Dad in the war

A salute to my father on Father’s Day.
I’ve read a bit recently of “Antifa” as if it is a scary, dangerous term. But I believe that it stands for “Anti-fascist.” Aren’t fascists what we fought a huge war to rid our world of? If “fascist” means dictatorships that led to millions of deaths of innocent people, then I’m an Antifa.
My father fought in World War II to rid this world of fascist governments. He was an officer in the anti-tank battalion attached to the 10th Mountain Division—the best-educated, highly-trained and one of the most effective combat units the US army ever fielded. Three pictures from his service:
The portrait of my dad was taken in Italy where he fought. The mustache disappeared the moment he got home and my mother took one look and said “shave it off.”
The second picture has an interesting history. Immediately after the successful night-time assault on Riva Ridge, members of the 10th put together an aerial tramway to quickly haul supplies and ammo up the mountain and evacuate wounded. My father was in charge of the low end. He appears in this picture on the far right without a helmet. A couple of reporters/photographers approached my father and asked if they could hitch a ride up the tramway to get to the front. Dad refused them permission since the upward flow of ammo and supplies at that point was critical. So the press guys were stuck taking this picture of the bottom end of the tramway. This photograph appeared in the December 8th, 1945 issue of the Saturday Evening Post in an article on the 10th that helped make the division famous.
The last picture is my father’s medals:
European/North Africa theater with two battle stars (North Apennines and Po Valley), World War II Victory medal and the Bronze Star—not easy to get back in those days. But the badge Dad wore with pride is the Combat Infantry Badge at top.

Please remember those who fought—many who did not come home—to save our country and the world from selfish, psychopathic men and their followers.