Joe was a quiet guy with his head in the stars. My memory is not sharp about who he was. In fact, I hadn’t remembered that he was younger than me (by two years).
The memory that sticks with me about Joe is that when he had his tonsils removed, he wasn’t supposed to eat nuts or apples, but he did. Why that was important enough to be stored in my memory banks, I’ll never know.
At age 19, Joe joined the army (I was 21) because he wanted to fight the Nazis. Joe was stationed in North Camp Polk in Louisiana. He came home on leave in good spirits but not long after he returned to base, two army officers showed up at our house to inform my parents that Joe had died. My mother was devastated. The story we were given is that of a tragic accident. When returning from a training exercise, Joe accidently shot himself as he exited the back of the truck. There was one bullet left in the gun. Joe should have unloaded the gun in the field. My parents didn’t believe this account. The family was never quite sure what really happened.
Joe’s body was brought home and taken to the temple for burial. I remember Esther’s husband’s sisters putting their arms around me as solace during the service.
There is some controversy about whether Joe had a middle name. None of us kids had a middle name but on Joe’s grave it says Joseph P. Paster. My sister Esther left some handwritten notes and referred to Joe as Joseph Bernard. On Joe’s army registration - it is stated he has no middle name. I am mystified.
