Decent housing for our military.(Editorial)

Our report on military construction (see page 50) brought back some bittersweet memories. In the summer of 1955, my mother took me on my first trip beyond the Hudson River. We were on our way from New York to Washington, D.C., and--what luck!--we had two seats "upstairs" in our Greyhound "SceniCruiser," right behind the big front window, the best view of all. Our final destination: Quantico, Va., where my brother, then a staff sergeant in the Marines, was stationed with his family.

My brother was named Arthur, after my father, but he was known in the family simply as Brother. He was the second oldest of the seven of us, and the craziest. Once, during the Depression, …