Class, Or Lack Thereof The Dwight Vice gravestone in Oquawka, Illinois. I bring this old chestnut out every so often just to remind me that class is classless. Dwight Vice was killed in his home near Oquawka in 2001. It was one of those things that can generate crime: two guys thought Dwight had a lot of money stashed at home because of his pot-selling sideline to supplement his fishing job. Not really one of those big drug deals gone-bad things. Marijuana was, according to the trial, about the only stuff Dwight sold. But these two guys barge into the house and killed Dwight and attempted to kill his 11 year old kid, Darryl, before they took off with what money they could find. His son, now 23, was stabbed in the back and left for dead. He survived and is wheelchair bound and has undergone several surgeries to repair his wounds. He will be paralyzed for life. None of this is pleasant. Reading the facts of the murder and attempted murder are most unpleasant
Karen Booth, Brendan's friend from Birmingham England. Love the lilting poetry of the accent. She was "grossly humiliated" when a local BP would not sell her alcohol because she did not have an American ID. Of course everyone else took her UK ID. 
Bastogne Division soldiers herding parents and friends to busses for the Welcome Home ceremony.
Banner hanging on the Days Inn where we stayed. This was the same motel we usually used when in Clarksville. The banner was free from Build-A-Sign company which has done some 45,000 of them for families. Great company.
Proud and beaming parents of an embarrassed soldier having to pose for another picture 
Local joint with the best biscuits and gravy. We had breakfast here three times, and everyone always ordered the same thing.
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