The Beginning (49) – Childhood Memories of Trumbull – Memories of the Island

I’m doing a somewhat similar project with my mother’s travel diaries.

"Greatest Generation" Life Lessons

These are the memories of my Father and his siblings, recorded over several years. When my Uncle Dan passed away, I realized that I had better get started recording the memories of Dan’s siblings before they were also gone. I was able to have two recording sessions with my Father, Lad in California; two with Uncle Ced in New Hampshire, a three-day cruise in our boat with Aunt Biss; one session with Uncle Dave in Stratford, CT and one hand-written session (I forgot my tape recorder going up to the Island in New Hampshire, where Uncle Dick lived) with Uncle Dick. I transcribed them once exactly as they were spoken, again removing the ums, ahs, half sentences started over, etc. I then produced a final copy that was easier to read, but it still needs work getting the chronological order correct. Memories are not recorded with a date stamp. I…

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The postcard read: “Your boy is alive!”

The power of a postcard.

Pacific Paratrooper

James MacMannis and his wife listen to their ham radio

James ‘Dad Mac’ MacMannis is believed to have sent as many as 33,000 postcards during World War II.

WEST PALM BEACH — Dad Mac sat in his living room and furiously scribbled the names the German propaganda machine rattled off. Names of GIs whose moms and dads and siblings and sweethearts in Florida and Iowa and Oregon. Loved ones who for weeks or months had wondered and worried and wrung their hands. Mac would fill out and address a postcard. It would say: Your boy is alive.

As World War II raged, and before and after D-Day, James L. MacMannis wrote as many as 33,000 postcards to families across America. After a while, people called him Dad.

At first, he said, he sent out just a few cards, and he got few responses.

“I was discouraged,” he told Palm Beach…

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Postcard From London

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Strand on the Green, Chiswick

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Note the postmark 1967

This card was sent to me in Kenya by an English friend whom I met in Colorado when I was en route across the U.S. to take up residence in San Francisco.  Convoluted.  Th[s new friend was most interesting.  She and her family were long settled in San Francisco.  But during the Second World War the family was living in the Philippines  and they were interned under house arrest by the japanese, she being English and her husband German.  They had a young child approximately my age.