In the midst of my on-going campaign of de-clutterization, I came across an envelope of photos from my father's WWII service. (The pic above is not my father -- he was evidently as camera shy as I am.)
None of the pictures had any information as to who or where but they are still poignant and compelling to me -- all these young men caught up in a global war.
Many of these first pictures are from the early days in training camps -- Nevada and California. I think that the tall fella on the left in the picture below is my father.
My parents were on their honeymoon when Pearl Harbor was bombed. Shortly thereafter my mother followed my father west to an assortment of Army posts.
In camp . . .
Patriotic postcards. . .
Beefcake . . .
Quite a few wives followed their husbands to training camp and the result, not surprisingly, was a fine crop of babies . . .
.
Of which, I was one -- I was born in Indio, California. The frowning child below is me -- I don't know who the other people are.
Then my father was ordered to Burma. He never talked much about it so my information is scant. He had a pet monkey; the jeeps had to have steel posts installed on their hoods because of incidents in which the enemy had strung piano wire across roads and decapitated unwary jeep occupants.
I think this is a picture of the camp in Burma.
Note the bamboo construction . . .
I hope all these young men made it back to enjoy those babies and make some more. Theirs was, I think, the last unambiguous war -- a "good" war, if there can be such a thing.
Thank you to all the veterans. (My father, Frank Love Lane jr.)