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Today is a day to remember our veterans. There were four in my family, and I've been thinking about them....
My father was the first of my veterans. He was only 18 when he was drafted in 1942 and hadn't achieved his full growth. Since he could type, they made him a clerk and a quartermaster, so he didn't see much combat, but his unit was caught in the Battle of the Bulge. He came out alive and unharmed, and later used the GI Bill to help pay his way through the University of Ohio and Teachers' College at Columbia University.
He taught geometry (and met my mother, an English teacher, when they had neighboring classrooms), then became a college administrator. He went back into teaching and was training to become a realtor when he had a heart attack and died in 1975. He had a loony sense of humor, played the piano and trumpet, and passed his love of science fiction and fantasy on to me. I have a picture of him in his uniform, standing on the streets of Avignon in 1944, on my piano.
My uncle Charlie was drafted even though he was blind in one eye (rumor has it that he memorized the eye chart to pass his physical and wasn't caught until he was sent for sharpshooter training). He served stateside as a quartermaster and kept up a lively correspondence with his family, including his two brothers in the service. He died of a stroke in 1969, and my cousin named his eldest son in Charlie's honor.
My uncle Oscar was also drafted, along with his brothers Charlie and Lou. Oscar was very nearsighted and very thin, and had the gentle, slightly courtly manners of a young Jimmy Stewart. The Army found out that he was an accountant and sent him for his CPA, and he spent the war working for the Inspector General's office as an auditor. He returned to his old firm after he mustered out, rose to become the senior partner at what is now the Pittsburgh branch of KPMG, and was an admired and respected member of the Pittsburgh business community until his death in 1995.
Oscar was a tremendously honorable, kindly, generous manner. He loved antiques, the countryside, and his sisters, and he stepped in after my father died and was a surrogate father to me. His massive Renaissance Revival desk is downstairs, and his picture is also on the piano.
My uncle Lou was the only one of my mother's brothers to see combat. He served in North Africa, Italy, France, and Germany, and helped to liberate the death camps in 1945. He was wounded at least once, caught a case of malaria that forced the medics to pack him in ice to bring down the fever, and turned down three offers to go to OCS because "the officers always were shot first." He later became a driver for a lieutenant who called him the best soldier he'd ever seen, and kept the breezy way of handling the wheel he learned in the Service to the end of his days.
Lou was a tough little man who came home, trained as a bookkeeper, and spent the rest of his working life in the payroll department at Jones & Laughlin Steel. He foresaw the decline of the American steel industry and took early retirement rather than go into the blast furnaces, and spent the rest of his life golfing, playing with my mother's Cairn terriers, and hanging out with his old buddies from the War. He died of a heart attack in 1985, and his loss left a huge hole in the family.
They were four fine, hardworking, loving men, and they were all proud to serve their country. I miss each and every one of them to this day.
My father was the first of my veterans. He was only 18 when he was drafted in 1942 and hadn't achieved his full growth. Since he could type, they made him a clerk and a quartermaster, so he didn't see much combat, but his unit was caught in the Battle of the Bulge. He came out alive and unharmed, and later used the GI Bill to help pay his way through the University of Ohio and Teachers' College at Columbia University.
He taught geometry (and met my mother, an English teacher, when they had neighboring classrooms), then became a college administrator. He went back into teaching and was training to become a realtor when he had a heart attack and died in 1975. He had a loony sense of humor, played the piano and trumpet, and passed his love of science fiction and fantasy on to me. I have a picture of him in his uniform, standing on the streets of Avignon in 1944, on my piano.
My uncle Charlie was drafted even though he was blind in one eye (rumor has it that he memorized the eye chart to pass his physical and wasn't caught until he was sent for sharpshooter training). He served stateside as a quartermaster and kept up a lively correspondence with his family, including his two brothers in the service. He died of a stroke in 1969, and my cousin named his eldest son in Charlie's honor.
My uncle Oscar was also drafted, along with his brothers Charlie and Lou. Oscar was very nearsighted and very thin, and had the gentle, slightly courtly manners of a young Jimmy Stewart. The Army found out that he was an accountant and sent him for his CPA, and he spent the war working for the Inspector General's office as an auditor. He returned to his old firm after he mustered out, rose to become the senior partner at what is now the Pittsburgh branch of KPMG, and was an admired and respected member of the Pittsburgh business community until his death in 1995.
Oscar was a tremendously honorable, kindly, generous manner. He loved antiques, the countryside, and his sisters, and he stepped in after my father died and was a surrogate father to me. His massive Renaissance Revival desk is downstairs, and his picture is also on the piano.
My uncle Lou was the only one of my mother's brothers to see combat. He served in North Africa, Italy, France, and Germany, and helped to liberate the death camps in 1945. He was wounded at least once, caught a case of malaria that forced the medics to pack him in ice to bring down the fever, and turned down three offers to go to OCS because "the officers always were shot first." He later became a driver for a lieutenant who called him the best soldier he'd ever seen, and kept the breezy way of handling the wheel he learned in the Service to the end of his days.
Lou was a tough little man who came home, trained as a bookkeeper, and spent the rest of his working life in the payroll department at Jones & Laughlin Steel. He foresaw the decline of the American steel industry and took early retirement rather than go into the blast furnaces, and spent the rest of his life golfing, playing with my mother's Cairn terriers, and hanging out with his old buddies from the War. He died of a heart attack in 1985, and his loss left a huge hole in the family.
They were four fine, hardworking, loving men, and they were all proud to serve their country. I miss each and every one of them to this day.
