By TOM LAVIS
John Komis is more than a resident of Arbutus Park Retirement Community, he’s a steely-eyed icon of American manhood.
The 90-year-old man leads an exercise class five days a week, except for holidays and weekends.
Komis is an encouraging leader whose spirited commands motivate seated residents to participate in basic exercises.
“Cow needs milking, commence exercise,” Komis orders.
Amid some moans and groans, residents reach out and begin working fingers, hands and forearms in a milking action.
“Oh no, this poor cow,” said Marian Hoover, 88, who finds the class an opportunity to interact with other residents.
“We spend a lot of time in our rooms, and this also keeps us limber,” she said.
Her husband, John, 90, seated in front of his wife, said his legs benefit from the workouts.
“I have neuropathy (numbness) in my legs, and this keeps me moving,” he said.
Each exercise gets a 15 count as Komis barks out instructions and residents do their best to imitate their leader.
For a half-hour, Komis’ strong, clear voice tells his charges the next exercise or asks for suggestions.
“Let’s fly to Hawaii, again,” said Komis, referring to an exercise done earlier in the session.
“We should have stayed longer in the air the first time we did this,” said a woman seated near the front.
Komis begins each day with a 20-minute workout regimen in the privacy of his room before departing the care center for morning coffee with his buddies at a local McDonald’s.
“I’ve been doing that since 1982, when I retired from Bethlehem Mines,” Komis said. “I worked low coal all my life, and exercise helps take care of my legs.”
Komis’ vision is failing, which prevents him from driving and forced him to move from one of the community’s independent living townhouses six months ago and into the main facility.
Komis and his late wife, Emma, were married more than 59 years and lived in Geistown for 42 years, where they raised two daughters.
His wife passed away Dec. 12, 2000, and he later moved into the Richland Township complex.
People who hear Komis talk seemingly understand that he is a man who warrants respect.
Two subjects dominate Komis’ conversation: Military service and coal mining.
He dons his World War II Eisenhower jacket that fits as well as it did when he was in his 20s.
Master sergeant stripes grace each sleeve, Army insignias are on each lapel, and battle emblems and medals are pinned on the front.
“I was in the Army for four years, 10 months and 28 days,” Komis said. “I’m not supposed to be here. I credit the good Lord for watching over me.”
He was assigned to Company E, 125th Infantry, 70th Division.
Komis recalls an evening during the time of the Battle of the Bulge when his commander ordered him and the five remaining men of his platoon to undertake a dangerous mission.
While not in the Bulge itself, he and his men were posted near a small town in France.
“We were on the line for two days in heavy combat,” Komis said. “When we came off the line, a major came up to me and gave me one of the strangest orders I ever heard.”
He was told Germans were moving men and equipment north to join in the Battle of the Bulge.
“We were told not to wear helmets, overcoats or backpacks,” Komis said. “We were ordered to take as much ammunition as we could carry and head for a small town where our only job was to kill as many Germans as we could and get out.”
The six men escaped the mission with only one man wounded. But before they returned, they had killed 30 enemy solders and took out two machinegun nests.
“I was praying the whole time that they wouldn’t see us,” Komis said. “We put quite a few Germans to sleep that night.”
As the patrol encountered three columns of Germans, Komis pulled the pin on one grenade while holding another.
As the enemy approached, he threw both grenades and “all Hell broke loose.”
“We opened up with everything we had, and they were falling like duckpins,” Komis said. “We did what we had to do.”
As Komis spoke, he had a faraway look on his face as he recalled the mission and recited the name of each man involved.
A citation recognizing Komis’ bravery hangs in his room as well as a Bronze Star for valor.
As a coal miner, he was responsible for maintenance.
More than once he butted heads with company officials and engineers on how to best produce coal.
He earned a reputation of not accepting anything but the highest standards and sticking to those convictions.
But his ingenuity and expertise saved the company countless dollars over his career.
He challenged engineers at every turn when it came to machine design and function.
“I was in a room with electrical and industrial engineers who insisted that my suggestions wouldn’t work,” he said. “One asked me where I went to college. I told him the school of hard knocks.”
In question was Komis’ suggestion of welding baffles to a $750,000 molveyor to make the machines more productive in all the company’s mines.
The molveyor is a string of short conveyors on driven wheels connected together to run alongside a heading and keep a continuous miner in operation at all times.
The engineers told Komis it wouldn’t help, but the company president at the time, who knew him as a dependable troubleshooter and problem solver, gave the OK to try.
“I added the baffles and they centered the coal on the conveyors with no spillage,” Komis said. “Tonnage increased so much it became the highest producer in our mines.
“The engineers couldn’t argue with those tonnage figures.”
