While cleaning out my husband's desk, I found a letter which his uncle wrote shortly after my father-in-law's death (Grover) in 2003.
Dear Harry, Dave, Tom:
It was probably in 1943 that Grover became a distinct figure for me, as opposed to "generic older brother" (of which I had four at the time). I remember looking at a photograph (probably from a letter to Mother) of a strikingly handsome young man in khaki U.S. Army uniform with the three chevrons up, three rockers down and the diamond of a master sergeant. To a fifteen-year-old West Virginia kid, this was truly impressive.
After the war (1946?), Mother wanted to visit Riverside, California relatives (Charlie and Carrie Smith), so Mother, Grover, Lowell and I headed west in the 1942 Chevy. (I wanted to take Father's new Olds--Hydramatic shift!- but was overruled.) At age 18, I had a license but little experience, so after a close call or so Grover took permanent possession of the steering wheel.
