The U.S. Foreign Service

My grandfather grew up in Athens, Georgia. After high school, he got his law degree in Georgia while simultaneously working full-time in Atlanta (at this point he'd become the bread-winner for his family, as both his parents couldn't work and he was the oldest child). Later he applied to the U.S. State Department with the dream of becoming a Foreign Service Officer. He received his acceptance letter along with a letter ordering him to report to Moscow immediately. Enclosed was a plane ticket. Upon seeing this, grandpa telephoned the State Department in Washington, D.C. and asked if he could stop there for a briefing. He was told no.

He arrived in Russia knowing only high school level French. He was good at picking up languages, so he quickly learned Russian from a French teacher as he was working for the U.S. Embassy. My grandpa was in charge of communications between Roosevelt, Stalin, and Churchill. In 1941, the Germans invaded Russia. As they got closer to Moscow, the Allies evacuated their Embassies, leaving five American men in the U.S. Embassy to be in charge of the war effort. My grandfather was left alone—with Germany within 20 kilometers of the city—while the other four men escorted the evacuees to the train station. They were supposed to be gone only a short while, but they got stuck in a snowstorm and my grandpa was left alone all day and all night, typing communications on his typewriter as the windows of the building were blown out by explosions. His orders were to destroy all important papers and codes if it looked as though they might be compromised, and he spent the night wondering whether it was time to do this or not. Luckily, at daylight the other men returned, and the documents remained.

In February 1945, my grandfather was in charge of typing up the minutes of the Yalta Conference, as well as deciding the logistics of the Conference (procuring all the labor force, typewriters, desks, etc.). There, the three leaders—Stalin, Churchill, and Roosevelt, concentrated on postwar issues. All of this was top secret. Later, he attended the Potsdam Conference—where he met my grandmother, who was there as a State Department secretary.

My middle school History teacher's father. (what a mouthful.)

My middle school History teacher's father fought as a member of the Army in World War II. This teacher was one of those teacher who would often deviate from the lesson plan for the day to tell stories of his adventures (he scuba dives, does underwater photography, rides a motorcycle, is a Boy Scout something-master, was a cop, etcetera.). He would sometimes tell us stories of his father (who had passed away a few years ago) during class.

His father earned two purple hearts, one for getting shot in the head, and one for getting shot in the butt. My teacher then went on to tell us that his father received more money in compensation for the wound to his posterior than to his head. Quite an interesting thought.

He told us that his father had joined the Army because he said he felt a need to do something about what was happening around the world, and that he felt a need to serve his country and give back to it. Seems to me to be quite a common reason for many people to join the military. That, or economics (ie: $$$).