If a story brings a tear to my eye while I’m writing it, I figure there’s a good chance it will do the same to others. That’s when a story breaks through to some deeper part of our shared experience.
We are happy to relive those moments, yet saddened by the realization of what we’ve lost. And we have lost much.
Those experiences shaped us. The experiences of today’s children will shape them. That’s simply the way life works. Character isn’t formed in textbooks. It’s formed in neighborhoods, families, friendships, adventures, scraped knees, victories, disappointments, and the ordinary moments that become treasured memories decades later.
I wouldn’t trade my childhood for any other. It truly was a wonderful time to be a kid.
Gordon, I usually know, while I’m writing, when a story is going to bring tears. It does the same thing to me.
There were so many memories wrapped up in this one. The feeling of loss wasn’t so much for the people in the story—my older brother Jeff is still with us, and we enjoyed our Fourth of July barbecue together—as it was for a patriotic time that can never really be recreated. A time when America seemed to feel like one people.
We kids also had an endless sense of humor, especially my brother Jerry. He set a very high standard for dramatic deaths on our imaginary battlefield. Looking back, I think that’s where the best stories live—in the imagination, where memory and make-believe become one, first for the writer and then for the reader.
Thanks for your thoughtful comment. Knowing a story connected with someone that deeply is what keeps me writing.
CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? THE VIETNAM WAR ENDED 50 YEARS AGO.
I GREW UP IN GREAT FALLS, MONTANA. THERE WAS A LARGE AIR FORCE BASE THERE, AND WE WORRIED ABOUT BEING "NEUKED" BY RUSSIAN BOMBERS. 50 YEARS HASN'T HEALED ALL THE WOUNDS, BUT WE HAVE ATTEMPTS AT TREATING THEM NOW. THE WWII GUYS DIDN'T. MY DAD FLEW HALIFAX BOMBERS IN THE RCAF. I FLEW USMC HELICOPTERS IN VIETNAM.
My father, who served in the Pacific on the B-29's didn't talk about the war. But my mother, who worked in a factory that made clothes for the army, often talked about spotting enemy planes, buying war bonds, using ration cards, visiting soldiers who were rehabilitating in the hotels in Atlantic City, and writing to soldiers. The women fought their own war at home
Jim, thanks for a great story. I was born in 1935. During WWII, we lived in Philadelphia. I remember the food stamps, War Bonds, saving aluminum foil for the war effort, and string for household stuff. When I was around 7 or 8, we made a vinyl recording to send to a relative overseas. One vivid memory I have was my mother crying often because we were so poor and life was so difficult. Another vivid memory I have is when I delivered the Philadelphia Inquirer on my Schwinn bike at age 10 and I was short one newspaper for the last lady on my route. She was very upset because she relied on the newspaper for news of the war to see if her husband might have died in battle. Richard Block, 69 years a proud Marine
Richard, thanks for your comments. Yours is the generation between my parents’ and mine. Most of the teachers I had throughout my school years came from that generation.
The Depression was a tough time to grow up, but most kids your age didn’t have much to compare it to. My mother used to say her family was so poor—her father was a preacher—that they hardly noticed the Depression. They were already living simply.
My generation, growing up in the 1950s, largely escaped that financial misery. Compared to today, we didn’t have much either, but the old man always worked, and we always had a home.
The key word is worked.
I’m not sure all the complainers today are working that hard. I could be wrong, but sometimes I wonder.
This story brought tears to my eyes, Jim. I was born in 1943 while my dad was in the army in Germany. I remember the years very well after the war. My husband was born one month before Pearl Harbor. His father was unable to serve but ran a surplus store after the war. My husband had all the gear and played army growing up. Our 2 sons inherited the gear and played GI Joe. My dad didn’t talk much about the war, but in his later years he told some of the stories. Our boys listened as did my husband and I. Our family is proud of our country and the men and women who served us so well. Thank you for sharing such a moving memory.
20-some years ago Karen and I bought a piece of North Carolina mountain property from Graham Somers, a WWII veteran, artillery lieutenant, overseas from shortly after D-Day to conclusion. He had kept a record of his tour and in two separate 2-week journeys, in 2006 and 2008 we traveled his path through the war. Leaving a Paris restaurant one day, a young waiter joined us on the street as we were leaving, shook Graham's hand, and said "thanks to you sir, I'm free today". Unforgettable.
Jim, I shared your experience on the opposite side of the continent in the pine forests of southern Georgia in the shadow of Ft. Stewart and the post-war headquarters of the 3rd Infantry Division. Virtually all the fathers in my peer group were vets. In general, that veteran cohort group lived lives exemplified by the quotation attributed to NASA’s Gene Kranz: “Failure is not an option!” Vets were honored and the “broken ones”, of which there were many, were accommodated and cared for by the community. It was a good time to grow up.
Excellent piece, Jim. Not enough of that kind of reflection today. You might find this piece by a fellow foreign correspondent and friend of mine (Carl Robinson) about a classic correspondent (Jim Pringle) I rubbed elbows with during my life as an intinerant hack in Asia. Carl nails Jim to a "T."
The memories triggered bought a few tears. I'm a couple years younger than Jim, but my childhood was a carbon copy. Forwarded this to my three kids as an "addendum" to the Storyworth book I wrote for them.
Nicely done sir! I too was born in Montana (Bozeman) in 1950 and loved "playing" soldier and war, not aware then that we were actually leaning and practicing valor and courage, not just pretend shooting...although that was fun too.
The inheritance we've received is worth preserving for our grand kids. I wonder what they are learning and practicing in play today.
Next scheduled play date: bring fake grenades and be ready to dig a foxhole.
If a story brings a tear to my eye while I’m writing it, I figure there’s a good chance it will do the same to others. That’s when a story breaks through to some deeper part of our shared experience.
We are happy to relive those moments, yet saddened by the realization of what we’ve lost. And we have lost much.
Those experiences shaped us. The experiences of today’s children will shape them. That’s simply the way life works. Character isn’t formed in textbooks. It’s formed in neighborhoods, families, friendships, adventures, scraped knees, victories, disappointments, and the ordinary moments that become treasured memories decades later.
I wouldn’t trade my childhood for any other. It truly was a wonderful time to be a kid.
It was a great time. No ambiguity.
Gordon, I usually know, while I’m writing, when a story is going to bring tears. It does the same thing to me.
There were so many memories wrapped up in this one. The feeling of loss wasn’t so much for the people in the story—my older brother Jeff is still with us, and we enjoyed our Fourth of July barbecue together—as it was for a patriotic time that can never really be recreated. A time when America seemed to feel like one people.
We kids also had an endless sense of humor, especially my brother Jerry. He set a very high standard for dramatic deaths on our imaginary battlefield. Looking back, I think that’s where the best stories live—in the imagination, where memory and make-believe become one, first for the writer and then for the reader.
Thanks for your thoughtful comment. Knowing a story connected with someone that deeply is what keeps me writing.
CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? THE VIETNAM WAR ENDED 50 YEARS AGO.
I GREW UP IN GREAT FALLS, MONTANA. THERE WAS A LARGE AIR FORCE BASE THERE, AND WE WORRIED ABOUT BEING "NEUKED" BY RUSSIAN BOMBERS. 50 YEARS HASN'T HEALED ALL THE WOUNDS, BUT WE HAVE ATTEMPTS AT TREATING THEM NOW. THE WWII GUYS DIDN'T. MY DAD FLEW HALIFAX BOMBERS IN THE RCAF. I FLEW USMC HELICOPTERS IN VIETNAM.
My father, who served in the Pacific on the B-29's didn't talk about the war. But my mother, who worked in a factory that made clothes for the army, often talked about spotting enemy planes, buying war bonds, using ration cards, visiting soldiers who were rehabilitating in the hotels in Atlantic City, and writing to soldiers. The women fought their own war at home
Jim, thanks for a great story. I was born in 1935. During WWII, we lived in Philadelphia. I remember the food stamps, War Bonds, saving aluminum foil for the war effort, and string for household stuff. When I was around 7 or 8, we made a vinyl recording to send to a relative overseas. One vivid memory I have was my mother crying often because we were so poor and life was so difficult. Another vivid memory I have is when I delivered the Philadelphia Inquirer on my Schwinn bike at age 10 and I was short one newspaper for the last lady on my route. She was very upset because she relied on the newspaper for news of the war to see if her husband might have died in battle. Richard Block, 69 years a proud Marine
Richard, thanks for your comments. Yours is the generation between my parents’ and mine. Most of the teachers I had throughout my school years came from that generation.
The Depression was a tough time to grow up, but most kids your age didn’t have much to compare it to. My mother used to say her family was so poor—her father was a preacher—that they hardly noticed the Depression. They were already living simply.
My generation, growing up in the 1950s, largely escaped that financial misery. Compared to today, we didn’t have much either, but the old man always worked, and we always had a home.
The key word is worked.
I’m not sure all the complainers today are working that hard. I could be wrong, but sometimes I wonder.
This story brought tears to my eyes, Jim. I was born in 1943 while my dad was in the army in Germany. I remember the years very well after the war. My husband was born one month before Pearl Harbor. His father was unable to serve but ran a surplus store after the war. My husband had all the gear and played army growing up. Our 2 sons inherited the gear and played GI Joe. My dad didn’t talk much about the war, but in his later years he told some of the stories. Our boys listened as did my husband and I. Our family is proud of our country and the men and women who served us so well. Thank you for sharing such a moving memory.
20-some years ago Karen and I bought a piece of North Carolina mountain property from Graham Somers, a WWII veteran, artillery lieutenant, overseas from shortly after D-Day to conclusion. He had kept a record of his tour and in two separate 2-week journeys, in 2006 and 2008 we traveled his path through the war. Leaving a Paris restaurant one day, a young waiter joined us on the street as we were leaving, shook Graham's hand, and said "thanks to you sir, I'm free today". Unforgettable.
it is hard to believe that this type of sincerity and awareness exists these days. But it does.
Jim, I shared your experience on the opposite side of the continent in the pine forests of southern Georgia in the shadow of Ft. Stewart and the post-war headquarters of the 3rd Infantry Division. Virtually all the fathers in my peer group were vets. In general, that veteran cohort group lived lives exemplified by the quotation attributed to NASA’s Gene Kranz: “Failure is not an option!” Vets were honored and the “broken ones”, of which there were many, were accommodated and cared for by the community. It was a good time to grow up.
The War That Raised Us...great writing. Brings back memories of growing up in the 30's and 40's.
God bless
R. ZAbney
Thanks. That means a lot to me. Jim
JIM. What email of yours can I use to FYD this excellent email you wrote. I share your feelings.
Bill, forward this to anybody you like. We have plenty of room for new subscribers. Jim
Excellent piece, Jim. Not enough of that kind of reflection today. You might find this piece by a fellow foreign correspondent and friend of mine (Carl Robinson) about a classic correspondent (Jim Pringle) I rubbed elbows with during my life as an intinerant hack in Asia. Carl nails Jim to a "T."
https://carlrobinson.substack.com/p/he-was-a-classic-foreign-correspondent?utm_source=post-email-title&publication_id=2905753&post_id=205739793&utm_campaign=email-post-title&isFreemail=true&r=nl3xs&triedRedirect=true&utm_medium=email
The memories triggered bought a few tears. I'm a couple years younger than Jim, but my childhood was a carbon copy. Forwarded this to my three kids as an "addendum" to the Storyworth book I wrote for them.
Nicely done sir! I too was born in Montana (Bozeman) in 1950 and loved "playing" soldier and war, not aware then that we were actually leaning and practicing valor and courage, not just pretend shooting...although that was fun too.
The inheritance we've received is worth preserving for our grand kids. I wonder what they are learning and practicing in play today.