At first, being young, I saw the world in black and white. But the Army and World War I modified that. I saw too many absolute rotters add to the heritage of human dignity by acts of superhuman courage. Later, in Newfoundland, I saw Dr. Grenfeld’s radiant belief create strength in weaklings. I watched my mother—blind, lame, and dying by inches of a painful disease, but keeping her interests and even her laughter—sustained by a faith whose tenets I could not accept. The form a faith took, I now saw, was personal to each one of us. Its test was whether it could keep us from sinking. And finally, I saw Europe in 1946, its ghastly destruction and its hungry people who could meet in ruined rooms to play the music of Sibelius or sing the chorales of Bach.