Uncle John
I only knew my Uncle John as a grizzled old man with paint-stained overalls and an unfiltered Camel cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He was a house painter and in my view perhaps the most boring man on the planet. He rarely spoke, but when he did it was never about WWII. Unlike my dad and other uncles who spoke of their duty late in the war in the Pacific, Uncle John was older and had been sent to Europe early.
A few years ago, my cousin sent me a copy of his military record. These words jumped out:
Northern Africa
medic unit
Normandy
France
Germany
Battle of the Bulge
Late in my dad's life, he uncharacteristically teared up one day and said of his older brother, "That boy went through hell."
Heroes sometime come in strange packages.
(Picture below NOT Uncle John. Too young, too clean. No Camel. )
