My grandfather, who I was named after, was born in Paris, Arkansas. I’m honestly not sure what year. I never paid much attention to that sort of thing. It was somewhere around 1920.
He moved to St. Louis and met my grandmother, a second-generation Italian. They conceived my father in 1941 and my grandfather shipped off in the Army before he was born.
Although his military records were lost in a fire, we know a little bit. He was a radio operator in the infantry. He was in North Africa, Sicily and Italy which means that he may have served under General Patton. We don’t know.
When the war in Europe ended, he was marching through northern Italy toward Berlin with the intention of finishing the job. After Hitler committed suicide in his bunker, my grandfather turned toward the French coast with orders to get on a ship and head to the South Pacific to help finish off the Japanese.
Before he boarded the ship, Truman authorized the dropping of two atomic bombs on major Japanese cities and the Japanese surrendered soon thereafter. My grandfather still climbed on board the ship but this time it was to bring him to the United States.
Ships and trains brought him back to his wife and child in St. Louis. My father was now three years old and remembers meeting his father for the first time. Seeing him walk down an alley, still in uniform, carrying his duffle bag.
Sixty plus years later, my son (also named after my grandfather) and I stood at the same spot, in the same alley in St. Louis talking to my father on the phone. The third and the fourth talking to Junior where he first met Senior.
After the war, my grandfather worked for RCA in St. Louis. He used to talk about having built a projection TV in the late 1940’s. They used to test it at night by projecting images on the GE building across the street. He also said that it probably produced so many X-Rays that it wasn’t safe to be in the room with it.
RCA took him and his family from St. Louis, to Jackson, Mississippi, to Albuquerque, New Mexico installing radio towers. They had two more kids a long the way. My Aunt Betty and my Uncle Fred. Their last move took them to Somerdale, New Jersey in 1954. He worked at RCA’s broadcast division in Camden until he retired in the mid-1980’s. Their fourth child, my Uncle Dave was born in 1960. Just 10 months before I was born myself.
My grandfather went to work every day. Took his family on long vacations around the country and filled the family room in his house with books about World War II. He also had a penchant for Southern Comfort and obscene limericks at family gatherings. Usually after the young ones went to sleep.
He never talked about the war with anybody in the family. Maybe with some of his contemporaries but we don’t know.
One of my great regrets is that I never sat down and made him tell me about the war. What he saw there and what he did there. He passed away in 1994. I was 33 years old and should have known better.
I’m sure that some in my family could correct things in this story but this is the way that I remember it so this is the way that I tell it.
I always cry when I tell this story and this time isn’t any different.
We all have great-grandparents, grandparents, parents, children, grandchildren or great-grandchildren, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, cousins, friends and other family members who have served. We all have our stories and our memories.
I would like to wish everyone a happy, healthy and, most of all, thoughtful, Memorial Day weekend. Remember it isn’t all burgers, dogs and parades. It’s much more.