Everything's Quiet on Veterans' Day

I play a scene over and over in my head -- vivid, but in black and white. A 22 year old man is hard at his job -- an "expediter" for the garment, or schmata trade, in Lower Manhattan. It's December of 1941. He pushes multiple wheeled carts from factory to finisher -- the factory is where his father works as a pattern maker.

The young man wants to do more with his life, and found out about joining a union as a storefront designer -- the person who plans and creates the many display windows up and down NYC streets. But his immigrant father dismissed that notion with a slap to the head and the words "You HAVE a good job -- they like you in the company. You'll move up." So the expediter continued pushing the carts, singing all the way.

Suddenly, the city stopped, movie-like. Cab drivers left their cars, and everyone huddled around radios. It was a speech by President Roosevelt -- the famous "Day that will live in infamy" speech -- telling Americans about the attack by the Japanese at Pearl Harbor.

The young man listened, and knew immediately what it meant for him: he would be drafted into the Army. And indeed he was -- he reported to Fort Lee, NJ, in April of '42, and would serve "for the duration." That turned out to be over three and a half years, during which he came close to being shipped to the Battle of the Bulge, where he almost certainly would have died, and the opportunity to marry the girl he left home in The Bronx, a pretty girl nicknamed Sunny.

So the man, of course, was my father. He was no prideful veteran -- he, like many of his generation, simply undertook the duty and performed it. He grew to distrust and really despise bureaucracies -- to this day I hear his words about them: "Never volunteer, and always sit when you don't have to stand."

He gave some of his prime years to the Army -- and returned to a tough life. He worked three jobs to support his wife and soon two daughters -- the second born in 1948. The hard work paid off -- he moved up in the gift ware industry, and became a top salesman. By the time I came along, at the end of the Baby Boom, he was able to buy his first house -- with a loan from his boss, the larger than life Morris Katz.

I see, in my mind's eye, many scenes from my Dad's years in the Service. He told me the tales with such great detail -- including the one that truly saved his life. He was at a base in Texas -- he had sent my Mom home from Pasadena to give birth to their first child surrounded by the support of her family. He was to be shipped out to Europe the next day, and met a landsman playing pool at the base exchange. They were in T shirts in the heat, and my Dad confided in the older NY Jew that he was down -- he had a daughter he might never get to meet. The man listened, and understood.

At the end of the night, the man put on his shirt -- he was a full colonel! My Dad stuttered, calling him "Sir" and all. The man dismissed it -- they were two sons of immigrants far from home -- he wished my Dad well. The next morning, as my Dad was about the board the transport plane to the Bulge, he was sent away -- this Colonel had changed his orders -- back to California.

I always wished I knew the Colonel's name, so I could contact his descendants and thank them for what their father/grandfather did -- allowing my family to be. But I never knew his name.

Anyway -- I think of my Dad daily -- even more as I near the age he was when he died. He was only 63 -- too young. I wish he could meet Wifey, and the Ds, and their amazing men.

Just yesterday, Rabbi Harlig called me -- he is doing the Orthodox required pre marital counseling for D2 and Jonathan. He wanted to make sure I knew I had won the lottery with D1's man Joey and D2's man Jonathan. I assured him I knew this very well.

My Dad would have truly beamed to meet them.  I play that meeting out in my mind, too, even though it never happened.

So today, I thank my Dad for his service -- along with all the veterans. My brother in law Dennis served in the Air Force during Vietnam. My friend Kenny was a Navy Flight Surgeon, and served in the Gulf War.

I was lucky to have never had to give up years. But I never forget those who did. Today is their day.