My late maternal grandfather, David Lewis Stokes. I idolized him as a small boy. Still do. A tall, quiet, southern gentleman of the old school, he was drafted pretty quickly after Pearl Harbor like so many others. He began his military career as an anti-aircraft gunner in a Pennsylvania National Guard unit where many of the men still spoke Pennsylvania-Dutch (a German-English patois). After time guarding Dutch oil fields on Curacao in the Caribbean, he later volunteered to become a paratrooper, jumping out of the old DC-3. He also trained as glider infantry. Miraculously, however, he, his two brothers, and three brothers-in-law all managed to make it home from corners of various theaters of war. Many others did not. At some point in all of this, my grandfather witnessed a friend's death nearby, something that I suspect troubled him for the rest of his life now that I look back on it. I asked about it as a small boy one time after perusing his division's memory