Growing up in the outskirts of Los Angeles, we had a very kind, gentle neighbor who everyone loved. He was truly what the term "The Greatest generation" was all about. As a young sailor, he swam away from his heavily damaged then sunken ship in Pearl Harbor that fateful morning. Enduring a severe bullet wound to one of his legs, he made multiple return trips floating on some lumber to help rescue those who were worse off. As he lay in the oily black muck and about to die, he too was rescued, and taken to a makeshift medical facility to see what could be done. While recovering there, he met a beautiful young nurse, who took an interest in him especially. As he healed, their relationship grew, and eventually they married before he was sent off to some steamy jungle near the Marshall islands to finish what the other side started. After the war they settled in Southern California and raised some children. When my daughter was born, there was no question as to who she would be named after, and I am grateful that the two ladies, young and old, were able to spend time together before the beloved nurse passed on. Her husband, our hero, passed away last year at the age of 97. May our Lord bless his soul, and all of the other warriors and civilians who sacrificed so much for every one of us.