In the town that I lived in in southern Oregon there was a young boy with a handicap who worked delivering Western Union telegrams. When the war started he was about 13. The military notified of death, wounds or captured by telegram. He delivered all of them uncomplaining just doing his job. After the war he trained as a mechanic. When the Korean War broke out, he quit his job, went to Western Union, got them to fire the delivery boy and started delivering the telegrams again. No one thought anything of it, he was just the Western Union boy.

The day after the truce in Korea was signed, he went into the backyard and hanged himself.

Wars have many ramifications. None positive except for the merchants of death and career military.

There was, also, in town a small repair shop that I would ride three blocks out of my way to keep from looking in and seeing the owner sitting at his desk with the thousand yard stare. He received a full disability pension throughout the WWII until just at the end. The payments resumed in a while. He was a German but no one distrusted him, he was just a character. When he died and his affairs were settled they discovered that he was Jewish.

Thanks for those memories, Regulararmy.

When I was growing up, it seemed like every man in the neighborhood was a WWII combat vet, including my Dad. None of them were much inclined to talk about what they had done and seen, unless fueled by a sufficient amount of alcohol. They all came out scarred in some way from that war; same as every war. If nothing else, it killed their youth — they went in 18 and came back 40. The same as every war.