 It's just battle wagon on any ocean in the world, and she belongs to the USA. Her tonnage is secret. Her speed, armament, firepower, length, complement and draft are secret. So is the ocean and the coast she patrols, and any enemy aircraft that spots her won't get back to its base with that secret, not against those guns. She's spiked with weapons of nearly every caliber and range, and she moves in quiet and fast. First the small guns open up, knocking out a target on the other side of the horizon. She's the hardest hitting weapon of them all in the long battle of sea power, and she's on our side. Maybe you'll see this baby one of these days, this ship or another one like her because a lot more are being built. Maybe you'll see her from the deck of a convoy, or hear the thunder of her guns offshore. And if you see her, you'll feel proud. It sounds like an earthquake when she opens up with those salvos, but brother, that's no earthquake, that's security. Please, we gave our sons to our beloved America. Proudly we wait for news from them. How is my boy Joe? Is Nick all right? At last the letters come. But we cannot read English. There is much for us to say to our sons. We have good news of home. We want our sons to know, so they will not worry about us. But we cannot write. We are proud of our sons, but it is lonely not to know how they are. Mrs. Estelle Becker of the Civilian Volunteer Defense Office of the Bronx originated a plan for these fathers and mothers, and New York's Board of Education, glad to help, furnished its facilities, releasing from Russian, Swedish, Italian, Jewish and Polish, but now all American hearts, a torrent of tenderness and love, to be captured in neatly typed letters and sent to soldier sons in North Africa, in Sicily, in England, in the Aleutians, in India, Australia and the islands of the Pacific. There are a great many little ways to help win the war. Getting letters written for parents who cannot write English is one of the ways. Tell us what you want your sons in the armed force to know, and we will write your message on the typewriter and send it along. If you cannot express yourself in English, tell us in your own language. We will translate your words, so the good news from home will reach your sons. I'm coming here. I know you're giving me good news for my son. They're writing me the letter. Well, what would you like me to write for you? Say, my son, I'm feeling good. Miss Simp, every day, his dog climb on his bed and fight for him. To your mother. This is only a small part of the war effort, but what a great deal it means to these mothers and fathers and to their sons. The kid's name is Borny Rossovsky, and his mother and his father came from Russia. He grew up in a Chicago ghetto on the wrong side of the tracks, the wrong side of the stockyards, where you have to fight your way down the street if you want to take a walk. He came up the hard way. He was one of the Golden Glove kids. In New York in the spring of 1934, he took on a fight with Jimmy McLaren and carried off the world's welterweight championship. The first fighter in the world to hold both light and welterweight crowns, titles and northboards. With good patrol, Genazo and Armstrong, he faced the best fighters of his time and held the crown for four years. In 1943, the Boxing Writers Association gave him the award for the man who did most for the sport that year. Comeback? Yeah, he made a comeback. But he wasn't in trunks and gloves. He was wearing the fatigues of a buck private in the U.S. Marines. His name is Borny Rossovsky. Here he is. What's your job now? Let's quit a while, Borny. I'm pooped. Okay, kid. Say, Borny, I want to tell you, hey, jerk. Yeah? Sergeant Borny Rossovsky, you private? Yeah, sure. Say, Borny, how did you make Sergeant? Easy. First, you make Corporal. Well, how do you do that? I've been bucking for six months and nothing happens. Really want to know? Yeah, sure. I guess there are a lot of ways of doing it, but I know just one. You take a boat to Guadalcanal. And go in with the Marines. All the guns soften up the coast defenses. Go over the side into the landing boats. I was out in the jungle in September. That's pretty quick, but that's the way I wanted it. I had been rattling around ever since I quit boxing. I like to get around to where the show was, and this looked like the biggest show on earth. The road work on the island was nothing like the road work at Grossinger's, where I used to train. We used to get all baseball scores and fight returns over the radio. And we did a lot of betting. This was the only part of it that was anything like Jake's Beach. There weren't any showers around. We went 15 days without washing and changing our socks, and any creek looked good. Of course, if you come from the west side in Chicago like I do, you know a lot about jungle fighting, in-fighting, cover and concealment, long before you see a jungle or a jab. And coming from a neighborhood like that and getting around the way I did gives you plenty to fight for. The only thing in the ring is kid stuff compared to the fighting out there. Guadalcanal it was a fight to the finish with no holds barred and no referee to break up the clinches. My company of Marines was spearheading the attack for a big army push over the Matanica River, about five miles northwest of Henderson Field. I spent one night out there, I'll never forget. A lot of guys had been through the same thing. We got stuck in a mortar crater, five wounded leathernecks, two soldiers and myself. Not many yards away, they set up machine guns before the army behind us could dig in. I lobbed over some grenades at them and as all the other boys were wounded I emptied my own rifle and also fired theirs. The Japs never stopped firing all night. That night was by all odds the toughest I have ever slugged through. For ten days I had complete loss of memory for the pounding of the mortars. Anyhow, when I came to they told me it was a corporate. I killed you shot 22 Japs that night, Barney. Yeah. How about that being recommended for the Silver Star? When do you get it? Well, I received it several days ago. But I accepted it only on behalf of my entire company. You know, this isn't a one man's war.