Happy Birthday, Dad.
"Near us an older woman with her coat thrown over her house dress slipped to her knees and rested her head against the back of the next pew. She knelt for a long time, oblivious of the hymn, and her body sagged a little. It takes time to tell the Lord about her two sons in battle."
The above is an excerpt from "D-Day," written in 1944 by newspaper columnist Gretchen L. Lamberton, my grandmother, in The Casual Observer in the Winona Daily News, describing herself in the 3d person as being among several other anxious parents, wives, siblings and children in a small Minnesota town, praying in church on the day of that tremendous battle that Made America Great.
One son, my Uncle Harry, was already committed to battle against the Japanese, returning home late the next year with a Bronze Star commendation.
Another son, a teenager, was already overseas and would soon enter 180 days of horrific combat in two island battles, where casualties ran 35% in each campaign. He was slated to be in the first wave of the projected invasion of Japan, with a million casualties expected, if the war hadn't ended sooner.
Another son, a teenager, was already overseas and would soon enter 180 days of horrific combat in two island battles, where casualties ran 35% in each campaign. He was slated to be in the first wave of the projected invasion of Japan, with a million casualties expected, if the war hadn't ended sooner.
That Marine corporal was my Dad. He would have been 96 if he hadn't died 35 years ago. I love you Dad and Mom, and still miss you both!
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