Memorial Day and Dad's passing

It seems so fitting that my father -- a World War II veteran who helped liberate a Nazi concentration camp -- would pass away so close to Memorial Day.

Pvt. Milton Schneider fought in the foxholes of Europe and received a Purple Heart for a head wound. He raised me with the qualities that gave the "Greatest Generation" its defining character: loyalty and generosity, modesty and good-heartedness, selfless dedication and smart toughness.

Though his military service ended with the war 65 years ago, the funeral director presented my family with a beautifully folded U.S. flag. The federal government provides these flags at no charge upon the death of veterans who served honorably in the armed forces.

He said, "I present this flag on behalf of the president and a grateful nation."

Dad died last Wednesday at the age of 86.

When I stood to speak at the funeral, it was hard to keep a grip on my emotions. But I wanted people to know my dad lived the kind of life we fight these wars to preserve. He was born with just about nothing, as his mother died giving birth to him, and his father, already raising three kids, placed him in the care of a Jewish children's home. Dad spent 17 years in the Pride of Judea Children's Home in Brooklyn. That's where he met my mother.

Then came the war. I wrote a story about his war experiences about two years ago for this newspaper. In it, he recalled that as the Allies were liberating the concentration camp called Dachau, some 13 miles north of Munich, his outfit in the 47th Infantry Regiment arrived on the scene. The camp had largely been emptied. The Allied soldiers, turning the tables on the Nazis, imprisoned the German soldiers in the camp that had held Jews and other political prisoners.

Dad recalled that he always made sure his carbine was loaded with a full magazine in case they tried to break out.

"If they wanted to get tough, we were ready to get tougher," he told me.

After the war, he created for himself, and later for his family, what could be called the fulfillment of the American Dream. Hard work, a wife, a home on Long Island, two children. He was able to see Elvis Presley perform in Las Vegas, swim in the waters off Hawaii, and create a retirement in South Florida that mirrored his favorite vacations in the Catskills.

I recently found myself looking at our family photo albums, and I kept noticing his big warm smile in all the pictures, especially those with my mom. He smiled like a guy who had gotten the greatest break in the world and never got over it.

I admire his courage, right up to his last days. He was never one to complain, despite the cancer, diabetes and inability to walk. I complain like a third-grader when I have a bad headache. He kept his military discharge papers neatly folded in his wallet. In mine, I keep a piece of my completed student loan book.