[Retain Mike]

I knew so many WW II veterans. There was a man who used the first golf cart I ever saw, because as a brigade commander of the 41st infantry in New Guinea he was permanently debilitated by sickness in1942. I remember one fairly good golfer who had a weird back swing. I found out he was crippled while serving with the Big Red One in Sicily. My Economics professor in college served with one of the first UDT teams to clear barricades and mines in the surf zone before Pacific landings. I often ended up as a dishwasher at the country club and noticed the chef always limped as he moved around the kitchen. He saw my puzzled look, and said he got the limp from a wound received when he was with the Rangers at Pointe De Hoc. Here was one of the men portrayed in the movie the Longest Day in1962. One day Don had his brother Ken with him at the golf course. That seemed no big thing until someone mentioned he was an ace with the Flying Tigers. Here in real life was the character I saw John Wayne play in the movie about his squadron. I found out a friend of many years served with the 10th Mountain Infantry which landed in Italy in January 1945. He received two silver stars and was the only one of eight officers in his company to soldier through the102 days until the Germans surrendered in May.

Those are just a few of the stories I remember among so many others I could tell or have forgotten.

[robowombat]

The poet Randall Jarrell served in the USAAF as a combat air crewman in the war. This poem was suggested to him by several incidents in the skies over western Europe. I believe Jarrell died by his own hand in the mid 1960’s.

[quikstrike98]

I SPOKE TO YOU IN WHISPERS
By Neil Andrew

I spoke to you in whispers
As shells made the ground beneath us quake
We both trembled in that crater
A toxic muddy bloody lake
I spoke to you and pulled your ears
To try and quell your fearful eye
As bullets whizzed through the raindrops
And we watched the men around us die
I spoke to you in stable tones
A quiet tranquil voice
At least I volunteered to fight
You didn’t get to make the choice
I spoke to you of old times
Perhaps you went before the plough
And pulled the haycart from the meadow
Far from where we’re dying now
I spoke to you of grooming
Of when the ploughman made you shine
Not the shrapnel wounds and bleeding flanks
Mane filled with mud and wire and grime
I spoke to you of courage
As gas filled the Flanders air
Watched you struggle in the mud
Harness acting like a snare
I spoke to you of peaceful fields
Grazing beneath a setting sun
Time to rest your torn and tired body
Your working day is done
I spoke to you of promises
If from this maelstrom I survive
By pen and prose and poetry
I’ll keep your sacrifice alive
I spoke to you of legacy
For when this hellish time is through
All those who hauled or charged or carried
Will be regarded heroes too
I spoke to you in dulcet tones
Your eye told me you understood
As I squeezed my trigger to bring you peace
The only way I could
And I spoke to you in whispers......

[HartleyMBaldwin]

There’s a chance your Economics professor might have known a guy I worked with in the Forest Service back in the 70s, who was also UDT in the Pacific.

When I was young, many WWII veterans were still around, teaching school or working at other jobs, or running businesses. One of the neighborhood dads was a Bataan survivor, my high school chemistry teacher served on destroyers in the Pacific, and I’ll never know how many stories I never heard.

[ProtectOurFreedom]

I was born in 1951, so grew up with many vets of WW II, but I don’t have a single story to relate because none of them would talk about what they did.

My knowledge of what my family did was sparse. I know my uncle flew bombers over Germany. My dad was a Marine and trained as a radio operator on Treasure Island in San Francisco Bay. He was on a an invasion fleet troop ship headed to Japan when the A-Bombs were dropped ending the war, so he became part of the occupation force. He brought home a silk parachute that my mom used to make her wedding dress in 1947. My grandfather (dad’s side) fought in WW I for the Germans on the eastern from and was a Russian POW.

I worked overseas for a few years in the mid ‘70s and there was one guy on the work crew on a job in China who served in WW II. It was the high point of his life and it was literally all he could talk about. Every single conversation with him quickly turned to his war experiences. The poor guy so alienated everybody with his stories that he couldn’t make any friends. Whenever a new person arrived on the job site, he would glom onto them to tell his stories. Then they learned and stopped talking to him. At the time it was really annoying, but I came to feel real sorry for that guy and feel a bit ashamed I didn’t pay more attention to him.

[Tired of Taxes]

Just imagining those young men trapped is heartbreaking. I grew up around WWII vets, too, within my family and in the neighborhood. Just as you wrote, they were young in that war, in their teens and early twenties. Though they survived, they always remembered their friends who did not.

[Big Red Badger]

Memphis Belle...
XLNT.
.
THANKS to All who Served.

[chuckles]

ping for later.

[pepsi_junkie]

My Uncle Bill served in Europe as a bombardier in WW2. He was in a B-17 and had to sit in the big glass bubble through the flak until it was time to drop the bombs. he said he had a big plate of steel he sat on (or maybe tucked into his shirt) and by the end of the war it was full of scars from bits of flak that got in. My old man told me that he came home after the war and was still in uniform when he took his girl to a movie. Some war movie was showing and when they left his girl saw that his shirt was all mangled, buttons torn. He'd been holding it and twisting it up during the battle scenes. He wasn't the same man when he returned from WW2. He stayed in the service and flew in Korea and Vietnam, retiring as a Colonel.

So many men gave their youth and the a part of their spirit in that cause. God bless them all.