This was an annual reunion gathering of a platoon of men that served in the infantry and marched through Europe under George Patton. It is a reunion whose numbers get smaller each year. Think about it. If you were serving in WW II at the age of 18 in 1945, the year the war ended, you would be 85 years old today. So, of the dozen or so men that arrived yesterday, many were in wheelchairs or using walkers, many were accompanied by their adult children, and some of those folks were older than my 61 years. They came from all over the country, Iowa, Texas, Utah, California, but they were enjoying the hell out of their time together and their visit to Pittsburgh. In touring the Heinz History Center and Sports Museum, they wanted to hear all about Pittsburgh's days as the "Smokey City" and the Immaculate Reception and the Western Pennsylvania's role in the Whiskey Rebellion and the Allegheny Arsenal explosion and the invention of the Ferris Wheel, and I could go on and on.
It was when we got to that section of the History Center that dealt with WW II that I turned the tables and asked them to talk to me. Then I heard stories of marching through France and Austria and Berchtesgaden and into Germany, and walking through the house that was Hitler's birthplace, and having a platoon of 100 German soldiers surrendering to you while you were holding a machine gun on them, of building pontoon bridges to cross the Ruhr River. I asked them how old they were when this was happening to them. 19. 22. 18. .21. 25. You get the idea.
I am seldom at a loss for words when I do these tours at the History Center, but I was yesterday. I admit to getting choked up and barely being able to say "thank you" to all of them, words that seemed so inadequate in the circumstances. This was a tour and a group of men that I will never forget.
God Bless them all.
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