This calls forth Ezra Pound (on an earlier war):

The age demanded an image
Of its accelerated grimace.

I grew up overseas in a neighborhood built up over a WWII battlefield. In the '50s we used to go over and play in a nearby park. We were always told to never bring anything home, and don't pick up the rocks. Leave them on the ground.

One year a couple of kids did play with the rocks. End of story.

At times during construction of the houses, work would have to stop when an explosive was found. Never heard any stories of any workers getting injured or dying due to explosives.

He may be jolly because he's at Fort Belvoir rather than fighting Vichy French troops in North Africa as part of November 1942's "Operation Torch." He might be on his way to North Africa, Sicily, and Italy soon, though.

At first I thought it might be a sort of smile, then a strange kind of grin, or maybe even a grimace. Now I think he might be emitting the same type of sound a dog in the corner makes when it has its eye on you and is working its way up to a growl. Watch out, Jerry or Tojo.

You wanna play Horseshoes or Hand Grenades??? You get a point for being close.

Very powerful picture.

My sincere hope is he made it back safely and used those same hands to cradle his newborns and build a life for his family. My father never spoke of his service years during WWII but he seemed to have a great appreciation for the simple things in life. Maybe when you've been through hell it doesn't take much to feel you're in heaven.

not an 03A3.

Working in the Park Slope Armory, Brooklyn, we found a cut-away 1O5mm artillery shell, an instruction aid. We huddled and decided to call the bomb squad, "when we got back from lunch". We did, the bomb squad dutifully removed it using a man in a Michelin tire suit. Worked four, hours paid eight.

That GI is determined and seriously dedicated, and I hope he came home safely.

I've mentioned before I go to thrift stores, looking for treasures that have fallen through the cracks. I've had some luck, but so far haven't found anything worthy of Antiques Roadshow. A few years ago, I was in a St. Vincent De Paul store when the intercom instructed everyone to leave the store - now. The police were already outside. It appeared they were after someone in the warehouse.

The next time I was in the store I asked a manager what the excitement was all about. He said they had opened a donation box filled with hand grenades. Fortunately, the grenades were duds; but it took a while to figure that out.