My Uncle Bob was a West Pointer. Class of 1945.
My Father Babe was a cadet, too. Class of 1946. He served in Korea and in Vietnam, and died in 1986. His doctors attributed his untimely death due to the amount of the herbicides and defoliants he was exposed to during his three tours of duty in Vietnam.
You may remember that I wrote about my mother's brother, Uncle Y in April. Please take a moment today to reflect on the courage and valor of all our armed forces. Past, present and future.
The entire time my father and Uncle Bob were students at West Point, their father, my grandfather, was a prisoner of war. By some twist of fate he was the highest ranking artillery officer during the Death March of Bataan in 1942, and remained a prisoner of the Japanese for the remainder of World War II. I have many of the letters and papers that belonged to my grandparents from this time, and among them is the following poem in my grandmother's hand, with the date May 21, 1942. He would have been in the POW camp at this point, and much communication was done via HAM radio; those who received messages, would send them on to the family members across the country. My grandmother Sugar had several messages from my grandfather sent to her this way. Many of them contained parts of this poem.
To Myrtle R. an Army Wife