Tanks to Andover

To the Editor:

It was before noon in August. We all stood at the edge of the road looking south when we heard the rumble. It was a warm and lovely day in the small valley town yet goosebumps ran up and down my arms as though it were February.
Some knew what was coming. Some were proud and excited. Some were scared and paced anxiously. What would it be? What was coming up the small-town road that drew people from hours away this fine Andover morning?

An honest to God armored column rolled, squeaked, and clanked up the last bit of route 5 into the heart of town. So many good people clapped and were proud to see such a display of might. A display that these days would not last minutes on the battlefield, but to my grandfather and probably yours, these sounds were the sound of near invincibility.

I know my grandfather, more than once I’m sure, walked across Okinawa behind a Sherman tank as he and his fellow soldiers of the 77th INF DIV fought hard, tooth and bone against the Japanese enemy to secure the bloody little island. I can’t imagine what he would have been thinking to see this with his own pale blue eyes. I hope he would see me and my people standing a little taller with the goosebumps on my arms only bested by the lump in my throat. I am proud.

So, thanks to all my people of Andover, old friends, family, and people from away who stood at the edge of the road with me on August 7 and watched as Larry Costa rolled his private collection of fantastic and humbling vehicles of freedom through my home town.

I hope you got your hug sir and thanks again. Also, not to forget one other individual that helped put fire in the bellies of us all to show up, Sid Pew. Thank you sir for reminding us all again where we come from and who we are. Although we all bleed American, we need to remember what that means.

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