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This will be a more remembered Memorial weekend for me. My father, a Master Sargent during WW2, passed away on Friday, age 91.

His war stories became more embellished as the Alzheimer's progressed, and his ability to recall dates and details faded. One story was pretty good. His father, a foundry worker, had died of cancer in 1932, leaving my dad and his brothers and sister and mother close to completely destitute. At times they barely had any food, and he sometimes had nothing but beans to eat three times a day. After he enlisted, he was stunned by how good Army food was. So one day, he sat down for breakfast in London, and just then a V-1 flew over the mess hall, and the engine cut out. Fortunately the missile was on a circular glide path, and came down across the street. Breakfast was still served, much to his delight, even tho' it was under the open sky. The mess hall roof had been blown away.
 
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