This is an unusual Blog post. I don't often write about personal matters and I try to post earlier in the day. Today is a little different. I have just returned from the funeral of my Uncle Lou, who passed away after a full, rich life at 91. Although Uncle Lou was, in reality, my Great-Uncle, I always thought of him as simply Uncle Lou. He was the third of four brothers; my grandfather, who died almost 15 years ago, was the oldest. When the four brothers were together, in their younger years, they were amazing to behold. They could give the Marx Brothers a run for their money. My grandfather and his brothers supplied the kind of entertainment that TV can only dream about.
Uncle Lou's funeral was an occasion to remember and recount some stories about him. It was also a reminder of what we are losing as the members of the Greatest Generation leave the scene.
In WWII, like so many other young men, Uncle Lou went off, in the infantry, to war. He married my Aunt Betty before he left, and my Cousin Ina was born while he was overseas. At some point after the war, Aunt Betty was reading a column about his Unit and learned he had been awarded a Bronze Star for actions during the Battle of the Bulge. Years later, Uncle Lou's granddaughter submitted his name to the WWII Memorial Commission for inclusion in the Memorial. During the process of substantiating his involvement, she learned he had been awarded the Bronze Star. Today, many of Uncle Lou's relatives, including myself, learned about his medal; apparently, he had never spoken of his actions to anyone.
The Battle of the Bulge was a last ditch effort by the Germans to break the advance of the allied troops. Hitler and his generals threw everything they had into a counter-attack, which if it had been successful, might well have led to a different outcome of WWII. Uncle Lou's Unit was pinned down by German artillery fire.
The day was over-cast rendering the cameras unusable, and it was impossible to determine where the German artillery were entrenched. A volunteer was needed, someone with artistic ability, to go aloft in a small plane, perhaps a piper cub, and draw a map of the surrounding area, with special attention to the German gun emplacements. Uncle Lou, who had graduated art school prior to the war, volunteered. He had an "H" on his dog tags. Like most Jewish soldiers, he was offered the opportunity to change the religious designation from "H" (Hebrew) to "P" or "C", either of which would have a better chance of survival if caught by the Germans. While under threat of small arms fire he drew a map of the area. For this act he was awarded a Bronze Star. And like so many everyday heroes of his generation, he never told any of us about it.
When Uncle Lou came off the troop ship in New York harbor after the war had ended, he was greeted by my cousin Ina, who had been taught to say "Hello, Daddy." He met her for the first time when she was 2 years old.
During the war, my Aunt Betty had sent Uncle Lou a copy of How Do I Love Thee?, by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, which had been printed it the New York Post. Uncle Lou had saved the poem and all her letters, and the poem was read aloud today, a fitting tribute to a wonderful man.
My Uncle Lou was warm, funny, and loving. He leaves Aunt Betty, still beautiful and vibrant, and a legacy of children, grandchildren, and now several great-grandchildren. I am glad I knew my Uncle Lou and glad that today I learned a little bit more about him.
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