When I was a kid, maybe 12, I came to know an old man across the street named John. He was a scary looking guy who was actually quite kind. He fought in WWI. Taught me about the 40 and 8 train cars. 40 men or 8 horses.
I don’t remember much of our conversations except that they were interesting.
I’ve had the honor of knowing some WWII vets who had very interesting experiences. One was UDT who swam into Normandy the night before the attack to plant munitions to clear the beaches, then swam back to the ship.
Another was a B-24 pilot.
I had a great uncle who earned the Silver Star. I don’t know what for. He was an officer on a bomber buried somewhere in France.
Another Great uncle was a member of a destroyer crew. He’s still alive. I think he was at the tail end of the war and didn’t see much if any action.
I had a friend who wanted to go but as a skilled machinist, he was required to remain stateside to build the mighty war machine.
I very briefly met a man who was in the OSS.
Ever one who participated was a hero.
A long, long time ago I worked security for a major university. An old Italian janitor worked in one of the buildings I patrolled.
He was a little old guy, and he spoke broken English. No one paid much attention to him. After all, fancy university professors didn’t have the time to talk to lowly janitors!
Well, I made time to talk to him. Eventually he opened up to me. Turns out that he was a WW II vet. But not on our side. He was a member of a Waffen SS unit that was raised in Italy. He did not surrender when Italy surrendered. He stuck with the Germans, and fought in the Battle of Berlin.
I don’t think I would have wanted to meet him when he was a young man.
I used to golf with an old timer who was always the most pleasant guy to be around. Then I found out he was a 2nd Lt. in the Marines and was on the second wave of Marines on Iwo Jima.