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I don't know anything about my Uncle Bob. I think I heard that in the 60's he was the one that had to dress neatly in his uniform and knock on doors and tell the mothers that their sons were dead, but I'm not sure.

Nine times out of ten, when me and my Dad went to breakfast, he was there at the same time, so we would sit together.

That's all I really know. I have to write something into a card.

I had a Jim Beam on the rocks last weekend and made a toast. It was the least or the most I could do, I don't know.

It is stupid to say anything about it just like it is stupid to say nothing about it.