Grateful to Be Here

 Today is Memorial Day, and for me it always brings back memories of the story my Dad told that explains why the younger of my two sisters and I are even here. It took place in Texas during the final year of WW II.

Dad was in a battalion that was training to be sent to Europe. My Mom was back in the Bronx, with her baby girl, who was conceived in Pasadena. My Mom loved her life there, but she and Dad agreed it would be better for her to go home to NY to be with her family -- who knew when, of if, Dad would come home?

Dad was at the PX, and it was a hot night, and he was in his undershirt. He struck up a conversation with a fellow NY Jew -- the two found each other in the room of mostly Southern WASPs at the base. The other fellow was a bit older, and my Dad could tell right away, very educated. I wish I knew his name -- I'm not sure whether or not Dad recalled it himself.

Anyway, the two played pool, and drank a few beers, and the older Landsman noticed Dad was down. Dad admitted he was -- being shipped off to battle the next am, and had a baby girl he had never met -- and didn't know whether he ever would. The older man commiserated -- war is hell sort of stuff -- and then put on his jacket to leave. Dad was floored -- the fellow was a freaking Colonel! Dad started stuttering "Um, Sir, I had no idea..." The fellow smiled at him, and said "The name's Sid Rosen (I'm picking a random WW II era Jewish American name) and you're Hy, and hopefully we meet after the War in Brooklyn or the Bronx for a corned beef sandwich." And then he left.

My Dad went to sleep, and was up early to report to the airfield and the transport plane. As he was about to board, the soldier saw his name, and said "Nope -- not getting on -- change of orders just came in -- you're heading back to Pasadena." My Dad shrugged and did what he was told, of course. The Colonel had acted.

Months later, my Dad ran into someone from the old squad, who said to my Dad "Wait -- you're dead!" Dad replied that obviously he wasn't. Well, the fellow explained, Dad's compatriots were sent to the Battle of the Bulge, and had like 90% casualty rate. To an extremely high degree of certainty, the Colonel had saved Dad's life.

VE Day came soon after, and a bit later Truman ordered a few bigger type bombs to be dropped on Japan, and WW II was over. Dad made his way home to the Bronx. Mom had found an apartment to share with Hannah, a woman who became a life long friend. She had two sons, Arnold and Stanley. Her husband Julie came home from the Navy, and the two families then welcomed my sister Susan, born 73 years ago next month.

My Dad and Mom and sisters got their own place, on Bathgate Avenue, and then in public housing on Dyckman Street, in Upper Manhattan. Dad worked 3 jobs, and eventually they made it to Queens -- the Eden for Jews of that generation. I was born there in 1961, and then a year later, the American Dream really came true -- OWNING a house -- out in the suburbs of Long Island.

But it all happened because of a chance meeting in Texas, in 1944. And today I think of the scores of brave soldiers who didn't have Dad's luck, who fought and died, so that we could have this still greatest country in the world.

A NY Times columnist, maybe it was Tom Friedman, wrote recently that there's no way our fractured nation could win WWII now. Hell -- we have selfish idiots who won't even get a vaccine to bring this plague to an end -- or make wearing a stupid mask a political statement. Could we ever again sacrifice the way we did in the 40s?

The future's not ours to see. Hopefully we come around again. But today, I'm thankful for all those who fought and died for us. And especially thankful Dad was lucky enough to come home from the War fully intact.