They were dutiful boys and men, who stood in line for a paycheck, looked eagerly for letters from home, longed for packages of socks and cigarettes, and wore their wills pinned to their jackets.
As I add another piece (the name of the ship they sailed on to America, a draft card, an alternative spelling of their name), I move on to the next search with a little voice prodding me along, asking, What makes up a life?
In the West, everyone is from somewhere else — heading to somewhere else. We are, at the very least, a country on the move. On our way from what was to what is — without looking back.