By the end, it was apparent it was no skit, although it was darkly humorous.
When I got home and opened the newspaper, I saw it was no joke.
A Risk Managing Citizen-Retired Soldier, He Who Hunted Heads, A hoopy e-learning frood who is also a generative artist/teacher, A PMP'n Migratory Executive, A Running Dog Capitalist/Economist, A CSM who has had a Kipling Experience and an Author/Prop - Yummy as Krispy Kreme and as strong as Dunkin' Donuts Coffee!
He stood taller than I do now (this is 1942, I think) and had been a notable figure on the University of Iowa basketball team in the 1930s.
Home on leave with my Mom and one of my aunts (Winter 1943?).
With such a Navy-centric family history, how did I ever end up in the Army? Part of it may have been that I never got to meet Gramps, as he died before I was born. Have to wonder if he had lived, if I wouldn't have gone down to the sea instead.