Ken Burns got me thinking about veterans, Veterans’ Day, and one veteran in particular.
When I talked to him about his series, The War, he told me he wanted to tell the story of World War II from “the bottom up”. There were millions of those stories about the War, but now, veterans of that war are dying at a rate of 1,000 per day.

My dad.
Like so many other veterans, my Dad (pictured left) didn’t talk about his experiences much. He was drafted at the age of 32, he served as a rifleman in northern France, Rhineland, Ardennes and Central Europe, he nearly got killed at least once, and he came back home. Perhaps he felt his story wasn’t unique because WWII touched everyone. If you weren’t fighting, you were home working in a defense plant, trying to figure out how to get to work on your rationed gasoline.
My Dad served in Europe with the 94th Division (you can see the insignia on his helmet). When I was little, I would ask him to tell me another story about “the war”. At the time, I really didn’t know what “the war” was, but I knew it was an important part of his life.
He told me about a friend of his, Paul Hart, who was shot to death by a Nazi sniper while next to my Dad.
I learned that my Dad earned his Purple Heart on the front lines when a bullet clipped off the bottom of his ear. Luckily, someone had asked him a question and he turned to head to reply. That question saved his life.
I heard about a friend of his from the French resistance, who managed to survive the war only to die in a motorcycle accident in Algeria.
He told me about the Russian soldiers for whom he served as a translator when they were liberated from Nazi POW camps. He feared that they were no better off returning to the Soviet Union to face an uncertain fate.
I heard stories about frostbite, marching until your boots rotted and fell apart.
But the best story involved being on a train with others who were injured. The Paymaster was walking through the cars, distributing pay envelopes, asking the names of the soldiers. “Grip”, my father said. “Get out of here”, said the Paymaster. “I just paid you in the other car”. My Dad replied with language he cleaned up for my young ears at the time and said, “No, I haven’t been in another car”. The Paymaster told him, “Well, I just paid a fellow named Grip in the other car.” At that point, my father whistled. In my family, we had a whistle that all of us recognized. I can’t describe it, but I remember the seven notes.
When my Dad heard the whistle returned, he hobbled to the next car to find one of his brothers, whom he hadn’t seen since they were both sent off to war. Neither knew the other one had been injured.
I’m glad my Dad shared those stories with me. “Taps” has sounded for him, and so many other veterans. As Ken Burns discovered, there are still some who remember those days of sacrifice. Learn their stories now, before “Taps” is played again.