I know I have told this story before about my Grandfather returning to Manhatten

[Roon]

after WW2..He was in his uniform and all his bar, motel,bus,taxi was compted. He didn't have to spend a dime. What cracks me up is all the soldiers coming home from europe all got a big chunck of change and could easily afford all of this. My Grandfather had 1,300 in his pocket and that was a LOT of money back then. Hell, it's a lot of money now!

But my Grandfather repeated this so I am repeating it on DU..hope you all don't mind. :-)

[murielm99]

1. When my husband's uncle came home, he wanted to start a

veterinary practice. Someone gave him the startup money. He tried to pay it back, and had a very hard time convincing his benefactor to treat it as a loan.

Things being what they were at the time, it was four or five thousand dollars. That was a lot of money then. The uncle did pay back the money.

[Roon]

3. Ah, cool! eom

[CaliforniaPeggy]

2. My dear Roon!

I hadn't heard that story before! I think it's very interesting that he had all that money on hand...

It's a far cry from how our soldiers come home today...

You can repeat your stories as much as you want, sweetie!

:hug:

[Roon]

4. Thanks Peggy!

We need to set up a scanner and start scanning the WW2 pics. My poor old computer is too old and clunky to do the job. But my Aunt and Parents' would work!

[Roon]

5. PS Peggy

My Grandfather repeats his stories a lot...just like Grandpa Simpson does..but hearing them is like hearing a song over and over again..it's enjoyable...and I always act like I am hearing them for the first time every time he tells them..My Grandfather is 89 years old now, I need to enjoy him as much as I can.

[tango-tee]

6. I have a WWII story to share with you, Roon.

I'm from Germany, from Nuremberg. My dad was drafted into WWII at age fifteen in 1943, and by the time he was seventeen, he was an American prisoner of war, somewhere in southern Bavaria by the Inn river.

Dad managed to escape. Was caught and brought back. Escaped again. And was almost caught again. There was an African-American soldier driving a truck and caught sight of my dad. Dad knew there was no use in trying to run. The soldier told him to get in the back of the truck - Dad, of course, thought he was going to be transported back to the camp - but the soldier gave Dad a bar of candy and the first cigarette of his life. Dad lit up and passed out.

As luck would have it, the American soldier was on his way to Nuremberg. On the outskirts of that bombed-out shell of a town, he told Dad it was time to get off the truck before they both got into a shitload of trouble.

It is such a pity that Dad didn't get the soldier's name, or was able to have any kind of conversation with him. I've wondered for so many years - there has got to be a family somewhere in the United States where Grandpa has told the story of this particular incident. Of picking up a scrawny kid - a Prisoner of War! - who passed out when he lit up his first cigarette.

And how he brought him to safety.

Bless you, so many years later, unknown soldier.