My grandfather, Arthur J. “Whitey” LeBlanc, Jr., was born in Fitchburg on April 1, 1923, and, true to his birth date, was always quick with a joke and a flash of a smile. By all accounts, Whitey had a happy childhood in Fitchburg alongside his brother Richard and sister Irene, and, when it came time to serve his country during World War II, he set off for New Guinea and the Philippines. He crossed the equator on April 8, 1944 on the S.S. Fairisle, devoting three years to the United States Army for which he received numerous accolades. After returning home from the War, Whitey met his beloved wife Ruth, who he went on to spend sixty years with, and had four children: Dawn, Arthur (Sonny), Rene, and Jeff. For over three decades he worked for the City of Fitchburg Department of Public Works retiring as a foreman in 1986. During his career he also held the positions of Acting Superintendent of Streets and Acting Commissioner. To be sure, no one has ever known Fitchburg’s nooks and crannies, and the history of those nooks and crannies, better than my Gramps. During the 36 years I had the privilege of knowing him, my grandfather brought many things to my life; most of all he instilled in me a love and respect of family. There is so much that I remember fondly: picking pumpkins, riding in his truck, making fried dough in the backyard, watching him meticulously clean the pool that me and my cousins frolicked in every summer of our childhood. Whitey was a man who knew how to get things done. Whether the task was growing a tomato or fixing a lawnmower, my Gramps could likely tackle the project with a roll of duct tape and some scraps from the garage. He also loved a good meal. He could create very interesting lawn ornaments. He knew everything that was happening in sports, whether it was taking place at Fitchburg High or in the NFL. And he was also someone you wanted to play with, not against, at a game of cards. But anyone at the Fitchburg Senior Center could tell you that.  When it became clear that he was unwell, and then when the diagnosis came back as an extremely rare form of cancer, Gramps toiled on. He was not the kind of man who ever wanted to let anyone down; he’d always been there for all of us, whether we needed help moving or to borrow a tool or advice on the fine art of cooking on a grill. But cancer is a devilish, evil thing. After eighty-five years on earth, his kids, grandkids, and great-grandkids were forced to say goodbye on July 10, 2008. My grandfather would not have wanted me to be sitting here typing about him. In our final telephone conversation he ended with, “don’t you worry about me, you just go out and have fun.” My Gramps, Whitey, was a shining example of the Greatest Generation, a magnificent grandfather, and I miss him dearly. Carrie LeBlanc 4/11/2009 Arthur j leblanc, jr