My grandpa was born in Joliet, Illinois but was raised from the age of about 1 year old, and then all the rest of his life, in the Spruce Creek, Volusia County, Florida area.  He joined the war like others did, “to defeat evil.”  His training, eventually, sent him to Camp Maxey Paris, Texas where he met and fell in love with the beautiful Mary Ellen Oden in a Dallas, TX soda shop.  They were married and then off to war he went.  He was the second wave of troops onto the beaches of Normandy.  He would always say “we were there to do a job and we did it very well.  Some made it home and others did not, but it was war.”  Thankfully, he was one of the ones who made it home to his bride and they began following suit of having baby boomers.  Their first born was Rosalee and the second born was Marilyn.  I am Marilyn’s daughter.  He went to work as a small engine repair tech at the local gas station.  He also opened his own business on the beach as a Tram Operator giving tourists a ride up and down the World’s Most Famous Beach.  He retired as a front desk hotel clerk at Silver Sands Hotels.  In my opinion, a very meek and modest occupation choice for a soldier who did so much for so many innocent lives. 

My grandpa was usually pretty mum on the subject of the war, however, I was the unique one where I could get him to tell me stories.  The most fascinating story that I have retold often and to the dismay of some, who at first did not believe the horrors of the Nazi camps was the following and remember my grandpa was a proud southerner so it has intentional dialects:

"The fellas and I were on the trail of some Nazis.  We asked the town folks some questions about where that camp was.  They denied knowing anything, but us boys could smell it in the air.  There was death hanging over that town but them folks claimed they knew nothing.  All we had to do was follow the smell.  We sure enough found it.  Some of the guys got sick and threw up right there on their shoes, but I had to lead them on into the very short exchange of gunfire.  We took them Nazis real quick.  Some of the guys were gung ho and stormed up to those gates.  Me, I stayed back a bit getting my commands.  I was told, whatever Nazis we took alive, they was going to be the ones who cleaned up their own mess.  So, we caught them left over ones and watched them Nazis take proper care of the people they had killed.  They had to unload each body from the killing chambers where they used that gas.  We forced them Nazis to bury each one respectfully in graves.  The prisoners that were still alive hugged us and thanked us but we kept telling 'em we had to keep going on.  They had fear in their eyes even though we told 'em it was over and they were free.  It was like they didn’t know their way home or even where their home was anymore.  Some more of us fellas came up from behind and the medical team took over.  I can still see their sunken eyes.  Those eyes live with me with every day.  It is not something I want to relive, but you want to know some stories, so here is one you can tell.  They ain’t gonna have this kind of story in no history book."

So, I have done just that.  I have retold his story time and time again.  Listening to him tell stories was one of the best times in my life.  I miss him terribly, but like the war, all things come to an end.  My grandpa was the “MacGyver” of our lives.  He could fix anything with a roll of electrical tape.  He kept in shape by running every day.  He was a role model of the type of man that I had hoped and prayed that I would marry someday (and I did, my husband is so much like my grandpa).