I never talked about the war until my grandson begged me to tell my story. What I remember most and want recorded is this: Anybody who serves in the front lines during a war contributes directly to his country. That’s not to say that the people in the rear echelon don’t contribute, but those right in the front lines contribute most.

I’m proud of the fact that I made it through this horrible experience. I was away three years. When I got home I felt the world had passed me by. My sisters were distant, so I felt like a stranger in my own house. Among other things they had cut up my tuxedo to make a black suit. My parents just wanted to talk about the war, and I was reluctant to describe what I experienced. At least the dog accepted me!

Unlike the Viet Nam War, World War II was a patriotic war. The country was behind it one hundred percent. Heroic actions by soldiers were motivated by patriotism. Death was tragic, but patriotism helped soften the heartache.

I was only eighteen when the war started. That is an impressionable time in anyone’s life. As a result of being in such a perilous situation, I became a fatalist with respect to life-threatening situations. Even now, some seventy years later, I still retain that philosophy.