My daddy was under-aged when his daddy took him down to enlist, so his military records — and his army tombstone at the foot of his grave — show his birth date as 1921.  His headstone has it correctly as 1923.

The Bronze Star awarded for acts of heroism, acts of merit, or meritorious service in a combat zone:

How quickly bright young men moved up the ranks then!  Here he is home on leave in his captain’s bars:

He served in the Pacific theater and was wounded in the Philippines.  They just patched him up and sent him right back out there.

His last Christmas, he sent me his Purple Heart.

My Uncle George, who was actually my mother’s uncle, was a life-long friend and colleague of Daddy.  George Russell Miller “stormed the beach on D-Day,” as they say.  Here is a picture of the survivors of his battalion.  Uncle George is in the center of the front row.  I can hardly make out what is written in ink in the upper left corner, but I think is says “”Ranger B?y — men left that started D-Day — Cp Brooklyn France — Sept 45.”

They both came home, Daddy and Uncle George.  They went to work, raised families, and lived long, productive lives.   Neither of them made any excuses or expected any special privileges, honors or respect because of their service.  They just did what they were supposed to do.  Maybe that’s why we call them The Greatest Generation.  But I remember them, honor and respect them.  War never makes any sense to me, but if one ever did, it was theirs.  Thank you.