My father told me this story once, and it's something I just can't get out of my head. When my grandfather was putting himself through law school, he held a number of jobs to try and pay the bills. One of the things he did was be a debt collector -- he'd find people and collect on debts they owed. One day in 1942 or 1943, he went to a guy's house to collect on a $5 debt (which was a fair amount in those days) and the guy pleaded with him, saying he was going to be drafted in a week -- at which point his debt would be put on hold until he returned. He begged my grandfather to forget he saw him, to say that he went to this guy's house but no one was home and to come back next week when he'd already be gone. My grandfather agreed. Flash-forward to late May 1944. My grandfather had been drafted and his company was preparing to invade Normandy -- he was in the group slated to be in the first wave. As many of you know, the survival rate among those who hit the beaches first was very, very low. They had a company review just a few days before the invasion was set, which a higher-ranking officer was conducting, and he ordered my grandfather to stay behind after the review was over. Fearing that he was in trouble, he reported to the officer. "Do you remember me?" the officer asked my grandfather. After my grandfather said he didn't, the officer reminded my grandfather of the $5 debt he "forgave" the man just before he was drafted. Then he told my grandfather, "You look like a motor-pool supervisor... don't you agree?" Then he assigned my grandfather to head up the company's motor pool, which was to transfer vehicles onshore after the beaches were secured. Because of one good turn to some random person whose name has long been forgotten, my grandfather survived D-Day and returned home to his wife after the war. And thirty-some-odd years later, I was born.