You have a tendency to think of wars as being fought in arenas set aside for fighting. But when you go through these farms and little towns, you real… - Lynn Compton

Paratroopers capture the attention of people due to the fact that we jumped out of planes. But we didn't have it as hard, for instance, as the guys in the 1st or 4th or 29th divisions, who were grinding it out day after day in Europe, many of whom were not pulled back from the line to England after thirty days like we were. Or beyond that, the poor guys who served in the Pacific. I wouldn't have traded with the guys in the Pacific for anything. None of them got the recognition we did.

Ted Sten, the deputy in charge of the Long Beach office and my new supervisor, had a reputation for an acerbic personality and being difficult to work with. I reported for duty expecting the worst. To my surprise, Ted Sten greeted me warmly. "Hmmm. Buck Compton," he said. "You live where?" "North Hollywood." He grinned. "Boy, someone must sure be mad at you." He shook my hand. "Welcome aboard."

As young people, my generation would see a lot of death. I don't think I ever grew accustomed to it. It came in darkness and fervor, by our airplanes, rifles, parachutes, and tanks. But there was something about that first death I experienced the summer of 1939 when I was just eighteen, years before the war, that stayed with me so strongly. Those first few seasons after my father died were dark indeed.