I’ve spoken of my grandfather before. He was the one who told me about my dad’s service in World War II.
We became close friends when he retired from the coal mines and bought a house in central Florida. My grandmother had moved down there a few months ahead of him, and he drove down in the summer of ’52. I was six, and he took me along, 3-4 days ahead of the rest of the family. It was a ... Continue Reading →
My father was a WWII veteran, leaving college as a freshman after Pearl Harbor, enlisting, embarking for North Africa about the same time his daughter, my sister, was born, and not coming home to see his daughter until just before VE Day. He liked to brag, after he’d had a few, that I was born nine months to the day after he came home.
Everything I knew about my dad’s service in North Africa, Sicily and Italy, I heard from my ... Continue Reading →