My dad was my hero. He passed away in June of 2010, at the age of 86.
 
Seventy-seven years ago, he joined the Army, in August of 1940. He was 16 at the time. My aunt Ellen vouched for his age and said he was seventeen, but that wouldn’t happen for another two months. (At 16, I was a lifeguard at the local pool, and playing backup on the high school football team). Before joining the army, he had just finished spending 6 months in the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCCs) in Big Piney, Wyoming, one of President Roosevelt’s programs to end the depression. 
 
In November of 1942, he took part in the invasion of North Africa, after Normandy, the second largest invasion ever. He was 19 at the time, and had already spent a bit over 2 years in the army – enough time to be promoted to sergeant. After taking part in the invasion with the 9th Infantry Division, he fought his way across Tunisia. There were several engagements with the Germans, but he also had time to get in trouble. In fact, he was busted to private, for sneaking into the off limits walled city of Oran (twice) in one night. After being arrested by the MPs, he was turned over to his company, and reported in to the commander. “Sergeant Hall reporting as ordered”….”that will be all, Private Hall”…..
 
In the summer of 1943, still age 19, he took part in the invasion of Sicily. While fighting in the mountains in the center of the island, he was shot three times and almost died. They carried him out of the mountains by hand, and it took over a day to get him to an aid station. After being operated on, he still had difficulties. Turns out he also had malaria. They finally treated the malaria, and he started to recover.
 
The war was over for him, but he remained in the army for another two years. He served as an MP, back in North Africa (talk about irony!), and then was shipped to North Carolina, where he finished out the war. In August of 1945, after Hiroshima, he was mustered out. He was 22 at the time, and had spent 5 years in the army. (33 years later, I was 22, and would soon graduate from West Point).
 
I’ve often thought about how the war must have shaped his life, and because of that, how it shaped mine. We throw around words like “the greatest generation”, but most of us never think about what that really meant to their lives then, or later. They served, they sacrificed, and they went on with their lives. I remember the stories he told as I grew up, but they were almost always the funny stories about the war. It was only after his stroke that I heard some of the other stories.
 
From the time I went to West Point through the rest of my life, I asked him his advice. He was never judgmental, and always helped out. He was a good listener, and always treated me like an adult and a friend.
 
My dad was my hero. He passed away in June of 2010, at the age of 86. I miss him every day.