The poem, "Invitation To Die," promised that in the next rhyme, you would meet a personal friend of mine. "DEATH!" he is a kind and gentle soul and comes as a merciful release from our worldly trials and pains. He does not enjoy his work, but as they say - "SOMEONE HAS TO DO IT," so fear him not when you first meet, for he can be so Bittersweet!

Time to mention my best friend in the Military, Pete Legakis, he left with my friend some years ago, but his lovely wife Mary is on the mailing list. He was in Tank #4 in the Rhine crossing. On our last day of combat, his Tank Commander, Sgt. Harry Morgan (Denver, CO) was killed. Harry was Friend Death's last pickup in our Company. Had he lived one more day, he would have seen the son he never met. Harry was an old man of 32. He was the "Father of the Second Platoon." God, how we loved that man. I made a point of visiting his wife and son and his grave in Denver.

From: A "SHROPSHIRE LAD"
And therefore though the best be bad,
Stand and do your best my lad.
Stand and fight and see your slain,
And take your bullet in the brain.

For the Sob sisters of Iraq, Harry took 3 through his steel helmet. The 2 Germans that killed him, ran out of ammo and came forward to surrender. John Harrison, hollered, "Get away from those SOB's," He jumped on the 50 cal. and emptied a full belt of 75 rounds into them, That does not bother me in the least. I like to think that those piles of chopped meat made a fine honor guard for Harry as he departed with "Friend Death."

My friend Pete hardly said a word for a few days, for he loved Harry. It hit him hard, but like all, he handled it. I picture Pete and Harry having a fine old time up there, as the rest of us wait for "My Friend" "GOD BE WITH THEM," WE SHALL MEET THEM IN THE MORNING!