As Alzheimer’s disease gradually erased Morton “Morty” Sher’s memories, the World War II veteran rarely spoke about the experiences that shaped his life.

After Sher’s family discovered a collection of letters he had written home while serving in the Army during World War II, his grandson, debut author and journalist Michael Lorin Hirsch of Allentown, found something Alzheimer’s disease had not taken away: the voice of the man he knew as “Popop.”

In Letters Home from World War II: The Man Inside, Hirsch searched for the grandfather he never fully knew, weaving together wartime correspondence, family history and personal reflection.

Sher was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease in 1990. As family members organized his belongings in 1997, they uncovered letters he had written home during the war. Sher’s father preserved his only son’s correspondence, having the letters typed and collected in a binder.

For Hirsch, the discovery was more than a historical find. It was a chance to reconnect with the grandfather he feared he had lost.

Having watched his Popop’s decline, Hirsch became fascinated by the young soldier whose personality still lived on in the correspondence. Before becoming a soldier, Sher was a teacher. Born in Columbus, Ohio, in 1915 and raised in Allentown, he graduated from Muhlenberg College and Lehigh University and taught English and Latin before entering military service. By 1942, at age 27, he was writing letters home that would become a road map through World War II, documenting military training, combat in Europe, and the uncertainty, humor and humanity of wartime life.

As Alzheimer’s disease slowly faded his grandfather’s memories decades later, Hirsch discovered the letters had preserved “the voice, personality and spirit” of the man he had always known as Popop. He said reading them allowed him to recognize his grandfather again.

“My sobbing startled me,” Hirsch wrote. “I mourned the loss of his love.”

Hirsch structured the book as a conversation, pairing his Popop’s letters with journal entries he wrote 50 years later. He said he was “surprised by how alive” his grandfather sounded in the correspondence and described the 27-year-old Sher as “full of confidence and possibility.”

In a May 5, 1942, letter, Sher told his father he would be “surprised at the respect my platoon has for my physical ability and mental attainments. I thought they’d avoid me because I was a schoolteacher.”

The early letters reveal a confident young teacher eager to contribute to the war effort and show his students how one of their own was serving his country.

“He wasn’t the quiet man I knew later in life,” Hirsch wrote.

The book draws on letters written between May 1942 and August 1945. When Hirsch later asked about the war, Sher replied, “Why do you want to know?” War was a “terrible thing” and “too ugly.” He rarely spoke of it. Yet the letters, Hirsch wrote, revealed “the charming, openhearted side of him that the living man could not and would not share.”

The earliest correspondence is lively, affectionate and often humorous, capturing a young man learning to be both a “son and a soldier.” Hirsch described his grandfather as a “young man who still teased his parents but the war was starting to shape his sentences and the man inside them.”

In a June 21, 1942, letter, Sher included the postscript: “Do not read this letter to anyone except those in our family. Loose lips may cause ...” The letters trace his rise from private to corporal, acting sergeant and sergeant. Although the promotions brought additional privileges, Sher admitted that “my conscience troubles me when I think of my outfit in the cold and rain.”

Hirsch occasionally places his grandfather’s story within a larger historical context. In a 2004 journal entry, he noted that while Sher was receiving packages from home filled with treats such as Planters peanuts, Anne Frank was hiding in an attic and surviving on smuggled food. Both were Jewish, but their wartime experiences could not have been more different.

Sher described letters from home as “better than food.” He treasured updates from his parents in Allentown while serving overseas. Local readers may recognize references to landmarks such as the Roundhouse, the Bus Depot Coffee Shop at Sixth and Walnut streets and Kern’s Restaurant.

By April 1945, Sher’s letters took on a darker tone. The humor and excitement of 1942 had faded. References to prisoners of war, fear, rape, alcohol and the raw mechanics of survival consumed the page. Sher’s writing became more mature and less filtered. By July 10, 1945, he found himself at Hitler’s notorious hideout at Berchtesgaden, then operating as a Red Cross club serving coffee and doughnuts.

Sher wrote that many former Nazi sites had been repurposed. He also reported that Jewish services were being held in Munich’s Beer Hall, where Hitler began his political rise.

“ ... only in America can the Jew rise to a place of importance in public life, elsewhere he merely exists. Therefore every Jew should be true blue Americans. No sacrifice is too great for the privilege of being an American citizen.”

In a postcard dated July 12, 1945, Sher also wrote:

“Dear Folks, This is written by your little Jewish boy as he reclines in Hitler’s dining room with his GI shoes on the table. Love, Morty.”

It was not until after Aug. 17, 1945, that Sher’s letters became celebratory.

“Peace! It’s wonderful!” he wrote.

Family is another central theme of the memoir. Hirsch writes that Sher’s relationship with his father shaped the one he later hoped to have with his own son. Sher married widow Mildred Carr and adopted her children, Anita and Martin, as his own. Though not biologically related, Hirsch always considered Sher his grandfather and said his mother reinforced that connection from childhood.

The values Sher carried through the war continued to shape the rest of his life. He served with the 771st Field Artillery and returned home with four campaign stars in the European Theater, including the Battle of the Bulge. He also returned with “memories that few could understand.” Sher returned to teaching at William Allen High School and remained there until retiring in 1980. Within the next decade, Alzheimer’s disease would make itself known to the family.

Hirsch recalled celebrating Passover in 1990 when his Popop forgot a story he had always shared during the Seder. Sher appeared to “stop paying attention to what others were doing.” Hirsch reflected that he could not pinpoint exactly when Sher stopped being that man or that boy, but after lifting his grandfather following a fall, “the man who once carried me became the weight, and I became the man.” Hirsch also remembered the fear of watching his Popop forget how to walk and the strangeness of seeing him rely on a walker.

Even as the disease took hold, reminders of the life Sher had built remained all around him. At the retirement home, his curio cabinet included pennants from Muhlenberg College and Lehigh University, an Oxford University beer stein and a teaching award from the Allentown School District recognizing 40 years of dedicated service. Hirsch noted that it was “impossible to fit Popop’s life in a box.”

His obituary consisted of a short paragraph:

“Morton Sher died on Oct. 1, 2000, in Bethlehem. He was 85 years old. He was the husband of Mildred (Berman) Sher, who died last year.”

There was far more to Sher’s life than could be captured in that brief summary, and Hirsch sought to restore that fuller story.

Hirsch’s epilogue includes a final letter, one he described as “rediscovered.” It was the last letter Sher ever wrote to him. Living in Florida at the time, Sher sent his grandson advice as Hirsch prepared to graduate from college in 1986.

“Forget grades. Be the best you can be. Continue to study music, art and drama. Say ‘yes, sir’ and ‘thank you.’ It makes you stand out. Study Italian.”

Hirsch tucked the letter away in a drawer and rediscovered it March 14, 1998.

“I am so glad I saved that letter,” he wrote.

Hirsch said he wanted to share his Popop’s voice with former students, World War II enthusiasts, Jewish Americans and military families. One of the most meaningful moments connected to the project came March 23, 2025, when all three sides of the family reunited on what would have been Sher’s 110th birthday.

Letters Home from World War II: The Man Inside weaves together wartime correspondence, family history and personal reflection into a story about memory, identity and family. Even when Alzheimer’s disease attacks memory, Hirsch writes, “the person within remains.”

A regular correspondent for The Press and a former architect and urban planner, Hirsch said his search for the man his grandfather once was became a personal grail.

Who is the man inside?

“It could be either of us,” Hirsch said.

Letters Home from World War II: The Man Inside was published by Bright Communications in Hellertown and is available through Amazon and Barnes & Noble.