Whats New? My father, John Frindik, was a tank driver from Casablanca to actually going to Berlin in the 2nd Armored Infantry. My uncle, Joseph Frindik, was captured in the first days of the Ardennes Offensive. A poignant note--my father's unit having driven 24 hours non-stop from Antwerp was about thirty miles away, they figured, when his younger brother was captured. My uncle was transported in a cattle car in space so cramped they took turns sitting and standing. Dysentery was rampant. He saw the Jewish people reaching out of other cars, at times. At the POW camp, he and others shared Red Cross packages with Russian prisoners, against rules and with the possibility of lethal reprisal by the Germans as the Germans were trying to starve the Russian POW's. These men and all the others will be remembered on par, if not exceeding that par, with the Heroic Age Greeks of the Trojan War. My generation will be the first of many generations to come who will remember a day when real heroes existed, scared young men who defeated their fear, then defeated the cause of their fear. Men who like my Dad shot down a Stuka in Sicily with a single .50 cal taken from its mount on his Sherman. Men like my uncle who can tell the revisionists that he saw civilians in cattle cars. My father had seven men giving him his final salute and a bugler playing Taps, with speeches by his post Commander and Chaplain. His medals and awards from the military, including Belgium, and 33 years with the postal service were displayed next to his casket. He was buried at the Old Hungarian Presbyterian Church Hungarian Settlement(Arpadhon), Louisiana with his 30 year service pin from the United States Postal Service on one lapel, and a Second Armored division patch pin on his other lapel. I never quite understood all the tales my father told me, his tears describing the Normandy Landing, et al, until I saw Saving Private Ryan. I bought the tape and first saw the movie at home. Then I understood, too well. As a body flew through the air in two pieces on the beach, a cry erupted from the depth of my soul and I broke down crying. During the rest of the movie I saw my father's eyes. It felt as though he and I were once again together watching TV and talking about his experiences in the war. He was in the room with me that night. The last time I was with my father I was dressed in black and had my hand over my heart as Taps was played and they lowered his bier into his grave. Many of the vets, young and old, even though they were in civilian clothing saluted as we paid honors to one other portion of the greatest generation that ever existed. When I am older I will tell youngsters to also not forget the "ruptured duck". We owe everything we have today to all those men, and women. We are the dreams those young men had of what they would do when they got home and could carry on with their lives. Too many would never have the chance to realize their dreams. Now that I am older, I realize my generation needs to comport itself with the honor due those young men and women, in every thought, word, and deed. Just saying "thank you", especially to the ones yet alive today does not seem to be enough, though I have done also with a handshake. We cannot ever fill the shoes left us. We can truly try. Perhaps we will come close to earning the honor of being the children of heroes. Kevin Frindik P.O. Box 711 Robert, LA 70455 revnum9@bellsouth.net Return