Chapter XXXIII
Returning Home

How deeply can one sigh?

I left for home from the port of Pisa. I do not recall the name of the ship, but it was not very large and most of the homebound Americans were young Air Corps men who survived their 35 missions over Europe.

Almost all day and night one could hear one of them describing an incident of his dive-bombing an enemy tank or bridge. His arms would be stretched out indicating wings, and the lips were rat, tat, tat and tatting like machine guns. Some of these kids were no older than 19 to 21 years, but they were experienced veterans.

When we approached New York harbor and saw the Statute of Liberty there was not a dry eye on that boat. Some of the men looked up in the sky and some dropped their head, and muttered a prayer, but all were saying in their own way, “Thank You, God.”

When we landed on the dock we were all greeted with the most thoughtful, delightful, and delicious item that we never had while overseas: fresh milk. The Red Cross gals were handing out a carton for each hand, already opened and with inserted straw. Apparently this was a response to a previous returnee who, when asked, “What is the one thing you missed the most while you were overseas?” answered, “Fresh milk.” (Yeah.)

Now we knew that we were home in the good old U.S. of A. My travel orders took me to the closest army camp near my home, Fort Sheridan, Chicago.

My wife was waiting for me as I got off the train.

We spotted each other immediately. She was about one hundred feet away. We did not run at each other like in the movies with open arms. We just rather walked deliberately at each other with tears streaming down our faces.

We hugged each other tightly, saying nothing, and kissing repeatedly. Then I held her at arm's length to look at her again, only to repeat hugging her all over again. It was an indescribably joyous moment.

It seemed to me she had grown a bit taller. I wondered when I should remove my overseas cap and reveal how much hair I had lost.