The plane touched down in DC after a seemingly short flight from Albany.  Sunday afternoon had arrived and we had been married for a whole day.  The days were little more than a blur since I’d left Ft. Lee on Friday night. The hustle and lack of sleep had taken its toll and I was beginning to feel a bit feverish.  I decided to ignore it and chalked it up to the post-wedding jitters. The only way to get to Petersburg on a Sunday evening from the Capitol, was to take a Greyhound, so we made our way to the downtown bus station in a taxi. The combination of the ratty terminal and the smell of diesel fumes was not making me feel any better.  We arrived in Petersburg and then another...

You are America and I am your soldier. You called me and I answered “I do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God.” You called me to go, and I answered. You called me to Lexington, Concord, Bennington and Saratoga. And I answered. You called me to Tippecanoe And I answered. You called me to the fields of Gettysburg And I answered. You...

The heat from the Texas sun on the tarmac penetrated our combat boots as we left the bus for the waiting aircraft. As we approached the plane, we saw the airline’s name displayed on the fuselage. Modern Air was a military contractor and we decided that name didn’t instill a lot of confidence. As we began to gain altitude, I looked out from my window seat at the perfect grids of farmland that formed the landscape, glad to be leaving the Training Command station and heading back east. We soon discovered that our ride lacked the usual commercial amenities with only two stewardesses for about 180 GIs and the pilots flying straight through plenty of turbulence, making walking around...

During Christmas break, things began to move rather quickly. Classes for both of us became secondary as our days were filled with spending time together. I was working full time and Olga had begun working for Cluett-Peabody, a clothing manufacturer within walking distance of where she was living. The Draft was clipping at my heels as I was back to working full-time, abandoning classes altogether.  It was time to visit the local Air Force recruiter who would seal my fate for the next four years.  Sergeant Wheeler was finishing out his 20 years, hoping to retire soon.  His only purpose in those days was to see how many young men he could convince to enlist.  He gave me his pitch, showing...

That sign hangs in our center-hall stairway, surrounded by years of family portraits, illustrating how our little family has grown. Our small series of stories begins in the mid-term of my first year in college. I firmly decided that I hated accounting, so I dropped out and went to work full-time as an automobile mechanic. The war in Vietnam was escalating and my draft status would soon become 1A, if I couldn’t maintain my student deferment. I signed up for a few night courses and planned to change my major to Automotive Technology in the fall, when my new draft status would take affect. There was no way to imagine how my life would change in the following year. September arrived...

Most of life is pretty mundane. Sometimes I find myself scouring my memory, searching for a story of some significant event. I dismiss some memories as being pretty ordinary. Many are not very interesting or comical, at least to the outsider. As the saying goes, sometimes you have to be there to appreciate it. I admire those who write fiction. I have a number of favorites but Louis L’Amore had a talent for spinning a good story. You can easily tell the good guys from the villains. And, his stories draw you into the characters’ lives, making you feel like you’re right there. Fiction is supposed to fire the imagination and stimulate your senses. That’s easy to see...

Wolf Road in Albany has to be the busiest roadway in the entire Capital District. Stopping in the traffic and getting out of your car in that road is almost as dangerous as navigating the bread aisle at the Latham Hannaford the night before another Upstate New York snow storm. Yet, that’s what happened to us. We were threading our way through the traffic on our way to the Mall. Waiting for the light to change, sitting three lanes out in the middle of the road and preparing to turn left onto Sand Creek Road, was when I saw her in my rear-view mirror. The woman in the car behind us had exited her car, right on the double lines, and was walking toward us. I consider myself a fair...

My father-in-law immigrated from Ukraine in 1948. He quickly learned enough English to get a job. He would retain the heavy accent for the rest of his life. He and his young wife would soon settle in Amsterdam, buy a house and raise a family. All with no government assistance whatsoever. For the generation of immigrants that came to America, fleeing the aftereffects of war-torn Eastern Europe and the oppressive Stalin regime, hard work was not a stumbling block but rather a friend to be embraced. The man had an enviable way about him when it came to stress. I believe the reason behind that was the attitude that you made your own success. Rather than worry about being unemployed, he would...