experiences, how the travel overseas had expanded his world view. He was always trying to learn about other countries, people, groups, and customs. Before the subway was built in DC, he took buses to work, and met all kinds of people on his commute. He always tried to meet and befriend as many people as he could. He learned to say, “ Hello, how are you ,” in more than one hundred different languages.
He retired in 1986, just after he turned sixty, the same year I graduated from college. They were getting computerized at work, and he decided he didn’t want to go through the hassles of learning the new system. Dad made a great retiree. He was still young and active. Many days he met with other retired friends and veterans at a McDonald’s in town to swap war stories, politics, and current events. Dad always wore his Airborne cap and smoked a pipe.
After Ambrose’s book came out, and then the miniseries, he exploded as a local celebrity. There were news stories about him. He spoke to schools and community groups about his war experiences. Young fathers brought their kids to McDonald’s to get his autograph. I think it almost made some of the other guys jealous that he got all this attention.
Dad seldom talked about his war years with us, but whenever he watched the evening news and a story came on about another war, Dad shook his head sadly and said, “You know, WWII was supposed to be the war to end all wars.”
Dad absolutely loved going to the Easy Company reunions. He was closest with Clancy Lyall, Chris Christensen, Tony Garcia, Shifty Powers, Bill Guarnere, Babe Heffron, and Don Malarkey. I remember him talking about those men quite a bit. Dick Winters and Dad corresponded. Winters still sends bits of news to my mom.
One Last Jump
In Dad’s later years, he got arthritis in his feet and that slowed him down a lot. But he still loved to walk down by Rock Creek, and found it very peaceful there. He always mentioned different animals he saw down by the creek.
In the spring of 2002, Dad got very sick and they had a hard time diagnosing him. He had a lot of tests done, including one at Walter Reed Army Medical Center, to figure out if he had picked up some sort of strange infection during the war. But he hadn’t. Finally they diagnosed him with two types of cancer, bladder cancer and a type of lymphoma. Dad had been a cigarette smoker his whole life. He had switched from cigarettes to pipes a few years before the diagnosis.
In spite of the diagnosis, doctors didn’t know how to treat him. In August 2002, I was visiting, and Dad was really down. His weight had dropped considerably and he was barely moving off the couch. All he ate was vanilla ice cream, because he said nothing else tasted good. Doctors were suggesting various plans for treatment, but Dad wasn’t being cooperative at all. “It’s my time to go,” he kept saying. “I survived the war, but this is my time to die.”
During that visit, he received an invitation in the mail to go to the Emmys in California with all his Easy Company friends. He perked up when he saw that. “You know,” he said, “I really want to go to that.”
It sounded great, but I wanted to make sure. “You think you’re well enough to fly cross-country?” I asked.
“I’m going to tell the doctors that they need to get started on me, and that I need to be well enough to go,” he said.
Dad met with his oncologist immediately. “Do whatever you need to do,” he said. “Start the chemo.”
About six weeks later, in September, we went to the Emmys. My mom had her fiftieth high school reunion in Colorado the same weekend, so she asked me if I could go with Dad. He was so excited. He didn’t seem as sick as he really was. He was trying to eat regular food again, and he could often eat a little bit.
HBO treated us royally. We flew first class and were put up in a great hotel. After the Emmys, everyone went to the restauant Spago for a celebration. Dad was in a
He retired in 1986, just after he turned sixty, the same year I graduated from college. They were getting computerized at work, and he decided he didn’t want to go through the hassles of learning the new system. Dad made a great retiree. He was still young and active. Many days he met with other retired friends and veterans at a McDonald’s in town to swap war stories, politics, and current events. Dad always wore his Airborne cap and smoked a pipe.
After Ambrose’s book came out, and then the miniseries, he exploded as a local celebrity. There were news stories about him. He spoke to schools and community groups about his war experiences. Young fathers brought their kids to McDonald’s to get his autograph. I think it almost made some of the other guys jealous that he got all this attention.
Dad seldom talked about his war years with us, but whenever he watched the evening news and a story came on about another war, Dad shook his head sadly and said, “You know, WWII was supposed to be the war to end all wars.”
Dad absolutely loved going to the Easy Company reunions. He was closest with Clancy Lyall, Chris Christensen, Tony Garcia, Shifty Powers, Bill Guarnere, Babe Heffron, and Don Malarkey. I remember him talking about those men quite a bit. Dick Winters and Dad corresponded. Winters still sends bits of news to my mom.
One Last Jump
In Dad’s later years, he got arthritis in his feet and that slowed him down a lot. But he still loved to walk down by Rock Creek, and found it very peaceful there. He always mentioned different animals he saw down by the creek.
In the spring of 2002, Dad got very sick and they had a hard time diagnosing him. He had a lot of tests done, including one at Walter Reed Army Medical Center, to figure out if he had picked up some sort of strange infection during the war. But he hadn’t. Finally they diagnosed him with two types of cancer, bladder cancer and a type of lymphoma. Dad had been a cigarette smoker his whole life. He had switched from cigarettes to pipes a few years before the diagnosis.
In spite of the diagnosis, doctors didn’t know how to treat him. In August 2002, I was visiting, and Dad was really down. His weight had dropped considerably and he was barely moving off the couch. All he ate was vanilla ice cream, because he said nothing else tasted good. Doctors were suggesting various plans for treatment, but Dad wasn’t being cooperative at all. “It’s my time to go,” he kept saying. “I survived the war, but this is my time to die.”
During that visit, he received an invitation in the mail to go to the Emmys in California with all his Easy Company friends. He perked up when he saw that. “You know,” he said, “I really want to go to that.”
It sounded great, but I wanted to make sure. “You think you’re well enough to fly cross-country?” I asked.
“I’m going to tell the doctors that they need to get started on me, and that I need to be well enough to go,” he said.
Dad met with his oncologist immediately. “Do whatever you need to do,” he said. “Start the chemo.”
About six weeks later, in September, we went to the Emmys. My mom had her fiftieth high school reunion in Colorado the same weekend, so she asked me if I could go with Dad. He was so excited. He didn’t seem as sick as he really was. He was trying to eat regular food again, and he could often eat a little bit.
HBO treated us royally. We flew first class and were put up in a great hotel. After the Emmys, everyone went to the restauant Spago for a celebration. Dad was in a
Similar Books
