My grandfather came from Hungary and was the only one in his family who settled down in the United States. The rest of his family remained in Europe. When World War I broke out, he seemed to have become another man, downhearted. Such obvious change was not born out of concern for his welfare, but out of fear: if his only son, my uncle, had to go to war, it would be cousin fighting against cousin.
One day in 1918, my Uncle Milton received his draft notice. My grandparents were very upset. But my mother, at the age of 10, felt on top of the world about her soldier brother going off to war. Realizing how he was regarded by his little sister and all of her friends, my uncle bought them all service pins, which meant that they had a loved one in the service. All the little girls were delighted.
The moment came when my uncle and the other soldiers, without any training but all in uniforms, boarded the train. The band played and the crowd cheered. Although no one noticed. I'm sure my grandmother had a tear in her eye for the only son. The train slowly pulled out, but not about a thousand yards when it suddenly paused. Everyone stared in wonder as the train slowly returned to the station. There was a dead silence before the doors opened and the men started to step out. Someone shouted, "The war is over!" For a moment, nobody moved, but then the people heard someone bark orders at the soldiers. The men lined up in two lines, walked down the steps, and with the band playing, marched down the street, as returning heroes, to be welcomed home. My mother said it was a great day, but she was just a little disappointed that it didn't last a tiny bit longer.
