Good morning, everyone. Donut day!
June 6. I’ve often wondered what my father went through that day. He did not tell us anything about it. We got glimpses of his ordeal when he would slip and refer to something, so we know it was on his mind his whole life. He was one of the ‘lucky’ ones. Across the Channel, onto the beach, through France, into Germany with the U.S. 3rd Army.
His worst we found out from my mother – he helped liberate a concentration camp. He had some small pictures that I saw when I was younger, but those disappeared. We believe my mother threw them away so that he would not see them.
The people of that generation amaze me.
He grew up on a dirt-poor farm. His teen years were spent trying to find work in the Great Depression. He rode a train (not legally) and ended up in Utah to work in the copper mine. Then he enlisted. He was on guard duty at a lighthouse in Washington state the day after Pearl Harbor.
He and my mother were shipped to various forts for the next several years, and then he was sent to England.
He and his men ended up after peace was announced living with a German family for several months before coming home.
Those same men came home, didn’t complain, and proceeded to build the U.S. into a superpower. What a generation!
In the three days he was in the hospital dying, he told me more about his life than he had told me in 55 years.
He and my mother made a trip back to Germany in the 1980s. During the war, he and his men camped in tents, but the officers got to sleep in the large houses, (he called them castles). When he went back, he found one that he remembered. He had always wondered what it looked like inside. He and my mother went to the front of the ‘castle’, and the people living there (it was a private residence) invited them in. They had a great time as the family showed