That's Grandpa. He died in 2002. Was a great man. He served in World War II. He was celebrating his 19th birthday at Alta ski resort here in Salt Lake City when Pearl Harbor was bombed. The next day enlisted. Served four years in the war. Fought on Utah Beach during the Normandy Invasion, eventually linking up with the Russians.
After returning, he almost began a career in the military. But they wanted him to relocate to Germany right before the Korean War broke out and he didn't want to uproot the family. So instead he went into teaching. He taught high school here in Salt Lake City for a few decades before eventually retiring in the 1980s.
Grandpa was raised by his mother, his grandmother and his aunt. His father skipped town shortly after he found out Grandpa's ma was pregnant. Those women made him who he was. A tough, but loving father figure. He was an avid Notre Dame and Utah football fan and even had a scholarship to play football for Utah State University - but had his career cut short due to knee problems.
The night before he died, I was watching the Utah Jazz, Detroit Pistons game with him. We bantered back and forth about something. I don't exactly remember. But that's what we did. We always argued because Grandpa loved to debate and fight. Not nasty fights, mind you. Just gentle barbing.
I loved going places with Grandpa because former students would always stop him when we were out. They loved him and always had amazing stories to tell.
It's been almost ten years since he died and it's still not easy. I do miss him. I miss him and grandma. They were the pillars of our family and though we've carried on, it hasn't been the same.
Thanks, Gramps!
:patriot: