World War II was upon us.

Survival on both sides was paramount, sometimes disregarding simple humaneness. We were strongly influenced by how the civilians faced the many shortages and upheavals of their former lives. To the contrary, ensuring a fountain of plenty for the soldiers' existence was the military PX minishopping center. I and others must confess to abusing the privileges afforded by the generous handout it made available. Cigarettes, chocolate, chewing gum, coffee, sugar, and other basic elements (no alcohol) provided cash for us. None of these basic necessities were available to civilians. As a result, intensive small-scale black marketeering was inevitable. Survival demanded it.

For our customers, it made life tolerable. For us it gave access to much of life's guilty pleasures—what we missed most: good food, some fun, liquor, and female companionship. Yes, they were the basic human drives, but understandably and undeniably still human; not the time for self-critiquing, or so we thought.

Some of my adventures finally led me to my future Sicilian wife, who taught me the true meaning of steadfast affection. Her laborious travels following my movements through war from Italy convinced me and finally led to her joining me in New York.

Visions of home were never far. There is no place like home—never had truer meaning.