‘19 November 1944 was a bad day for me. It was the first day of coming into contact with the enemy, just outside of Geilenkirchen. I was there with Smitty. He was a devout Catholic, I am Jewish. It didn't matter as we were in the same boat. We were inseparable. During a pause in the battle, Smitty suddenly said: Listen, if something happens to me you must go see my parents. I said that I wouldn't do that, but he insisted and to get him of my back, I said OK. The following day we were under heavy artillery fire and my best friend was killed by a grenade within 15 minutes. I returned home in one piece and had to tell his parents what had happened to their son. It took six months before I had gathered enough courage to pay Smitty's parents a visit.’