Like most little boys of my time I saw my dad as my hero. It wasn’t for grand deeds done or fortunes accumulated or for any particular skill or talent. He was my hero because he was my dad. That’s just the way it was for little boys.

Later in life I began to hear bits and pieces about “the war”. I would come to know in time that Dad had indeed fought in World War II, that he had been a soldier. He didn’t offer much information so whatever I knew I learned from my mother or simply deduced from the contents of the wooden army trunk that sat in the corner.

As I grew older I would learn more and more. Eventually Dad even started to tell me about some of his experiences. He didn’t tell me much because his philosophy was always, “If you talk about it, you’re bragging.” And anyone who knew my Dad knows he was no bragger.

Somewhere along the years I learned about “that night”, March 11, 1944. On a reconnaissance mission behind enemy lines Dad’s patrol came under enemy fire. One of his best friends, Joseph Panamas, was hit by machine gun fire and critically wounded. Dad and a second friend, James Renfro, carried the dying Panamas back to American lines. Panamas died 10 minutes after being carried to safety but for their heroic efforts, Dad and Renfro were awarded Bronze Stars.

As a child I believed my Dad to be a hero. The Bronze Star and the stories of that night – and others like it – only confirmed what my heart and mind already knew.

This page is dedicated to my Dad and to James Renfro and Joseph Panamas and the others men who fought alongside my dad and even died in the process. It is a modest attempt at keeping their memory and the memory of what they did, alive for all to know, understand, and appreciate.

Dad, proudly in uniform