Yes, it's Baltimore National Cemetery, I was very impressed just riding by, I will be going back by in a couple days prolly Friday, or Saturday. I'd be happy to pay my respects for you. Message me with details.
Thank you so much-- that is so kind of you!
I will PM you with details. My Dad played a huge role in getting me into cycling... though I crashed the first ride I took without training wheels! He picked out the Raleigh 3 speed (531 Reynolds, modded with drops & 3 external gears + 3 internal) that my parents bought me when I was 12, and the Raleigh Competition that replaced it. (I previously posted that the Competition was a 1972, but I now realize it was a 1970.)
He and my Mom rode with me and my best friend across the state of Wisconsin in about 1971, though their Peugeots were stolen from the baggage car-- Mom's was a UO8, but I think Dad's was a PX10. Ouch! They replaced them with Le Jeunes, which they rode from Jacksonville to St. Petersburg Florida in 1972, again with me and my friend.
The last three or four years of dad's life were tough, he would not move to California with us, would not accept any help from anyone, his dementia got very bad, and he had serious medical and money trouble. We couldn't get him set up with VA benefits because records of his service were lost in a fire, but Baltimore County came through for us big time-- we got him placed in a wonderful group home, and he never had to stay in a nursing facility. God bless Adult Protective Services in Baltimore County!
At the group home, Dad ate dinner with the other residents in a real dining room, and lived his last two years with dignity, respect, and proper medical care-- his dementia actually improved, and during the last two years of his life, I visited every couple of months. His memory was bad, and sometimes it was tough to talk to him, but on other days, he was better. He talked honestly, but without regret, about many of the mistakes he'd made in his life, and I told him, "Yes, all true-- but you made sure I learned from every one of them." And he smiled, and said, "Huh. I guess I did, didn't I?"
Shortly before he died, I finally had the bright idea of calling the Coast Guard Academy in New London, CT, where Dad had served-- during World War II, as it turned out. (He'd always said he wasn't active duty, but he was wrong-- he just didn't see any action.) They didn't have his records, either-- but eventually, they were able to figure out where the copies were stored, and he was buried with honors. It was an incredibly moving ceremony with the whole family present.
For a long time, I did not like Baltimore, and I thought Dad's friends were aloof and very critical of me, didn't understand that I could not legally compel Dad to take of himself. But once we got to know each other, and they saw how things worked out, they became like family, and Baltimore will always have a very special place in my heart. I will never forget the kindness of his friends, or of the folks in Adult Protective Services and at the VA.
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