My father was 21 when he joined the United States Army. Assigned to the 775th Field Artillery Battalion, my father was deployed overseas. He initially arrived in le Bastion de France before going on to fight in what Winston Churchill labeled as “undoubtedly the greatest American battle of the war,”—the Ardennes Counteroffensive. This battle is more commonly known as the Battle of the Bulge—a phrase coined by contemporary press to describe the way the Allied frontline bulged inward on wartime news maps.
Blessedly, my father survived the Bulge or I obviously wouldn’t be here to write this post. But sadly, I never had an opportunity to thank my him for the sacrifice he made for the greater good of our family, our country and the world at large. My father’s life was unexpectedly cut short at age 49, when he suffered a massive stroke shortly before Thanksgiving of 1970. I was six years old when he died Thanksgiving day. Therefore, I’m dedicating this post to the memory of my father, the 20,000 Americans who lost their lives fighting alongside him, and to the countless men and women before and since his time, who’ve sacrificed so much protect our great nation and preserve the liberty and freedom we so often take for granted. With gratitude and love we honor you. Thank you.
Only our individual faith in freedom can keep us free. ~ Dwight D. Eisenhower