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was six or seven when he entered the Army. He had lived
with our family on and off as long as I could recall. The
duration of his showers was legendary, provoking many complaints
from my father, my sister and his younger sister who also
lived with us during the tough years of the depression.
If I didn't watch my grandfather, Uncle Lou's father, yet
another member of our household during those frightening
times, shave with his straight razor, I would sit myself
down and watch Uncle Lou go through his morning ritual.
The hot towel, lather from a small tube of brushless (no
aerosol cans yet), the splash of witch hazel fastidiously
applied all served to mesmerize a young kid not yet wet
behind the ears.
To say he was a hero, all decked out in his uniform, home on leave on so many occasions, would be a gross understatement. I followed his progress from base to base, promotions to corporal, then sergeant, finally warrant officer, always accompanied by a new patch or set of bars sent to me or brought home on his next furlough. He taught me to use V mail so I could correspond with him, keeping him advised as to how I was doing in school. I was too young to comprehend what his going off to Europe in the midst of the war meant, but some of the horrors he was to witness firsthand were filtering back to us. They were so unbelievable that many would not accept the accounts of mass murder and detention camps with large concentrations of Jews.
All these Uncle Lou bore witness to in his travels with the Third Army through Germany from 1943 to 1945. He came home from the war seemingly unharmed, no physical changes in evidence, but emotionally and spiritually he was deeply affected. Like so many others he was discharged after the war was over and thrust back home to those he loved and loved him.
I always admired his intellect, outspokenness, his moral courage. His politics were a combination of old left-wing social reform, liberal avant guardism, definite anti-war anti-nuclear leanings. He was as far as I could tell a staunch democrat. He never talked about the war. The wounds and scars were long in healing and he did not chance reopening them again. The stories he told about his grandsons were the subject of long evening walks, many years later when we were neighbors.
In his uniqueness he left me a legacy of love. His wartime experiences became the foundation of the rest of his life. I believe they shaped his whole being. That he succeeded in surmounting these, and remained a gentle and tender husband, father and grandfather is quite remarkable. Uncle Lou was one of the good guys. We'll all miss him.
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