(This article has been modified with the most recent being the addition of some old post cards. The purpose of the article itself and subsequent changes is to give perspective to the history of Verdun, my own personal one and of the French who cherish this spot. The following is my original observation.)

The impetus for our September 2004 trip to France was my yearning to return to the town, Verdun, where I spent almost two and a half formative years in the US Army back in 1959 to 1962. I was 19 when I arrived there just before Thanksgiving in '59 and almost 22 when I finally left in April of '62. I had grown from an awkward, socially unskilled, skinny kid to an awkward, socially unskilled, not quite so skinny young adult during the period. I wanted to go back and see if I could find that kid.

I had cautioned the wives - we were traveling with an old Verdun Army buddy, Bill, and his wife - that the town was small, dingy, and completely unremarkable. Fortunately the town had moved forward during the intervening years and was now a charming, still small town with much to recommend. While the wives watched in amusement Bill and I walked from location to location about town trying to recall places and events. We also drove out of town to tour the infamous World War I battlefield that gave the town is tragic fame, and then on to Etain to visit the other base we spent time at during our tour of duty.

It was a strange experience to walk the streets of my youth. Many places were there and I recalled them better than I thought that I would. The location of some GI bars and at least one street eluded me but I expected that. What I couldn't find was me. Try as I might I just couldn't picture me there as a young GI, lonely and sad. Finally Bill and I left the girls behind and walked a distance to a bridge over the Meuse River so I could get my picture taken at a spot I had been photographed at in the distant past. After trying to figure out just where I had been standing - we had a copy of the photo with us to help - I started to get ready when two older women approached us and started speaking in French. At first Bill and I thought that they were offering to take our picture but it slowly dawned that they were offering other services. We were being propositioned just like in the old days. Suddenly I was found; the Harry of my youth was laughing in my memory.

The wives were amused when we told them of our encounter. Clearly they didn't see us as the wild kids of long ago. I'm glad that they were right.

Were now back home of course. We'll be sorting out memories and photographs, I shot over 400 digital photos during the sojourn, for a long time to come. But for now I know that it was great, everyone seemed to enjoy himself or herself, and I had my glimpse of history, France's and mine.