By Dave Hollenbeck
I can recall Rationing, and Japanese-Americans not being able to go west of Highway 89 in Arizona here -- unless they went to the Poston Detention Center
(My father signed for 15 of them, and subleased 20 acres to them to "Truck Farm" on our place that was then between Glendale and Phoenix.)
I can recall stories of our taking an island, or ground months after the actual event.
I can recall that my father had to hire a woman as a ranch hand, because all able-bodied men had volunteered to go to war.
I can recall the names of relatives and neighbors who did not come back. Some were just Lost" no body found, no funeral, no ceremony.
Memorial Day was my brother's birthday. He was killed by a drunk driver on an L A Freeway in 1977.
It means to me: You never appreciate the courage and stamina it takes to go against Deadly Force -- until you have "Been there". This is the day that we memorialize the sacrifice of those who had that courage.
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