I have my own memories of Fort Bragg. Spent 8 of the toughest weeks of my life there in the winter of 1969. But I learned more about myself and the world around me in a semester at Bragg than I did in four years of college. My little band of brothers, shivering under thin blankets in World War II barracks, would have laughed at the name change to “Fort Liberty.” The company was probably 80 percent dispirited draftees.
Following the trail of one very tough old man through New Mexico’s back country
Tracking Nana 