My father, like many of his WWII comrades, was a child of the Great Depression. He was born on July 28, 1919 on a small farm about 10 miles west of Reading, Pennsylvania. The depression began shortly after his 10th birthday and continued throughout his teen-age years. He was very intelligent and actually finished his primary and secondary education in 11 years, which was very unusual at that time. He was a graduate of Ontalaunee High School (now part of the Schuylkill Valley School District) in Leesport, Penna. He was also very active at Bern Reformed Church where, among other things, he played the violin in the Sunday School orchestra. From what we have been able to determine, he was well-liked and was a very spiritual man.

After graduation, he secured employment with American Chain & Cable in Reading, Pennsylvania, where he was employed until he was drafted in 1944. In 1940 he married his childhood sweetheart, Anna F. Miller. They had 3 children - Norman (me) born in 1940, David in 1941 and Anne in 1943. They began their married life on his family's farm and were able to purchase a house in nearby Mt. Pleasant in 1943. Our mother lived there with my unmarried brother until her death in 1995.

My father's family endured many hardships. At some point, his paternal grandparents and their 4 children moved in with his grandmother's sister and her husband, who owned a small farm. Shortly thereafter, his grandmother died and her 4 children were separated. Two (a boy and a girl) were sent to live with relatives in Reading, Pennsylvania, while the two remaining boys (including his father) remained on the farm with their father. The father (my dad's grandfather), who had a drinking problem, eventually committed suicide. Also, my father's uncle, who was deaf, was hit and killed by a train.

His mother's family also endured hardships. For whatever reason, the family, in addition to being poor, did not have a good reputation in the community.

My dad was drafted in 1944, at which point I'm sure the country was desperate for enough men to finish the war. He completed his basic training at Ft. Blanding, Florida and was then assigned to the 10th Mountain Division. The 10th Mountain Division had been created early in the war as an alpine outfit and had undergone several years of vigorous training at Camp Hale, Colorado (near Leadville). However, by the time my dad was assigned to them, they had been transferred to Camp Swift, Texas (near Austin, Texas). (Only in the army could a farm boy from eastern Pennsylvania, who never saw a pair of skis in his life, be assigned to an alpine unit.) They embarked for Italy in January, 1945 and were sent to the mountains north of Florence. From the beginning, they successfully defeated the Germans and were at the southern edge of The Alps when the war ended.

My dad was instantly killed on March 12, 1945 by an artillery shell that hit a tree behind his foxhole while his buddy was in the rear getting food for them. This occurred on Mt. Della Spe which is near the small town of Castel dÕ Aiano. Company 85-C had just captured this mountain from the Germans. They were under continuous bombardment from the surrounding mountain tops and had not yet had the opportunity to properly dig in and remove the trees from around their foxholes. (Senator Bob Dole was wounded about a month later within about a mile of where my dad was killed.)

He was originally buried in a temporary cemetery near Florence, Italy, but in 1947 his parents decided to bring him home. This was prior to the creation of the permanent Florence Military Cemetery.

I was 5 when my dad was killed and I do have a few memories of him. One day we were using his dad's pick-up truck to haul ashes and he was concerned about me getting ashes in my eyes. I also remember us being in the bathroom together on one occasion, but that is about it.

While working at a summer job during my college years, I met a man who remembered me and specifically the day we received the telegram. He said I was running up and down the street crying for my dad, but I have no memories of that day.

Although discussing my dad was not a taboo subject, we had very few discussions about him while we were growing up. There were a few occasions, when we looked at his medals and other materials, but that was about it. My mom never remarried and successfully raised all three of us. We certainly had a great deal of support from both sides of our extended families, but my mom was the primary care giver and is certainly as much a hero as my dad.

I was busy making a career and raising a family and would have argued that my dad's death really had no affect on me. However, that is until I read the article in Newsweek about AWON. I was home alone and it was like I had been told about the death of a loved one.

Shortly thereafter, my daughter sent me a copy of Ann Mix's book, which launched my efforts to rediscover my dad. In addition to becoming an active member of AWON, I have also become very active in the 10th Mountain Division Association.

After contacting the 10th Mountain Division Association, I have received written and verbal responses from men who served with my dad. In 2003, I was also able to participate in one of their tri-annual trips to Italy to tour the battlefields. On a side trip we were able to locate the foxhole where my dad was killed. Miraculously, it is still there. One of my prized possessions is a picture of me in his foxhole.

I have also created a scrap book so that my dad will continue to be remembered by my children and grandchildren who never had the opportunity to meet this great man who would have been so proud of all of them.