I joined The Oak Ridge Baptist Church at the age of nine years and was baptized. In 1990 my brother, my sister and I made a nostalgic return visit to Oak Ridge. We stopped at that old Baptist church, went inside to reminisce and were instantly transported back fifty years in time. Even the pews seemed to be the same as when we lived there. They say you can't go back, but I believe we did that day. Plaques on the walls were in honor all of the servicemen from Oak Ridge. While I was typing this passage, my sister Loretta called me on the phone. I told her what I was doing, mentioning the plaques in the church. Laughing, she told me the story of the man who was telling his little five-year-old boy about the servicemen's pictures hanging on a wall. He explained, "All these men were killed in the service." To that his son asked, "Was it the morning service or the evening service?"