Four thousand stars represent the American dead of World War II, each star standing for one hundred killed. That is four hundred thousand electric arrows of grief aimed at the heart of an American home, carried by a telegram that told with sick shock that their son, their sweetheart, their husband, their father would never return to their embrace. How many bedrooms carefully preserved does that represent, how many albums that hold happy memories of a brief life, how many wreaths placed with quivering chins on lonely graves? What could they have accomplished had their lives not gone unlived, their dreams undreamed? How much darker would our lives have been had they not given theirs in defense of America?