One Soldier

Today I’m thinking more than usual about my grandpa, Charles St. Charles (no joke).

Born Casimiro Cianciolo, his family came to America from Termini Imerese, near Palermo in Sicily. He married Carmela Rini, had two kids, supported an extended family as a matter of course, and earned a Purple Heart fighting for America on foreign soil during WWII. He very rarely spoke of his time in the service, so most of his stories went with him when he died. I do know he was shot while arresting his ordered retreat to return for an injured soldier, which is how he got his commendation.

Charles St. Charles
Christmas, 2003

He did not go to college. He worked. He paid for my college. He gave me a house. He spent most of his career at the Cincinnati Enquirer, and was so proud and pleased that were in the same field. It’s a comfort to me that I think he knew before he died that he didn’t need to worry about me anymore.

I try to work hard. And I try not to complain. Several important people taught me the value of that, but he taught it to me first.


One response to this post.

  1. This made me cry, in that very good way. Thank you for sharing.


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