Lance Cpl. Edwin Marrero, U.S.M.C., your past beckons.
Courtesy of Olga Torres Edwin Marrero
Two battered photo albums testify to the South Bronx life you put on hold when you shipped off to Vietnam as a teenage jarhead in 1969. Carmen vows, on the back of the prints, that she misses and needs you. Martha, primly friendly, sends her love. You look downright suave at a club with another girl, drinks on the table and cigarette in hand. And there are your relatives, getting goofy at home while you were slogging through rice paddies.
Forty years ago, in Vietnam, you gave these albums to Mike Torres, a fellow Marine from Jersey City, when your own duffel bag was too full to make the trip back to the Bronx. Mike came home a few weeks later. But for reasons he never fully explained to his wife, Olga, he was never able to locate you to give them back. Mike died last June.
Courtesy of Olga Torres Mike Torres
Now, Olga wants you to have them.
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