I attended Wahlquist Junior High when I was thirteen, in 1943. It was a new school right across from the Depot on Second Street. We would see the Italian POWs before and after school, and if we went outside we would see them during breaks. . . .They would be outside working in the gardens or exercising. They would call to us with the few words of English they had learned, and they would sing to us across the fence. They made us little trinkets - bracelets and things - from empty soda pop cans. They prized our friendship, and we certainly prized theirs.
Click tabs to swap between content that is broken into logical sections.