THE HUNT … Posted in: Columns Late in 1968 my war making came to an end; this Marine had come home for good. Hefting my sea bag into the trunk of Dad’s Oldsmobile, I slid in beside him. He looked over at me. “Welcome home, Son.” These were the first civil syllables that had passed between us ...PLEASE LOG IN FOR PREMIUM CONTENT. Our website requires visitors to log in to view the best local news. Not yet a subscriber? Subscribe today!