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    I have a picture of my Dad kneeling beside a truck tire. He's holding a tire iron. He was also a master sergeant at the time (late 1944 in Belgium). When he showed me the pic he said, "You realize that is a posed picture." "What do you mean?" He laughed. "Master sergeants don't change tires. That's what PFCs are for." OG
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    In Flanders Fields In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields. — Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae