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I'm glad you all liked the e-mail, I found it very interesting how out of touch our politicans can be.
Beleive me, Glenn wasn't one of my favorite senators either, but, he makes a great point here..

Thanks to my Father for sending that to me.
He's one of the lucky ones living in Florida..

Just took this pic out my window. Looks like Buffalo..

Recollection of a Gravel-Clutcher

So you have pain now; but I will see you again,
and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you.

John 16:22

I don't think much about the World War II now, even though this year marks the passage of over 50 years since it ended. I'm just comforted to know I had some wee small part in its outcome.

Sometimes events of the past are either reduced to insignificance by people born after them, or enlarged beyond recognition by nostalgic reminiscences. Still, every once in a while, I can hear again that cry in the woods high on a ridge overlooking the town of Hitchenback in the Ruhr Valley.

Our unit had marched all day and was looking forward to some rest when the order came down: we would soon take part in our first large-scale night attack. We were to wait in the woods above the village while our artillery and air support dropped high explosives on the targeted town. Then we were to attack and take over the town.

Toward evening, we took our places. At first, the whining sound of shells passing overhead was largely ignored. But gradually the shells came closer to the tops of the pine trees where we waited, until there was only a split second between the whining sound and the explosion.

Then there was no interval at all, and we were under the worst kind of friendly fire: huge shell bursts that spewed down jagged shreds of steel in sweeping arcs of ,destruction. Nobody was standing or sitting now: it was time to dig a hole in the ground and hide. At the base of a 'large tree, I pawed at the ground, sending pine needles flying. The explosions overhead got so intense that individual bursts merged into an ear-splitting roll of deadly thunder. And I prayed: Oh, God, please, please make 'em stop. Please God. .

Then, very suddenly, there was a terrible silence. It was over, but no one spoke, and bodies rose up like ghosts ':from a graveyard. Finally, calls were heard from different parts of the hillside: Medic, over here! Hurry! Help, Medic!

It was then that I heard, through the scattered calls for help, the one cry that has remained with me all these ,years. The voice was that of PFC Marks, a rifleman in the \.3rd Platoon. Like many of us in the 86th, Walter Marks had been slated to go to college when the war interrupted. I remember him as a smiling person with the impish look of a boy always on the verge of pulling off a great practical joke.

His voice traveled through the woods with a special resonance that overrode the cries for help and sounds of battle.

. One word, spoken once. "Mother!"

Curious, I thought. The voice lacked the unmistakable sound of pain, nor did it hold any hint of desperation or even sorrow. It was more like a greeting.

When we were finally marching down to take the town, I chanced to see our company medic.

"Did you see Marks back there?" "Yeah."

"Wounded?"

"No, killed."

"But I heard him call out"

"So did I, but I don't know how." And on we went to do our duty.

If I had known Marks better, I thought, I would try to find his mother when this was over and tell her she was the last thing in her son's heart when he died. But I hadn't even known his first name, and as often happened, I was unable to continue to deal with death consciously-I blocked out the details in all but my worst nightmares.

Some of our old Company K buddies recently got together to celebrate the golden anniversary of our survival. One of them had been a close friend of Marks'. I asked him about our fallen friend's last moments, and if he'd heard that call. He had.

"He must have seen his mother in his mind's eye and called out to her," I suggested.

"You know, I've often wondered about that," the friend replied, "because Walter never knew his mother. He had never even seen her."

"How's that?"

"She died in childbirth when she brought him into this world."

Where in Florida is your father living, Rus?

Good evening Mayor, and everyone!

Thanks for the wonderful thread today, and all your work on it.

And now for some caucus watching!