The Blaisdell Blog

  Thanksgiving has always been my favorite secular holiday.   As a child, I loved the food and family gatherings.   Most of all, I loved the story that my mother would share on Thanksgiving—the story of her father’s family and their journey to America.   They were a family that literally arrived on the wings of a storm. On the morning of August 15, 1635, off the coast of Pemaquid, Maine a ship thrashed at anchor. The 250-ton Angel Gabriel was a big ship with heavily gunned decks and a reputation for successful transport of immigrants and cargo.   It had arrived at one of the most beautiful harbors on the east coast of the New World the day before.   While those with a weather eye may have known that trouble was brewing, none could have guessed that the Angel Gabriel was about to be set upon by a storm that history would call the “Great Colonial Hurricane.” That hurricane was the first great storm recorded by the Europeans who were steadily populating New England and the Mid-A

  There is a photograph on the wall of my sister’s home that is both precious and haunting to me.   It is a restored, blown up and framed photo of my father on his way to the South Pacific during World War II.   It was taken by an Army photographer from a small tender craft as my Dad’s ship, the S.S. Monterey, left harbor.   In a happy accident, the picture was taken with a close up of Pfc. Frank G. Yatckoske front and center.   He is in the midst of a host of soldiers leaning over the rail, all smiling and mugging for the camera.   My father is leaning out from the rest, his arms braced on the rail of the ship, his smile—a straight, wide grin filled with mischief—is set in a young, lean, handsome face.   Every man on that ship seems filled with enthusiasm, bonhomie, even a sense of adventure. Those poor young men didn’t have a clue.               I don’t want to contemplate what happened to most of those men.   I know that “I” Company of the 63 rd Infantry, 6 th Division went