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Early respect

A parade of olive green made an impression

I was maybe four?

Fifty-plus years later, the images remain distinct.

Between my parents on the front seat of their Oldsmobile, I stood mesmerized by the convoy of passing U.S. Army vehicles. There must have been at least 100 of the olive green Jeeps, tankers and all manner of show of force.

“Where are they going?”

“How many are there?”

“Do they have guns?”

I peppered my parents with questions. I don’t recall the answers.

I just remember the seemingly endless parade of green.

My dad once told me I saluted when the last vehicle passed.

I still would.


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