Dick Malone was the Supervisor of the Farm Security Administration in our little town of Faulkton, South Dakota. Local farmers and ranchers could apply to him for federal loans, which helped them increase production for the war effort. The farmers and ranchers were exempt from the draft and, because of his work, so was Daddy.

In 1943 it became necessary to draft fathers, but still Daddy was exempt. He had nothing but disdain for those who found ways to avoid serving their country and drifters who pretended to be farm workers to claim an exemption to which they had no right. He grew in admiration for those farm boys who went when they could have stayed at home.

At last, although he was 36 years old, he felt he had to go. He couldn't bring himself to use his family, his work, or his status as an only son as excuses. Mom understood and we have never heard a reproachful word from her about this decision or anything else to do with Daddy.

Kathy was five, I was four, and Maggie was two when he left for Basic Training in March, 1944.

We have 186 letters written from Basic Training to March 24, 1945, when he was killed at the Rhine crossing. We treasure these letters beyond words. As he was one of a million replacements, we had almost given up hope of finding one veteran who remembered him. Then in April, 1999, with the help of the American WWII Orphans Network, Maggie found the very man who was with Daddy when he died. In a very kind letter he told us about it, answering our lifelong need to know. Then in September of that year, we attended a reunion of his division and met a fine old fellow who had been about nineteen in the war and, with tears in his eyes, fondly recalled our dad as "Papa": an older man who had kept the young ones out of trouble.

From Daddy's letters, as well as Mom's recent willingness to talk, we have learned that Daddy was kind, approachable, fun-loving, romantic, and a terrific dancer. When we were very small, he loved to sing to us in his warm, Crosby-like baritone. Kathy was his darling, I was his sweetheart, and Maggie was his honey.

Mother never remarried. We all missed our dad every day of our lives, yet never discussed how we were feeling, even among ourselves. In spite of that empty daddy-shaped place in the heart, never to be filled no matter what else happens, we try to see ourselves not as victims but as survivors. We talk about him often and this helps us to feel his dear presence in our lives. We are proud to be Dick Malone's daughters.