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In the early sixties, I can't remember the exact date, my father answered
the telephone. Tears started streaming down his face. I was shocked.
I have never seen my father this emotional.

Turned out that Antanas, an old friend, called him from the Greyhound
Bus Terminal in Boston. He was coming to visit us and would be at our
house within the hour.

You see Antanas was lost at war. No one knew where he disappeared to.
Everyone thought that he died at the hand of the Russians. All my father
remembered was on the day we left Lithuania, Antanas did not want to leave.

He told my Father that as a US citizen, born in Philadelphia, our allies the
Russians would not harm him.  Antanas was an engineer working on a
hydroelectric project at the time. He felt it was his duty to stay and complete
the project. Within a short time after he completed the project Antanas
disappeared from sight.

Antanas was a very independent individual. He insisted coming to our
house on his own. My father told him we would pick him up. No, Antanas
insisted to do this himself. He got directions and made all the MTA
connections and arrived at Central St. Station in about an hour.

What a reunion. My Father and Tony kissed each other and hugged.
I drove home. The two of them were too emotional. I listened to Antanas's
stories about what transpired.

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© copyright Raymond Balta