George Adams wrote:
Your sacrifices are appreciated.

He was a "war baby", born in 1919 shortly after the end of WW1; and
he was of age to answer the call when the next war began. My
father-in-law left his family, job, and fiancée to enlist in the Army
as Hitler's forces swept across Europe. He endured all of the
horrors of war in France and Germany as a forward artillery spotter
during the Bulge, wounded twice, and received a Bronze Star for heroic
action. Coming home in 1945, he re-entered life as a civilian; and I
met him 40 years later when I married his daughter.

One of the things anyone who knew him could see was that the war never
left him. The bonds of friendship and loyalty formed in those days
were cemented in time. His experiences more fresh in his memory than
anything since. He often told the stories of his comrades, his
commanders, and the action he saw. Too often, we treated their
repeated telling as the ramblings of an old man. Too soon, a stroke
robbed him of the ability to tell them to another generation as his
grandchildren grew.

A month ago tomorrow, he passed away; another veteran fading quietly
into history. Because of his service, his patriotism, and his fervent
love of his country, we made arrangements for a local American Legion
Post to provide military honors. A half hour before the funeral,
however, they called and cancelled. That this man should be laid to
rest, forgotten by his own brethren was nothing short of a tragedy.

As the casket was prepared for lowering, the funeral home personnel did
their dignified best in folding the flag and presenting it to the
widow. Then, across the cemetery, a drum roll and the sound of taps
being played pierced the stillness. A brother-in-law, a Civil War
re-enactor, by chance had his drum in his car. His brother-in-law, a
music teacher at a nearby high school, had rushed to the cemetery with
his trumpet. As unexpected as it was haunting, it was a fitting and
emotional tribute. Stand down, Seargent.

Joe F.