I found this photograph among the boxes of my dad's pictures, sent to me a few months ago by my cousin Rori. In addition to lots family photos, there are a few military photos, souvenirs, and documents. The original version was a good photo to start with; I did some retouching and a bit of cropping to remove faded edges. On the back of this photo, my father wrote, "The convoy to France from the motor vehicle vessel." He must have had a sense when he took pictures like this that he was participating in history. From the honorable discharge card that I found among his things, I learned that he was a teletype operator. That's not a particularly high risk MOS, relatively speaking, but still, war is always risky. My father was a peaceful and soft-spoken man. He did not like conflict. I know he was afraid when he was in the army because he told me so, years later when he was facing cancer surgery. My father met my mother when he was stationed in Pueblo, Colorado, shortly before he went overseas. And then went overseas to do his bit against the Nazis. And unlike many others, he came back. He rejoined his new wife, and started a family (yours truly). I am grateful he came back because otherwise I wouldn't have known him, or anyone else in fact, because I wouldn't even exist!) But I am posting this on Memorial Day in honor of those who weren't as lucky, who didn't come back. I owe it to my father to try to follow his example and stand up to tyranny and prejudice whenever I can. And we owe it to those who lost their lives to remember not to take our freedom and our democracy for granted.
