When the senior year for the Class of ’43 neared graduation, our country was up to its ears in a World War. They went from commencement to commence firing; from graduation to grenades, and the picture was bleak. U. S. troops on Bataan surrendered; the Burma Road was cut by the Japanese; Mandalay fell to the enemy; the U.S. Garrison on Corregidor was taken prisoner.

Back home, tires were rationed; nationwide gasoline rationing was ordered. All U. S. motorists were issued A, B, or C stickers. Those with A stickers were allowed four gallons of gas per week. Pleasure driving was banned.

All Americans were rationed 28 ounces of meat per week. How did they do that? No matter how much money you may have had, you could buy only what the ration stamps allowed for in the way of tires, gasoline, meat, coffee, sugar, flour, fish and other items.

Americans planted “Victory Gardens” in their backyards, window boxes, and between the sidewalk and the street.

The war raged on. Allied forces landed in the Solomons; our airborne troops invaded Sicily; the Fifth Army reached Salerno.

The plan for the extermination of the Jewish people was sweeping Europe. Millions of the Jews were deported to death camps.

So what emotional scars and psychological damage were incurred by the Class of ‘43?  Think of some of the songs they wrote and sang—“Oh, What a Beautiful Morning,” “People Will Say We’re In Love,” “Mairzy Dotes,” and “Surrey with the Fringe on Top.” They stayed strong, and they stayed real.

Over the next two years, some of the Class of ’43 became a Gold Star in the window of an American home, dying in faraway places. And when it was over, over there, these Americans had paid their dues for a free society.