faith in God. On July 13, 1947, to the Woodbridges’ delight, Teen and Helen became members of Charles’s church. Teen spoke to the congregation, giving his “testimony” about how he had come to find faith in Christ. The moment was broadcast to thousands of people in southern Georgia and northern Florida who listened weekly on radio station WCCP.
The following week, Ruth wrote to Helen and noted that many in the congregation were still talking about Teen’s speech. Ruth said that at the end of the month, the family planned to head to Camp of the Woods in Speculator, New York, for a vacation. It was a Christian resort and conference center, and one of their favorite vacation spots. Norma Jean, the oldest daughter, was already there, spending her summer as a member of the camp staff. Charles had been on the staff as a youth years earlier.
On July 25, 1947, Charles wrote to Helen and Teen and mentioned Hitler’s pistol. Charles had been trying to make sense of what appeared to be an inscription in German on the side of the pistol and had previously written to Teen, asking for his help. The task was difficult because the gun was tarnished and a dark residue covered parts of its sides and grips.
A few days later, the Woodbridge family shuttered its home and drove to Camp of the Woods, where Charles sometimes served as a guest speaker. They stayed in a tent and spent much of their time meeting new friends and renewing old relationships. They attended Bible classes and evening concerts. They swam and canoed in Lake Pleasant.
Seemingly in an instant, it was time to pack up and drive back to Savannah. The trip was more than a thousand miles, and by the time they drew under the portico of their home, they were exhausted. The weather was typical for a Savannah summer: hot and sultry. It was so uncomfortable that Charles and Ruth even allowed the girls to wear shorts — clothing they had long considered inappropriate for young women.
Charles unlocked the side door, and all four children bounded into the stuffy home. They stopped in their tracks, though, gawking at their normally pristine living room that was now in a state of disarray. The piano stool stood in a pool of liquid that gave off the unmistakable stench of urine. The piano legs were stained with the liquid as well. Sheet music for Rosemary’s violin, and Patsy’s music books, left in the piano bench, were ruined.
The children shouted for their parents, and Charles and Ruth came running. They too were taken aback by the sight. It was obvious to them what had happened: one or more intruders had broken into the home.
For a moment, the family stood silently, trying to absorb the disturbing scene. The feeling of being personally violated began churning uneasily inside Charles. As he stood there, he felt a growing sense that something was particularly odd about this burglary, a feeling that was confirmed as he began a room-to-room search and noticed that expensive silver candlesticks and silver candy dishes sitting in plain sight in the dining room were untouched.
He went upstairs to explore the bedrooms. As he entered his office, nothing seemed amiss. He walked to his desk and pulled open the top right drawer. His heart sank. The drawer was empty. Hitler’s pistol was gone.
Hurriedly, Charles finished taking inventory and confirmed his initial inkling. Except for a few articles of his clothing, the only thing taken was his most prized possession: the golden gun and some stationery that one of his closest personal friends had obtained by risking his life.
Charles called the police and two officers arrived shortly. Rosemary later remembered listening from the hallway as her distraught father filled in the policemen who poked around looking for any clues. They discovered that a rear window had pry marks on the sill, suggesting the thief or thieves had entered there. And then the police left. They did not have much hope of solving the crime.
Readers of the Savannah News would not have guessed from the paper’s brief article about the burglary how deeply upsetting it was for Woodbridge. There was no mention of the pistol. Did Charles tell the police about the missing gun? Was he embarrassed to say that he kept such an object in his home?
Charles bemoaned the loss of the pistol for a time and then moved on with his life.