Up until 1973, when my grandmother left her home in San Francisco for a nursing care facility because of a fall, she never locked her front door. Her grandchildren could walk right in. We didn’t; we rang her doorbell first. Three of her children served in WWII. One was killed at Pearl Harbor, the man I never knew, the other two, my father and his sister, a nurse anesthetist in Patton’s Third Army.
former patrol officer