War Story by Jerry Durick
War Story I have a black and white winter picture of my father and grandfather standing in front of our house on Willard Street. They are at the mouth of the driveway and have been shoveling, but stop to rest and look at the camera for a moment. I can almost hear my mother saying, let me get a picture. They aren’t smiling. The snow is deep. The snow, even from here, looks heavy. They aren’t dressed for the job. They are indoor people caught unprepared for this, the weight of the weather, the need to smile. It must have been a lull between storms, the need to get to the store, and the lack of anyone more fitted to the task at hand. It is the 1940s. This is men’s essential work summarized in shades of gray, one moment captured in what must have been hours. It is the 1940s. They look tired and older than the...