When my father returned to Boston Harbor, just a few days after the Japanese had surrendered, ending WWII, he said that the tugs and fire boats were shooting water into the air and blowing their horns...welcoming the American soldiers home from Europe. There were people cheering on the docks. He had served as a combat engineer in France, Belgium and Germany. He helped build a bridge across the Rhine River while being shelled. He and his buddies had defeated the Germans, but were on their way to the Pacific, to be a part of the invasion of Japan. Fortunately the Japanese had surrendered and the deadly invasion was not necessary. So instead of my dad's troopship continuing toward the Panama Canal and the uncertain future awaiting them in the Pacific, the destination of the soldiers on my father's troopship was changed to Boston Harbor. He finally got off the boat and after waiting for hours in line at a payphone, he called my mother. She was crying, he was crying...both were so glad he was back from the war. He said then the lights went out. She told him his only brother, my uncle, John Benbow, from Greensboro, a P-51 Mustang pilot, was dead, his Mustang having been shot down July 16, 1945. My father said that he and the returning GI's had been made to feel like heroes but that he realized that they were not heroes. My father said he realized that all the heroes were dead.