My friend Homer had a friend visiting. The friend, BC., is the daughter of a man he met in the service in the 1940's when they were sent to France. In the same unit in the Army, they became friends, keeping up a correspondence after they all got out and went their separate ways. Homer had kept in touch with the C. family, though they lived in Missouri and then California. Where BC lives now.
She came east to visit a retired work friend near Charleston then on to visit with Homer in SC. One of the rare times when I did not feel like I had 'invited myself', as Homer had let me know about her travel plans, so I could try to get up there when BC was in town. I'd not seen her in several years, so it was a good visit, with time to talk about families, listen to a few war stories, and be together.
He is such a sweet, amusing guy. He has several base-ball style caps, that tell everyone who sees him he is a WWII veteran. And wears one every where he goes, so everyplace someone will see the cap, and want to talk, thank him for his service. He is so humble, and appreciative. When I am with him, he is always wanting to introduce me, tell the people who stop him to shake his hand, that I am the daughter of his C.O. But he is the one who is of that Greatest Generation, one of the rapidly diminishing few who so determinedly went where they were told, did what was necessary and safely retuned. Came home to go back to work, marry, raise a family, and re-integrate into society without complaint.
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