Soldier

Back in the 1930-40's St. Mary Parish had no 4 lane highway 90 through it, the oilfield had not yet made it's presence known and the only industry was sugar cane. Centerville was a little hamlet along Bayou Teche-maybe about 3-400 people. Star Rt A was a road that wound through the cane fields going towards the gulf. It took the better part of a day to get anywhere. My office is across the street from a old building that now houses a chiropractor's office and some rental units. Back then it was the Franklin Hospital. Maybe Mr. Mack was born there-but more likely he was born at home with a midwife presiding. In any event, Mr. Mack went to war, came home to St. Mary Parish, resumed work in the cane fields had a family and then died. All of this would never have come to light were it not for the fact that he lost his dog tag at Normandy. Were it not for this simple fact-nobody, save his remaining family, would have any idea that Mr. Mack even existed much less served in the war. Heros like this walk among us every day and we neve know it. That's because they themselves don't think of themselves as heros they just did what had to be done, came home and resumed their lives. These aren't the guys who brag about being in Nam, or special forces or whatever-but are the gentle ones who saw enough violence to last a lifetime and choose now not to glorify exploits but to try to forget them.

Point #2.
Earl Veeder died the other day. Who the hell is Earl Veeder you ask??
Well, he used to be my receiving FFL, ran a pawn shop/office supply store, was a Viet Nam vet and for years ran the local VA office. He made sure the 800 or so veterans living in St.Mary Parish were taken care of and was a driving force behind getting a VA medical presence in Franklin so the vets wouldn't have to travel to Alexandria. If Earl had demons he hid them very well. Always had a smile and we used to talk a lot around the courthouse. I never asked but I would think he was in his mid 60's . Anyway Earl decided to retire in June so he could spend more time with his family. He almost got 4 months.

Two totally unremarkable people whose existence would have otherwise gone unnoticed by a lot of people.

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Forum consigliere

thanks gary. my wife and i were talking about how many WWII vets around here had died in the last few years. unless a family member or old friend mentioned their WWII service you would never have known it. lee

My Dad passed away last year. Among his belongings we found a purple heart from the Battle of the Bulge and 2 bronze stars. I don't know how he got the bronze stars. He rarely talked about his service over there. He was in the service 4 years, all over Northern Europe. Like you said he came back and went back to work. There are a lot of heros among us.

That's why I love working with the really older people. They just sit there, all quiet and small, and next thing you know, they're telling you how they were a P38 pilot in WWII, shot down over the Pacific, and awaited rescue on a tropical island for 3 months.

God Bless our Parents and Grand Parents who left us so much, let's hope we don't blow it. As you said, they asked little in return except we do the right things too.

My mother's youngest brother was of that ink...Went to the South Pacific,

Gone for the entire time...Never wrote a letter home, not one.

Mustered out and came back to the family dairy farm and milked cows.

He did tell my older brother he had sniped a few and cleared a lot of caves.....He didn't have alot to say about it.

Like a lot to those men...I'm sad to say they're gone now.

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"IN GOD WE TRUST"

Older people ask for little in return other than your friendship a perhaps an ear to listen to them.
I've met several that have had remarkable stories about WWII and such things that had I not taken the time to listen I would have missed.

Bravo! Thanks for sharing!

the WWII generation were indeed special. today's society can not begin to understand what hardships and sacrifices these folks endured.

my dad was born in 1918, survived The Influenza Pandemic, graduated high school in 1936 in the mist of the real depression, at the age of 20, lost the sight of his right eye in an accident at work.

his father died when he was 6. dad had a paper route in the morning before school and sold papers at the news stand after school. he and his brothers would walk along the railroad tracks and pick up the coal that had fallen off the train cars and bring it home for fuel.

Never did he complain of any misfortunes. He was a ROCK and my hero. they dont build them like that any more!!

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There's nowt so queer as folk

It's a great reminder not to take our elders for granted. We lost Dad a year ago this month, he was a GI in Korea, worked army intel, was field promoted to a 2nd LT, and never talked about his experiences. My Uncle Bill was a Marine island hopper in WWII, brought back a Nambu, Arisaka, and an officers sword. He won't talk about it to this day. My Uncle Chuck was also in Korea (at the same time Dad was), and has talked a little about his experiences. Chuck is 84 now, and when he speaks of bad stuff you can still see in his eyes how it affected him.

God bless these men for what they did for us!

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Even older, even crankier....

My Dad joined at 29 yo, born in 1912. He was in the Pacific, he often spoke of the 'good times/funny things that happened' over there. Only if prompted would he speak of the other stuff, and then he changed the subject.
Thank God for them
tb

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frontsightnsqueaz

As a nurse in the VA system, working the ER, I get to see these men nearly every day. Just in the last month I sat and talked with a guy that was a ball turret gunner on a B17, got shot down, was only crewman that survived. He spent 3 years in a German POW camp.

Another one I talked to was aboard the USS Pringle in August 1945 about 70 miles from Okinawa. They shot down 2 Kamikazis, but a 3rd one slipped by. The boat took a direct hit and sank in less than 10 minutes. Surprisingly, for sinking so fast, over 200 of the crew made it into the water and survived. Last week this gentleman joined his shipmates who did not make it off of the boat in time before it went down. He had dementia, couldn't tell you the day or year, but he remembered every detail of the sinking of his boat.

bob

Post of the Year nomination, Caj.

They walk among us. They don't wear capes or have super powers. They just did what needed to be done. I'm 32 and misty eyed.

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War Eagle! '10 BCS & '13 SEC

Tom Brokaw wrote a book"The Greatest Generation". He was referring to our Dads and Moms during the war. He is right, they are the greatest generation.

I've mentioned him before but in 1941, my uncle ended up in a little place called Bataan. Survived The March, was shipped to Japan on July 1, 1944 aboard Canadian Inventor II (62 days at sea crammed in the hold), assigned to Omine Machi (Sanyo) Hiroshima Branch #6, worked as slave labor in the coal mine, on August 6th, 1945 saw a really bright flash from the other side of the mountain, left the POW camp on September 15, 1945.

He probably told me more about his time as a POW than anyone else in the family, even my cousins. For some reason, he would talk to me about it even when he wouldn't talk to others. One of the most interesting conversations I ever heard from him was at the funeral of another uncle (his brother). He was talking to a gentleman who had been captured during the Battle of the Bulge and they were comparing experiences as a prisoner in Germany compared to Japan. I dearly wish I had been able to record that conversation!

CW

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μολὼν λαβέ

There are many heroes of that generation that are sort of forgotten. I think of all the "Rosie the Riviters" working in plants to build the supplies for the war. Older men, too that weren't A-1 anymore, or had served in WWI, The Merchant Marine, who for years were wolfpack fodder. Countless thousands who served after VE and VJ day in occupied Japan and Europe. And certainly all the loyal Japanese Americans who lost all their property and were shamefully imprisoned in camps, while their sons proudly served, many in the meatgrinder of the mountains in Italy.

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Wayne
Torn & Frayed

MY uncle Bill just turned 90, he was a truck driver in Europe during WWII, I attended his birthday at the local VFW he was a member of. One of his friends had a display of his awards, A bronze star a silver star and a purple heart, plus battle ribbons, from D-day, the Bulge,and a couple more I can't remember. He also helped to liberate one of the German death camps. He to was a man that did not dwell on the events of the war. He came home went to work and raised his family. He continues to be my hero.

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Carpriver.

My dad does not talk about his war experience. He will walk by the TV if I'm watching a Vietnam war movie and just sat, "Not dirty enough." He's told a couple of funny stories that could have happened here as well as there.
His example causes me to have serious reservations about those who brag, or just go on and on about 'Nam. I don't call them out, I just walk away.

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Hold on. SWAT's at my door.

My FIL flew B-24s (IIRC) out of Australia. Doesn't talk about it and turned down a chance to get with some other WWII bomber pilots. He wound up working as a rocket scientist of some sort & did some of the geek work on the Apollo program.

We shall not see their like again.

Its a good post, Caje. And it brings up a lot of thoughts. I had a relative, one I've always considered and called an uncle, but really he was a cousin. He was probably my dad's best friend and hunting buddy. I guess he was a little younger than my dad, but they pretty much bummed around together when they could. I guess kids got in the way, meaning me in my dad's case.

Mel was in the Battle of the Bulge. He sometimes talked about it to my dad, but not to many others, maybe not to anyone else. Every summer we'd go away for a weekend at a 4-H camp. They never drank, so they'd pretty much just sit off to the side and talk. I wanted to sit with my dad, but there were times he'd make it clear I should go play with the other kids. Guess they had "man talk" to tend to. Dad worked a lot and I didn't get enough time with him, particularly relaxed time. Once when dad was shooing me away, Mel pointed out that there will come a time when he'd wish he had someone who wanted to sit with him.

Mel was everyone's friend. He always laughed at almost anything, and could hit a baseball farther than anyone else I'd ever seen. My guess is he missed his calling and should have played professional ball. But the darn war got in his way. And things did affect him. He didn't like to be cold, or even chilled. It was kind of funny because when we went fishing I'd have a light jacket at the most, and he'd have along a winter coat! I didn't realize it until I was an adult that he nearly froze to death in the Army. It wasn't just a quick battle, it was day after day, with no relief. Even worse, he felt great guilt about surviving when many of his friends died or froze. It seems they could never reconcile that part, why they came back and others didn't.

And he and my dad both showed great disgust for the slackers as they called them. But then both of them went to great lengths to make sure their son's got college educations and didn't get drafted into what they felt was a senseless war. Sometimes their value system didn't make sense to others, but the factors that shaped their feelings would be hard for others to understand.

Mel passed away a few years ago, my dad in 1980. Dad didn't have a funeral, he didn't want one. Mel had a big one. Maybe not his doing. I personally hate weddings and funerals. I tend to pick the ones I go to and avoid as many as possible. Mel's was one I had to attend. At it almost no mention was made of his war exploits. Many, including his wife knew little of it. He for his own reasons didn't talk much about it.

Whenever I saw a movie that included the Bulge, I'd think I need to stop over and visit Mel. Of course by the time he went, he had diabetes, was blind and nearly deaf on top of it. The last thing I needed to ask him was about shotguns. Whenever anyone would bring up hunting or guns, he'd light right up. I inherited (by sneaky maneuvers) my dad's M12 Winchester. I even had the original sales slip for it from 1950. What I didn't know was what he/they hunted with before that. When Mel heard the question he started to laugh. A full, round belly laugh. He'd been using an old 16 gauge break action, the one you used to see at barn sales and the like for $25 but it was flexible. It seems like dad's shotgun would disassemble itself when he shot it. When it would go off. He'd saved the money up for a new gun, but was too darn cheap to buy it. He figured he had 2 young sons and the money could be put to better uses.

But that last hunting trip was the end. He missed a couple of shots because the gun just wouldn't fire. Then when it did he hurt his hand and face with parts (I guess it was the recoil when the fore end came off. So he got skunked that afternoon. But they planned on going hunting the next day so they came in early. The next morning dad appeared as always, but this time with a brand stinking new Winchester. Mel said he did both of them a favor. His wife then let him buy one for himself! I guess a hunert dollars was a bunch back in 1950. My oldest has the gun and the receipt now. Too much responsibility for me. I wonder if he's ever shot it.

Another thing that amuses me is the exact reversal of the way people think. The old guys won't talk about what they did, and were only prone to nod when someone mentioned they'd been in the war. Vietnam seemed to change all that. Some people even seem to push the issue. I wonder if the ones who do that really saw any combat at all, with my frame of reference being the way WWII vets reacted. And even worse, the beggars and homeless who used to wear field jackets and such, the guys who are probably addicts and not past their 30s bragging about their exploits. Probably not even born at the time.

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Dick Burg

Thanks for the nice post, CL. A shame about Earl Veeder. Four months is not much.

Your last sentence describing Mr. Mack reminded me a lot of my late Uncle Bob, who served in the Pacific. I am sure he knew I was interested in WW II history, but he never offered to tell me anything about his experiences there. I always assumed he didn't want to talk about it, possibly because he thought he did nothing "remarkable" or "heroic," but now as I grow older, I tend to think of his service and his silence exactly as you describe it... "the gentle ones who saw enough violence to last a lifetime".

Most of you probably recall the character Joe Toye from the "Band of Brothers" mini series. He lost a leg in the Battle of the Bulge and saw considerable action before that. Joe died just before the series was produced but I knew his son, Pete. Pete had a very small speaking part, talking about his Dad, right at the end of the series, and I had several conversations with him about Joe.

Pete used to talk about how his Dad would take he and his brothers hunting in Pennsylvania when they were kids. He said Joe never carried a rifle when they hunted the woods, and I would have assumed it was because Joe had probably seen enough death and just didn't want to shoot anything else. Not so! Pete said he had no qualms that way, he was just afraid he would stumble on his "wooden leg" and accidentally shoot somebody if he fell down!

What most amazed me, though, was that after all he went through, Joe went back to Pennsylvania and spent 25 years working as a bit grinder for US Steel. He raised a family, didn't complain, and just got on with his life. But for the movie, no one would have ever heard of him, just like most all of the other vets that did such remarkable things. We seem now to have a greater appreciation of what they did than we did many years ago, and it's nice that this recognition has finally begun to come to them. It's too bad that so many of them are gone now. They truly were a remarkable bunch of "unremarkable people."

My dad flew F6F Hellcats in the Pacific and managed to live through it. My uncle Zeff was in the infantry in Europe. He was shot in the head but survived and as a result, lost an eye. Our favorite thing was to watch Zeff take a quarter out of his pocket and pop his glass eye out and hold it in the palm of his hand for us to marvel at. As little children, my brother and I were grossed out but fascinated at the same time. My dad would shoo us off and he and Zeff would sit on the porch, drink a beer and talk in quiet tones. I later learned that Zeff was in almost every major offensive in the war until he got wounded and as a result, was what they then called 'shell shocked'. He would sit with his back against the wall so noone could get behind him...that kind of thing. As we got older, we would ask him to tell us about his experience and he never would. After my dad, he was the strongest role model my brother and I had. I still think about him to this day.

As a young man, I frequently went to a local gun store to mostly look at guns that I could not afford to buy. One day the owner told me that my father took him out the night before he shipped out for WWII. He told me that my father went to the bootlegger and bought a fifth of Jack Daniels. My father took off the top and pitched it out the window. The owner told me that he considered that to be a commitment. He made it to the train just in time to leave. In all of the years, he never told me what happened in the war, just the most memorable thing that happened before he left.

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Corripe Cervisiam

They weren't called "The Greatest Generation" for nothing. My good friend, Charlie Marquardt of St. Germain, WI (where I've lived for the past 15 years) died a few months ago at the age of 98.

Charlie was a gunner's mate on the USS Tennessee during WWII and saw a lot of action but rarely talked about it. Charlie and tens of thousands of other Americans in uniform fought gallantly and many lost their lives or limbs in defending this great nation against the sworn enemies of freedom.

Once I drew Charlie out on his war experiences and he told me this: During 1944-45, the Tennessee, which had been damaged along with other U.S. battleships in the 1941 Japanese attack at Pearl Harbor, and its crew saw a lot of action including key battles at Leyte Gulf, Surigao Strait, Iwo Jima and Okinawa.

The Tennessee fired more than 150,000 projectiles, took a few kamikaze hits including one near the end of the war in 1945 when a Jap suicide plane hit the ship, killing 22 men and injuring 107. "We were in some fierce battles," Charlie told me back in 2002. While some of the men died or were injured nearby, Charlie came away with a couple of perforated eardrums from the noise of the big guns. "We were in the turret most of the time. Up on deck, there were smaller weapons. I recall seeing dismembered arms and legs up there. There are some things you never forget," he said during my 2002 interview with him for a local newspaper on the occasion of his 90th birthday. (I was a reporter back then, now retired).

Charlie and his fellow sailors witnessed the formal Japanese surrender Sept. 2, 1945, held aboard the USS Missouri in Tokyo Bay. The Tennessee and its nearly 1,200-member crew earned a Navy unit commendation and 10 battle stars for World War II service.

Up to nearly the end Charlie was the picture of health. Although he had me by 28 years, my hair was much grayer than his. We played golf until he was 90 and he still shot his age. In all the time I knew him (about 20 years), he never complained. When we'd go out for fish fry he'd order a whisky and water before every meal; just one and that was it. Funny thing is although he loved Wisconsin he hated cheese. I kidded him about that along with the fact that he was a Chicago Bears fan because he was born in Illinois and didn't move to WI till 1958 or so. (He was born in 1913).

They just don't make 'em like Charlie any more. Nor like the others mentioned in this post. God bless 'em all.

Growing up in the 50's and 60's all the neighborhood dads were WWII vets. We played with some of the stuff they brought home as souvineers. A few of them at the deer camp hunted with M1 carbines (had to use a five shot clip), 03's, 1917's, etc. Almost everybody had a 1911, luger, or P38. As stated above, these guys never mentioned what they had been through. They just came home and raised their families and took care of business. I stumbled across Oree's gravesite a few months ago while attending another funeral. He was a member of our camp and would have been in his 90's were he still here. His decorations were engraved on his veteran's headstone. He had been awarded two silver stars and two purple hearts with the USMC. It also showed he had served with the Army in Korea. I never knew any of that until I saw that headstone. There are many more just like him.

I joined the Army right out of High School in the early 80s. Since Hollywood had been on a "Crazy Vietnam Veteran Bad Guy" kick for a good part of the late 70's and the ex-wanne-be-hippies still liked to think of all service members as psycho baby burners, traveling in uniform was not always pleasant.

I can only imagine how much more difficult it was for the late Vietnam war vets. Coming home directly out of combat to even worse treatment.

Anyway, there were several times in airports or bus stations or diners that an older gentleman would strike up a conversation and tell me some of his experiences in the military. They were always friendly and had some great stories to tell.

A gentleman named Jim told me about Bastogne, where they would only issue one boot at a time if you wore out or damaged one of your own. And they were used, probably taken off the wounded or worse.

Another gentleman named Charlie told me about fighting the Chinese in the Winter in Korea at a bar in the St. Louis airport. It wasn't pretty.

I will always remember the kindness shown to me and the feeling of camaraderie they shared. I try to pay it forward whenever I see a servicemember at the airport by paying for a meal or drink. I don't try to compare stories, because I was lucky enough to serve in peace time.

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My sgntr is mor thn 30 chrctrs

Lost my dad in Feb. 2010
He was a 20 year Marine and went through VietNam.
Got out in 1975 and came home and put in another
20 years working for the State (Dept. Natural Resources).
Never once talked a word of Nam to any of us kids, and
i was'nt about to ask. He was my hero and best friend.
The WW-II generation are about all gone now. I'm still
amazed at what these men did and i truly appreciate all
that they have given us. Hopefully we won't let their
memory down. God Bless all who have and do serve.

Chuck

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They hold no Quarter

My favorite Uncle fought through France during WW II but I never heard him talk about it once. It seems the ones that saw the most action say very little about it while the ones that saw little talk the most. I knew a lot of the old guys from the greatest generation and very few would mention the war. Like someone else said they had seen enough and I guess really didn't want to relive it.

It's been the same with the Vets from the Viet Nam era. It's just something that is better left in the 60's and early 70's. Of course there are the memories of the friends that didn't make it home, just have to try and remember them in better times.

Here's my thanks for all who served and the ones in uniform now, where would we be without you.

My barber here in Louisiana was a WWII vet and went ashore at D-Day. Had the front page of the local newspaper framed on the wall. I have had grey hair at a younger age and one day he asked if I had ever served. I enlisted in the navy in '64 and honorably discharged in '70 and served on the USS Franklin D Roosevelt CVA-42. We got along pretty well and he was always good to talk to. His family owned a little coffee shop next door so if the shop was closed I could usually find him there. We'd sit and have coffee together then go to the shop and get my ears lowered. Last time I saw him he looked great and that was the last time I saw him. I found the shop closed so went next door and asked the lady there how he was doing. They told me he had passed away from a heart attack. It was all I could do at that point not to make a fool out of myself and bust out in tears. I asked the lady if she was kin to him and she said yes. Walked behind the counter and gave her a hug. I told her I'd only knew him for a few years, but he made a lasting impression on me. She said "Oh your the guy who used to have coffee with him" I nodded. "did you serve?" yes I did. Thats probably why you and him got along so well. He was like that, when he had a new customer he'd always ask did you serve?. They'd always find something to talk about when he was cutting hair. Its been about 8 years since his passing, I still miss him today. I read someplace that by the year 2025 there may not be anymore living WWII vets. And something like 2000 pass each day. Truly the Greatest Generation. Frank

I like folks that are of this ilk---they offer the best coffee talk friends you can gather around yourownself. Not anything to brag about but the salt of the earth and a lot more to brag about that some of the folks we read about, all the time, in the paper.
My friend, BILL, is just such a Marine--God bless him, his time is just about up. He made four 1st wave Landings in the pacific and this was after he got in 50 missions as a gunner on a dive bomber and was transferred to be a grunt.
Nothing special about my friends--but the salt of the earth.
HUMMMM---Semper Fi.
Blessings

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TEXAS, by GOD

Also remember the previous generation. Many who served their country in both World Wars, and some in Korea too. My grandfather was a fireman on a coal-fired destroyer in WWI, then later went to work, Civil Service in Ordinance and Ammunition, during WWII. After WWII he went to Germany for a year to disarm allied unexploded bombs and shells, along with live German shells. A far better man than I.

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Wayne
Torn & Frayed

While I served during the Viet-Nam period, for a variety of reasons, I never saw combat. I tend to be quiet around other vets==but then I tend to be quiet in person anyway.

My Masonic Lodge always asks that all vets stand and tell where and when they served (at the November meeting). The first year after I was was raised to a Master Mason, I was surprised to hear some of the exploits of my Brothers. One, a dear friend who passed away about a month or so back, was on PT boats in the Pacific, another on a destroyer that survived two Kamikaze hits off of Okinawa. Another, still with us, was an Air Force Colonel and an ace in WWII AND an ace in Korea. Retired as a base commander in England.

PS Don't EVER ride in a car on a deserted highway with an ex-fighter jock, especially during winter conditions!

I'm older than many here, so it's been my distinct pleasure to know some older gentlemen who served prior to WWII.

I dated a girl in college whose grandfather served in Cuba during the Spanish American war. I enjoyed his company from time to time, and my girlfriend and I often took him to church in my old hot-rod Chevy. He actually said that he liked the pin-striped flames I had laboriously painted on the dash of my car in typical late-teens gusto for the ostentatious. He didn't talk much about his service; was always soft spoken, polite and pleasant, a very "Victorian era" kind of guy. When he died, I cried as much as if he had been my own grandfather.

My paternal grandmother's sister, whom we always referred to as "Aunt Jo" (for Josephine), had married a very special guy, a veteran of World War One. Although they married when Aunt Jo was still young enough to have children, they never did. It seems Uncle Gordon had received an injury to his gonads from a grenade explosion in France, rendering him both infertile and impotent for the rest of his life. It's a tribute to both him and Aunt Jo that they married in spite of this; their marriage lasted for many years until Uncle Gordon's death in the 1940s.

My then-future wife lived down the street from another WWI veteran, Joe Keeler. Joe always spoke with a rasp, and as I was talking to him one day, he apologized for that, and explained why. He was gassed during the war - it was a vicious weapon of that war, and dying from it was an agonizing and excruciating way to go. Surviving it was probably almost as bad. Ol' Joe never complained, and lived to a ripe old age, dying in the 1950s. To most, he was just the old guy who lived down the block.

Their stories are many - and they did, and do, walk among us. We should be very proud.

John

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- Cogito, ergo armatus sum -

Like many here, my Dad was in WW2, and, like the men that
caje introduced us to, you'd never know it from him. Just
came home, and like the rest, worked his butt off for his family.
Those folks were unsung heroes, but they still walk among us,
in the form of their children, who carry on the same as their parents.
I still try to live up to my Dad's standards, as you do.
My mother was a nurse in those hard times, never talked about
her experiences, either. Strong people. Not so much in size, but
in will-power.
Thanks, caje, for reminding me.
TACC1

Not unremarkable people, rather quiet people not given to boasting and braggadocio and making a career out of what they did 50-60 years ago.
And not famous people but in their own way VIPs.

Obviously there was a typo in Caj's original quote. I believe Caj meant to write:

"Two totally REMARKABLE people whose existence would have otherwise gone unnoticed by a lot of people."

Thank you Caj, for reminding us that quiet actions can be far more powerful than many expect.

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I'm with the banned ...

I would like to think that that generation was tough, just came home and went on with life.
Unfortunately,that is just not true---for many.
Our little town had many in the war and some did not survive though they came home. One was a Marine on Guadacanal--he actulally died there but didn't know it.
My uncle was an alchoholic from his experiences, there were a number in town that were visually not the same as others.
Some did survive.
My father, if he had lived was pretty messed up according to my mom.
He flew out of Africa, Sicily and Italy--was shot down, escaped with the help of the underground into Switzerland and from there into France, behind the push.
He wa sent to Fla. and was pretty messed up mentally.
Discharged Sept. 25, '45 and killed in a car wrech Sept.26, '45. It may have been a blessing.
Blessings

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TEXAS, by GOD

I am a very lucky person. My Dad was career army, 1931-1961.
I was career army, 1963-1990, so I have been around those great people all my life. Can't find a better group to be with.

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CSM, U S Army(Ret) 1963-1990

Grandpa died a couple weeks ago already. He was 93 and died on he and my Grandma's 71st anniversary. He was a Staff Sargent in the Philippines during WWII and was stationed on an air strip. He was one of those quiet men that came back and resumed his life as a brick mason and farmer. His Grandfather and Great Grandfather were masons as well. He had some good stories and I got to talk to him for 45 min the day before he fell. If you get the chance, please stop by and talk to these men and women who served. You never know when they will be called home and you won't have the opportunity again.

My paternal grandfather was in the Army briefly in WW I but too late to see combat. My dad was in the Navy in WW II. Joined right out of high school. Served on an aircraft carrier as radio man in the Pacific. All my many uncles were also in the services. Like so many, they did not talk about their experiences. As a kid I read all the books about WW II. Guadalcanal Diary; They Were Expendable; Up Front; etc. I especially like Ernie Pyle's books. It wasn't until I was an adult that I realized I had been reading about the adults from my childhood. Then I realized who they were and what they accomplished. Sadly, I never learned most of their stories. But Caje is right. They were seemingly unremarkable people, who did remarkable things. They earned and deserve our respect. My mom worked in a factory making aircraft fuel tanks, among other things. As for me, I served in the Army with my last six months in Vietnam. I did electronics repair in Camranh Bay. Two of my cousins served in Vietnam as did several friends.

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Infected by Smith&Wesson

Yes lets not forget the "Rosie the Riviters", my mother worked on B-17 & B-29s.

She saw two brothers off to war in the Pacific. She seen her husband (my father) off to war in the Pacific and to Korea. She seen her three sons off to Vietnam. Her daughter in law and two grandsons off to the Iraq war.

I think she and others like her gave as much as their soldiers did.

Both my parents are gone now. As are way too many of their generation.

Several years ago, at a Civil War living history event I was participating in, an older, short, grandfatherly gentleman was hovering around our camp for some time. We managed to engage him in conversation and found out he was a Hollander. He and his wife were in Holland during WWII and were part of the Dutch underground and resistance.

Among other things he told us was that his wife acted as a sniper. Her favorite targets were German officers.

There are many great people who walk among us. Without their deeds we would be living in a much different world today.

LTC