European African Middle Eastern Theater
9th Air Force
My Dad, My Hero
The EndIt was now October 1945.
I now was back to working on engines,
Jeeps, trucks, aircrafts,
This was my mechanical craft.
I started having problems with my wounded leg.
I got an infection.
Sylvia had regained her strength,
And now her mission was to see to it that France was rebuilt.
Mary Joyce was now five months old.
And growing bigger every day,
Captain was begging me to leave France.
And give my leg a chance,
I was trying to negotiate a deal,
With Sylvia to get her to leave with me,
She was now torn between her love for me and her new liberated Country.
I just wanted us to be a real family.
I was afraid to leave, afraid for my family.
Now that France was liberated.
Her family didn’t treat me the same.
They were afraid that I wouldn’t be able to support Sylvia and the baby once we returned to the states.
I was afraid if I left.
I would never see them again.
Sylvia reassured me once I got out of the hospital that she would join me.
Oct 31, 1945 I was first sent to a hospital in Utah.
My mother came to visit.
She was excited about being a new grandparent.
Telling me about making and sending clothes for Mary Joyce,
I was there about a month then I was sent to McCloskey General Hospital in Temple Texas.
Where I was for another three months,
The doctors told me it wasn’t just my leg.
My back was cracked.
I kept writing letters to Sylvia.
But, my letters went on unanswered.
I wrote her for a year with no answer.
I latter found out that her family hid my letters.
The last time I saw Sylvia was when she visited me in a Med tent.
I never got to see Mary Joyce again.
I went through months of pain.
Sylvia was my first love,
And Mary Joyce, my second love.
But there was nothing I could do.
I felt helpless.
I sent child-support.
She got my disability check for the first five years.
After that, she remarried and quit sending pictures.
My time and life in France was a memory engraved in my mind.
That I would just sit back and rewind.
Remembering the first time I fell in love.
The first time I inhaled a baby’s breath.
Sylvia was my first love, and World War II was my Titanic not knowing if I would survive.
I would have died for them.
Just to see them again.
I never wanted to talk about the war before,
Because, it opened a very deep door,
Once opened I did not know if I could return,
Back to my world,
I lost friends there.
I killed men there.
I lost my baby girl.
And the meaning to life,
When I lost my wife,
I tried to build a new life.
But, they were always there in the back of my mind to my time in France.
Notes taken by my father from world war II