As a WW II Vet, I cannot forget December 7, 1941. As
our family’s little battery radio halted Sunday preaching
to track bombs raining on Hawaii, I felt a thirteen year
old boy’s premonition that this danger was not remote.
Five years later, I took up the cause in Navy Blue roaming
what was left of the bombed out Pacific Islands of Tinian,
Guam and Kwajalein. Those Natives’ pain from incendiary
bombing began to drain our happy lakes of innocence.
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