On December 7, 1941, a 16 year old boy from a nondescript city, on a nondescript
street, in an ordinary family, was putting stamps into albums at the kitchen
table, when the news of the Pearl Harbor attack came over the console radio. This
event shook every American family unit, but especially the adults. A 2 1/2 year
stint in the U.S. Army with harrowing experiences in Normandy, The Battle of the
Bulge and other bleak places above and under the cold European soil was as remote
to this young boy as a visit to the Taj Mahal.
His social life consisted of rides around town in his friend Bob
Bailer's car, an occasional repast at the local chili parlor, and a drive to
Devou Park, where he watched the teens of the time jitterbug to the strains of
the jukebox. But two years later, he would be doing all the above mentioned
wartime tasks and a whole lot more.
This site does not chronicle an epic war adventure featuring a
larger-than-life leader who rose several ranks to
captain or colonel or major.
This was a boy, raised in a religious family whose devout mother saw to it that
he attended Sunday Mass and the sacraments. All at once, he was clad in khaki and
sent here and there, told what to do, served his time and that was it.
No, It is not
a profound look at the lofty pursuits of a decorated war hero, but the necessary obligations of our hero,
Private Art.
Rose Pranger
Covington, KY