Good Morning Folks! 

It's Veterans Day - did you remember?  The World War I Armistice was signed on the 11th day, of the 11th month, at the 11th hour.  The War to End All Wars - wasn't!

May I share a story with you?  Don't worry - it's not a long one!

It's been a couple of years now.  My mother called me over to her condo, about 6 miles from Sue and me, in the Northwest Chicago Suburb of Des Plaines IL.  She had found, among my dad's old belongings, an old shoe box from the 1940's.

The lid on the box was marked with what seemed like a fountain pen - "Joe - War - 1943-1945."

Inside the box were a few miscellaneous army medals - none, by themselves, very noteworthy.  Some old black-and-white photos of young men - a few pictures showing the men in sharp, WWII uniforms - a few, decidedly more casual, shirtless, hatless - hair a mess and brows obviously sweating.  There were a few other pictures of local women from New Guinea - but my mom didn't want me to look at those pictures.

The men included my father.  My dad, Joe Moss, was born in 1925, graduated from Manley High School in the working class Lawndale Neighborhood on the West Side of Chicago - and, virtually immediately, drafted into the U.S. Army.

Joe Moss never made it beyond the rank of Corporal.  Although he was in battle zones, he didn't see tons of action, as he described to me and my younger brother years later - although there were a few close calls, and he did have to fire his weapon at other young men, from the Empire of Japan, in various Pacific Islands between 1943 and 1945.

Behind the photos, underneath the medals, were a neat bundle of letters, bound in a rubber band.  Most of the letters were dated during the Winter of 1943, through the Spring of 1944.

The letters talked about putting up tents.  Digging trenches near the beach.  The hot sun.   The oversized mosquitoes.  Rats the size of cats.  Always the fear of air raids and attacks.

And . . . movies (war movies, mainly).  Cheap cigarettes.  Terrible food.  Infrequent leave, with few places to go.  Missing home - A LOT!

He spoke of anti-semitism - far less subtle at that time than it is today.  Of a Passover Sedar during the Spring of 1944 when one soldier hid his few pieces of unleavened matzos, instead leaving him forbidden leavened bread.  But, somehow, he and his few fellow soldiers of faith found other matzos, and got to celebrate the holiday properly.  Most other soldiers with whom he served were far more tolerant, and gracious.

Here's the crazy thing for me - my dad was only 19 when he wrote those letters.  Only 19!  Geez . . . isn't it hard to imagine your father EVER being only 19?  He was barely a man, and he was at war, and participating in the watershed conflict for our nation in the last century!

When I was 19 - where was I?  I was a sophomore at the University of Illinois in Urbana-Champaign.  I was thinking up new ways to pick up girls.  I was drinking beer too much, and studying more than a little.

But it was peacetime.  1975.  The Vietnam War was over, although the draft continued for a while, impotently (I drew Number 19, when I turned 18, but it was of no consequence!)  I had my own worries.  But dodging bullets from automatic weapons was not one of them!

My dad was a proud man all his life.  He died twelve years ago, and rarely talked about his war experiences.  But I do know he was proud to serve, and his experiences in service made him a better person.  More disciplined, more determined.  A better father, I would think.

But, there was some sacrifice.  He was never injured during the war, but the three years he spent in the service deferred his outside world dreams.  He never became a drummer for a Big Band.  Never went to college.  Never played baseball professionally.  Over the years, however, he had no regrets.  Only pride, and an innate feeling that nothing will beat him down.

He did lose a few friends in Iwo Jima, and several other high school chums were injured to varying degrees.  For these men, the sacrifice was more tangible, but that of everyone who served was equally as important.

Folks, I'm not a big fan personally of the War in Iraq.  I know we have more to do facing and fighting the Taliban in Afghanistan.  But that's not even the issue here.

The important thing - to honor all of those now serving, and who have served over the years - with great sacrifice - so that our way of life, and our FREEDOM - can be preserved.

Freedom doesn't come cheap, easy, or without giving something up.  Let's give it up for those who have served our country, so that we may all enjoy freedom.

Have a Reverent Day!

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DEAN & DEAN'S TEAM CHICAGO