On June 5, 1945, while returning from a bombing mission over the mainland of Japan, the B-29 of which I was bombardier/navigator was shot down by enemy fighter planes over the Pacific Ocean. As I jumped from the plane, I felt a pang of regret for leaving behind a fine watch, which was a prized possession. Then as the chute snapped open and I stared down at the vast, cold ocean rising to meet me, I knew the chances were a thousand to one that I would never need that watch again.
Having been born into a family which sought and revered objects of art, I had been taught material value since earliest childhood, and pride of possession was a dominant factor in my life.