Seventy-five years ago this morning, the nation's only (?) extant aircraft carrier, the USS Ranger (1931-1947), was steaming toward Virginia's Norfolk Naval Station to take on new crew, including a 23 year-old Lieutenant (jg) who had motored down from Connecticut with his father, and the two were enjoying their last morning together in the countryside out of town. When the horrible news came across the car radio, he said "Dad! I've got to get to my ship now!" And thus the Lieutenant...and eventually Captain...and eventually my father - spent every single day of the War in action - in the North Atlantic, then off the African coast, then the South Pacific, on to the Battle of Leyte Gulf, to Okinawa, to southern Japan and after the war's end to the Formosan coast. Dad died seventy years to the day later, on Pearl Harbor Day, 2011. And throughout that long, long, long, hugely varied and productive life, nothing for him surpassed those four years as formative and magnificent and terrible and unforgettable.