A personal tribute to my grandfather
I consciously try to avoid personal subjects on my blog since 1.) I consider it a lazy form of writing and 2.) it’s nobody’s business. But, after the dedication of the World War II memorial, I feel compelled to say a few words in memory of my grandfather.
My grandfather was a German-American named Ernest Hugo ------ [to foil identity thieves] and when he tried to join the army during World War II, he was briefly detained. Army Intelligence wanted to make sure that he was not a German sympathizer (or spy) before he joined up. He served in the North Africa theater and was wounded in the left elbow. He received the Purple Heart. For the rest of his life, he could not bend his elbow – it was frozen in place. You would never really notice it unless you knew about the wound; it might manifest itself in a stiff movement if he was gesticulating in a certain way.
How do I know all these things? My grandfather told me exactly once after I asked him how he busted his elbow. Otherwise, he never spoke about his service to the country. He volunteered to help America to fight the country he’d left behind, and that was that.
In the years that I knew him, my grandfather encouraged me in school and especially fields of technology and, to this day, I consider him a driving force in my life and career. It’s been said that teachers live a certain immortality because of the lessons they pass down through the ages. I’d like to believe that my grandfather lives on through me and my children.
Ernie Ehlberg – “Pop” to me - died about five years ago. I came down from Massachusetts to New Jersey to see him in his small, overheated apartment less than a week before he died. His blood just couldn’t carry enough oxygen; it was only a matter of time. I held his hand and told him how much he meant to me. When I left, I knew it was the last time I would see him.
So that’s it. After my parents, he was the greatest influence on my life (with my late Uncle Al a close second). And although I know (judging from Sitemeter) that this little tribute will be read by only a small number of people, I just wanted to say that my grandfather was part of the “Greatest Generation” and I love him and miss him.
4 comments:
Not talking about one's WWII experience is something I've noticed in many veterans (my great uncle doesn't talk about either), and I don't understand it. Maybe it's something common among war vets in general, but I only seem to notice it with WWII vets.
I always tell young people that they need to talk to their grandparents. Grandparents have lived the history you study. Both of my grandfathers were born in 1890 and remembered reading about the Wright brothers in the newspaper. Both of them rode in a 747 and watched men walk on the moon, albeit in black and white, but it was on a color TV. When they were young lads, they had no electricity and no radio. I think it will be a long time before any generation witnesses so many changes in their lifetime. I really miss my grandparents.
Eric,
That post is what Memorial Day is all about. Thanks for sharing...Brian
My grandfather lived with my family during WWII while he was working as an engineer in defense plants. I've always considered myself fortunate to be the only one of his eight grandchildren who really got to know this very private and remarkable man. That generation didn't believe in blathering. There weren't grandiose displays of affection, neither was there any doubt in anyone's mind that they were fully and sincerely loved. It was a very different and - I think - much better time to grow up. At nearly 62 years of age, I do NOT envy those in their teens and 20s. In many ways, my generation inherited a much better world than will these young people.
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