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"I would not be an old man if I had not been an armed young man." JTJ
"Political correctness is a doctrine, fostered by a delusional, illogical minority, and promoted by mainstream media, which holds forth the proposition that it is entirely possible to pick up a piece of feces by the clean end."
Very interesting. Thanks! I like seeing new things on WWII.
"No free man shall ever be debarred the use of arms. The strongest reason for the people to retain the right to keep and bear arms is, as a last resort, to protect themselves against tyranny in government" -- Thomas Jefferson, 1 Thomas Jefferson Papers, 334
I came from that page with a tear in my eye, so to lighten the mood...
I was recently told a story about my great grandfather from my mothers side after the war ended.
Right after the war, most German villages and town's were war torn and remained without power for quite awhile, while the American base's were well lit due to them having generators. Well my great grand father being a master craftsman and entrepreneur decided he wanted to go and steal one of the generators for his villages use. He got with some of his buddys, spent 3 months retooling his tools from metric to standard.
after a month of planning, one night the four of them snuck on base, dismantled one of the generators into carriable pieces which took them four trips. Well they got it home, put it all back together and running beautiful only to discover it was completely useless to them. US used 110v while all the German stuff ran on 220....
My dad was a newspaper journalist for most of his working life. As a nearly-blind 33-year-old war correspondent he hit Omaha Beach with one of the first units, a combat engineer outfit, in the first wave on D-Day, after having an amphibious vehicle shot out from under him. He stayed with the troops through the breakout.
In 1946 he covered both of the first two atomic bomb tests at Bikini Atoll, and with all the fallout those guys were exposed to I often marveled that Dad didn't glow in the dark or, like so many who were there, die of cancer.
In 1947 and '48 he toured many of the DP (Displaced Persons) camps in Europe, refugee settlements for civilians who had lost their homes and in some cases their countries in WWII. Whenever I see pictures like those I think about him. But I think about him a lot anyway. He died at 90, twelve years ago. He and my mother are buried in a section of the cemetery across a road from the graves of some Civil War dead. Dad liked the idea. He always had a soft spot for warriors.
"Don't let macho be your epitaph."
Last edited by shouldazagged; 03-15-2013 at 07:23 PM.