I left Pittsburgh, PA to deliver a car to Florida's East coast on February 3, 1995. As part of the delivery, I had planned to visit my mother there before returning North. But, early morning delays slowed me down and I couldn't leave Pittsburgh until after 1PM in the afternoon. What ended as being the Winter's worst storm was approaching Pittsburgh from the Southwest that afternoon. I ended up driving through PA, West VA and VA during the prelude of a storm that buried the Northeast. It was quite a challenge. That area got snow in the afternoon and evening and well into the next day. Fortunately, I made it to the Carolinas as though a sling shot had catapulted me on my way with the storm only nipping at my heels.

Once in Florida, I completed the car delivery and exchange late in the afternoon. I then met my mother at her house in Boynton Beach and resting was the next order of business. We agreed that I would rest and we would meet again later that evening for dinner. I woke not long after she left and finding myself alone in her house, I was suddenly overcome by a pretty strange feeling. On seeing the family photo collage that my sister had done for my parents' fortieth wedding anniversary, a sense of overwhelming melancholy hit me pretty hard. You see my dad had died in Florida two years earlier. Its hard to explain, but in fairly short order, I was showered and changed and had left the house to join my mother and her friends in the restaurant.

Although it was only a short time, being with my mother was really wonderful. Mom had quite a few friends there and it was a pleasure spending time with them. Two days later, before I left, mom gave me the Ike jacket saying that my father wanted me to have it. He remembered my showing the most interest in his military experience. I probably drove him crazy with all the questions I used to ask.

On the return trip, with the Ike jacket in my trunk, a strange thing happened to me in South Carolina. When driving long distances, my normal plan is to drive to at least 11PM and then begin looking for a place to stay for the night. This time, however, on approaching St. George, NC well before 9PM, I had an uncontrollable urge to pull off there and stay the night then. Listening to tapes to pass the time, I couldn't hear the weather report, but the luxury car I was driving did display the outside temperature and it had been hovering around 34 degrees for the previous hour or so. Since the air was damp, I put two and two together and felt compelled to pull off.

As it turned out, the temperature dropped below freezing not long after I stopped. Coupled with the steady drizzle that soon started, the interstate became a real disaster. The conditions were so bad that the morning commute continued to be a problem as well. That morning, two hours north, there were quite a few cars off the road during rush hour. Not stopping would've put me in the thick of it when tired and likely to have problems. Somebody was watching out for me. Or at least keeping me aware enough to have the sense to pull off the road early.

Once I got back to Pittsburgh, I showed the Ike jacket to my two sons. They were 6 and 9 at the time and they had many more questions than there were answers. It was their questions driving me crazy that started my research on this book.

One of the first people outside our family that I ever showed the Ike jacket to was Bob Marsh , a salesperson in the Don Allen Chevrolet new car showroom in Pittsburgh. Since I knew Bob was a well decorated Army veteran, I thought he might have some insight as to my dad's unit, etc. Well, Bob's wide-eyed response to the jacket was quite a surprise. At that point, I realized that there was more here than I'd originally thought. Bob had served in Germany shortly after the war. It took him a while to remember but he mentioned others he knew that had served in the Third Division during WWII. He showed enormous respect for what they had apparently been through. Knowing that this was more of a project than anticipated got me really excited. With this new respect for my father's achievements came a serious interest in researching it in more detail. I knew I had my work cut out for me.

Anyway, this WWII stuff all makes sense now, but dad's stories used to seem disconnected. He wasn't at Normandy, wasn't a pilot, wasn't on a P.T. boat, wasn't a Marine and wasn't a Navy frogman; the most popular stories of the time. And like any real hero, he never boasted about his wartime experiences. I usually had to literally drag things out of him whenever I could. I absolutely adored my dad and hearing about his WWII experiences fueled my adoration. It was really just hearing him the way he would tell the stories that was enjoyable. He didn't relate them to the rest of the war or try to put them in perspective of the 'big picture' or anything. He simply said that he felt really lucky to have survived the war at all.

The reason for my not studying U.S. military history earlier or at least better understanding WWII and The Third Division, etc. until now is simple. It seemed that if there were any questions, he would always be there to answer. Well, even though he's not physically here to answer my questions now, I believe he's still with me each day. My sense of his support or what one might call spiritual presence is stronger than ever.