I think cousin Joe sent me this a few years back. It was about a man called Bob.
If he lived in the North End of Bristol he has to be your Lagasse
Mid-afternoon on Dec. 7, 1941, I was playing hide and seek with a group of kids from the neighborhood in the north end of Bristol when someone interrupted the game to tell us that the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor. “Where’s Pearl Harbor?” I asked. “In Hawaii,” they replied. Being that I was a knowledgeable 10-year-old and had studied geography, I summed up the situation quickly. “Did you ever see how small Japan is, compared to us?” I questioned. “We’ll beat ’em in a few weeks,” I analyzed. As I was saying this I was thinking, “If they mess around with my brother, he’ll show ’em.” I quickly ran home and dashed up the stairs to see if everyone knew of the news. As I looked into the living room, it was obvious that they had. Mom was seated and crying and Dad was consoling her. The radio was on giving the accounts of what was known at that time, which was sketchy and often unconfirmed.
The main concern for Mom’s world was that her son was in the Army in Camp Blanding, Fla., and the one-year training commitment would now become a war requirement for an undetermined period. Although Dad was saying all the right words to Mom, it appeared to me that his heart wasn’t really in it. He was less visibly upset than Mom, but I believe that he was more deeply concerned, having World War I experience to call on. It was an anxious, wait-and-see environment for many years to come.