Len spent his formative years playing on the streets of Baltimore. Those streets were seldom paved and they teemed with horses, carriages, and manure. Sanitation was poor and medicine crude by today's standards. Orphans abounded and there were no laws to protect the innocent. Life was rarely just or fair but to a child it was almost always fun. He watched the ships coming and going in the harb∨ clipper ships, steam ships, later submarines and ocean-going liners. He saw Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show and he survived the Spanish Influenza. He partied through the Roaring Twenties, lost all his money in the crash of '29 and eked out a living during the Depression. He saw his son off to war and scoffed along with the rest of the country at those early television shows. At his mother's urging he moved to Altoona, Pennsylvania where he bought a home, raised a family, and became a part of the life of that community. Railroads were at the peak of their prosperity when he began to work for the Pennsylvania Railroad and he was still there when the glory of the railroads began to wane. His story is one of an ordinary man witnessing extraordinary times as the world underwent the most dramatic social, political, and technological changes in history. This is his story. It is a tale of love and laughter.
One of those drunken dirty derelicts you saw sleeping under a bridge could have been my brother. Before you turn away and pretend he is invisible take a second if you will to look at him through my eyes. He was a golden child full of energy, hope, enthusiasm for life, filled with sunshine and laughter. My brother was ten years older than I and from the very first he was my champion and hero. I loved him unconditionally. He and his entire generation were called upon to set aside their hopes and dreams to fight a war in far off lands with the express purpose of battling injustice and totalitarianism and to preserve the American Dream. It is because of the sacrifices of those selfless men and women we are still living in democracy with all that entails. When he returned from the war the laughter and the sunshine were gone. Back then they called it Combat Fatigue and today it is referred to as PTSD. It doesnt matter what you call it the results are the same. This is his story.
Len spent his formative years playing on the streets of Baltimore. Those streets were seldom paved and they teemed with horses, carriages, and manure. Sanitation was poor and medicine crude by today's standards. Orphans abounded and there were no laws to protect the innocent. Life was rarely just or fair but to a child it was almost always fun. He watched the ships coming and going in the harb∨ clipper ships, steam ships, later submarines and ocean-going liners. He saw Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show and he survived the Spanish Influenza. He partied through the Roaring Twenties, lost all his money in the crash of '29 and eked out a living during the Depression. He saw his son off to war and scoffed along with the rest of the country at those early television shows. At his mother's urging he moved to Altoona, Pennsylvania where he bought a home, raised a family, and became a part of the life of that community. Railroads were at the peak of their prosperity when he began to work for the Pennsylvania Railroad and he was still there when the glory of the railroads began to wane. His story is one of an ordinary man witnessing extraordinary times as the world underwent the most dramatic social, political, and technological changes in history. This is his story. It is a tale of love and laughter.
One of those drunken dirty derelicts you saw sleeping under a bridge could have been my brother. Before you turn away and pretend he is invisible take a second if you will to look at him through my eyes. He was a golden child full of energy, hope, enthusiasm for life, filled with sunshine and laughter. My brother was ten years older than I and from the very first he was my champion and hero. I loved him unconditionally. He and his entire generation were called upon to set aside their hopes and dreams to fight a war in far off lands with the express purpose of battling injustice and totalitarianism and to preserve the American Dream. It is because of the sacrifices of those selfless men and women we are still living in democracy with all that entails. When he returned from the war the laughter and the sunshine were gone. Back then they called it Combat Fatigue and today it is referred to as PTSD. It doesnt matter what you call it the results are the same. This is his story.
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