I was born in Philadelphia on July 13, 1929.

     My mother's name was Mildred K. Ross (formerly Levers). She was 66 years old when she died of a heart attack in 1972. She was a wonderful loving person who taught me right from wrong and helped me through all the rough times of my life. She always saw that my brother and I got to church every Sunday and got our homework done. And she was a great cook! I remember there was no food she didn't like! She was a great dressmaker and made clothes for everybody. She was so good at it she could look at a drawing or picture of a dress and make it without directions or a pattern. In her later years she would repair or alter people's clothing as a way to supplement her income.

     My father's name was Frank A. Ross. He was only 51 years old when he died of a heart attack in 1954 (he was a heavy smoker). He was a former athlete and even had a tryout with the Philadelphia Athletics as a pitcher. (Philadelphia had two baseball teams back then.) He made the team, but my mother was against it because of the extensive travel involved (also they didn't make a lot of money in those days). I'm told that he and his brother had a standing bet with anyone that they couldn't catch my father's fastball, and that they never had to pay anyone.

     My father at one time had a job with a Philadelphia newspaper, The Evening Ledger, in which he prepared the financial pages and made up the daily crossword puzzles. He would bring home the lead type (used to print the papers), which I could melt down and mold into soldiers. Once in awhile, he would take me to a baseball or football game, and I learned to love these two sports. Many times he would go over to the playground with me and have a catch and hit balls out to me so I could practice being an outfielder.

     All his life my father tried to save his money so he could buy a house of his own. After many emergencies that drained his savings, he finally had enough, but, tragically, just before he and my mother were going to move, he died of a heart attack while attending a christening.

     I have only one brother. His name is Ronald Ross. He is three years younger than me. When we were growing up, we weren't that close, probably because of the age difference. Now we are very close and do lots of things together. I love my brother very much. The big thing I remember about him was a terrible accident he had where he was almost killed. He loved motorcycles and always had one. On the day of the accident, he was riding his motorcycle to work and had to stop at a red light, which he did. When the light turn green, he sped off, but unfortunately a car coming across the intersection went through the red light and hit my brother right on the side of the motorcycle, including his leg. He went flying through the windshield of the car and cut his face badly. Luckily, he survived. They were able to fix his leg with metal spikes so it would heal, and all the scars on his face healed. I was in the Army at the time and was granted an emergency leave to visit him. I was really shaken up when I saw him, and I truly thank God that he pulled through okay. He is now retired after working at Honeywell Company for 40 years, and we get to play golf together just about every week.

     I had two grandmothers I loved dearly. Both my grandfathers died before I was born. My father's mother was born in Italy but was very "Americanized". She was the "hub" of the family, had a great personality and was loved by all. My mother's mother was "Pennsylvania Dutch"; she used thee's and thou's in her speech and was very religious. She gave her whole life in service to God. I admired her very much.