He had the fortune/misfortune to be born in 1924. When he was seven his parents couldn't feed him anymore and sent him to live with relatives he didn't know, on a train, with a note on his coat. (I didn't let my kids walk to school without an armed guard (me).)
When he was 17, the world exploded. I had to get his discharge papers to set up his funeral, and his previous occupation is listed as "High School Student". He volunteered for the Army Air Corps, because he didn't want to sleep in the dirt. His papers showed four bronze battle stars: Rome ARNO, No Appennines, PO Valley, and Southern France. Then the usual Army stuff, no big medals. He told me his finest military achievement was finding a forgotten warehouse full of mattresses, in which he constructed a perfect hideaway where he could sleep undetected.
He drove trucks full of bombs to planes, never shot at anyone, and saw friends die when their trucks exploded. He was 5' 4" tall, and spent his time when not driving or sleeping desperately trying to avoid getting retrained as a ball-turret gunner.
His Dad (my Grandpa) died at 52, while my Dad was in Italy. He got a telegram from the Red Cross, and then he went back to work.
At the end of the of war he guarded thousands of German POWs with a carbine and 15 rounds. He said he felt bad for them. He was in a truck with a bunch of them and they drove past a marshaling yard where hundreds and hundreds of brand-new unused US Army vehicles were parked. At this point, the Germans were using horse-drawn carts to move stuff. The POWs just started crying. He was a tough old guy, but years later that still got to him.
Then we won. He was headed to Japan with everyone else when we won that one, too.
He came home, finished high school, got married, and had seven kids, of which I was the sixth.
He worked two jobs to give us Christmas, buried his Mom, brothers, wife, and one kid - my brother.
He would never buy himself anything good, hence the Rossi. The pawn shop guy told him it was as good as a Smith and it was cheaper.
He made it to 93. If he would have known what the last few years would be like, he would have put the Rossi to use.
So when he died I had him cremated and called the VA about burying him.
The VA may catch a lot of flak these days about medical care, but once you die they really have their stuff together. They were a joy to work with. My Mom died 12 years ago, and has been hanging out in her urn at my sister's house on a mantle under a stuffed elk head. It was no problem arranging for them both to be buried in the National Cemetery in Santa Fe.
I pushed the service back six weeks so anyone who wanted to come could make plans. It was very nice - if you haven't been to a National Cemetery and are considering using one, go look. The one's I've seen are extraordinarily well-maintained and the staff are first-rate folks.
The day came and I adopted a don't ask/don't tell attitude toward the carrying of arms in the place. I considered a period-correct Victory Model, but opted for the little Rossi instead. And you know what, it actually is a pretty good little gun.
I would urge anyone who has earned the privilege of burial in a National Cemetery to consider it. I am not religious and didn't really care about where my corpse or ashes reposed until I began visiting National Cemeteries to prep for my Dad's service. The minute I saw one, I said: Yep, this will do.
