Submitted by: Richard A. Eckert Eckert

Category: Stories

Relocating to different cities as a military dependent made me appreciate America and ultimately join The American Legion. After leaving Fort Riley, Kan. in 1939 as a five year old, my dad was assigned to the Pentagon. I had the seed of patriotism already instilled in me. Every evening the 24-note taps was played. Civilians in cars would stop, get out and place their hand over their heart. If you were a soldier walking, you stopped and gave a hand salute and if you were a four or five year-old like me, you dropped your toy and stood at attention. Shortly after arriving in Washington D.C., we were attacked at Pearl Harbor. I would not see my father for the next few years - not until I was nine-years-old, after the war was over. During those years in Washington the landlord in our rental house saw an opportunity to make a big profit so my mom and two brothers were evicted while my Dad was somewhere in the South Pacific. We rented a house in Chevy Chase, Md. Across the street from our house was a woods. Soon about 800 yards away, wire was strung and anti-aircraft guns were installed while search lights crisscrossed the sky at night. A curfew was imposed and curtains had to be placed over windows. Wardens on the street would enforce the curfew. Rationing began: no candy or gas for cars and just about everything else. We supported the fighting troops abroad.

Fast forward : When I was 14-years-old I had traveled by World War II troop ship across the Atlantic Ocean to a defeated Europe beginning in 1949 as a teenager of a military family. The German city where I attended high school had been bombed seven times, the last time in March 1944 by over 700 British bombers at night . Americans bombed by daylight. Bombed-out buildings were still evident and live unexplored bombs were still being defused, sometimes with fatalities. There was no local drug store or TV, only one radio station that played opera music at 4 p.m. On May 1, we did not go to school as communists marched that day. Many buildings were painted with graffiti, “Americans Go Home.”
I played baseball with my fellow classmates - white, black, from many states and Puerto Rico. We were one team in high school.

Having served twice myself I was disappointed in the lack of patriotism in our country, but as an individual there was nothing I could do. By joining the American Legion, I joined millions more who loved this country and would lay down their life for it.

About the author:

Richard A. Eckert