Yesterday I told you about my late friend Bob Yered, who was also my menial labor mentor in the mid 1980's as I was scratching out a living on the good earth. Bob was a Coast Guard Engineman, and was recruited to serve in Vietnam on a security detail where he earned the Silver Star, Bronze Star and Purple Heart. Years later , I lived across the street from a curious older man named Joe. I later found out his name was Joe Kozlowski, and he was an aircraft carrier pilot in The Pacific Theatre during the 2nd World War.  Joe was an interesting man. Sharp as a tack, but he lived in his house in Wayland, Massachusetts, outside of Boston all alone and only had dealings with the local Veterans Administration for medical care. He talked to me I guess, because I never judged him or the way he lived his life. He lived in squalor, truth be known. Best we can figure (me and my neighbor Scott) Joe was living on K rations or their later incarnation of MRE's .. meals ready to eat. He had no plumbing, as his water was shut off. His house was in total disrepair , inhabited by squirrels and raccoons and his yard was overgrown. He was a hoarder.. his house was packed with junk. He apparently lived in the basement with a space heater to ward off the long cold New England winter. I heard that Joe was shot down in The Pacific toward the end of World War 2 … an entire squadron lifted off of the carrier, and only a few planes returned. Joe was found floating by a convoy , he had apparently been in the water for a couple of days. As I would speak with him on our shady street, I tried to imagine him treading water with nothing but searing sun above and water below, miles deep. It did something to him… nowadays we  would likely call such a shift in emotional and cognitive state PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Anyway, Joe survived and kept on surviving… he needed no one and needed nothing. He lived alone and unfortunately died alone. One year ago this wekeend, though I had moved away, my friend Scott called me to tell me Joe died in a house fire, caused by his space heater. It was always my fear. Had I been there across the street, its doubtful there would have been anything I could have done. They found him just a few feet from the door, inside the house, trying to crawl to safety at 83 years of age. I miss Joe. Crazy as he was at times, he had some excellent advice over the years. I used to shovel his driveway when it would snow, which was often. One winter I didn’t see him for several weeks, so I pounded on his door till he answered. He had been housebound for a long while…. his beard had grown and he was outfitted in outdoor survival gear. Joe was a man, but had changed, he was living like an animal. The town repeatedly tried to have him thrown out , naming him a hazard. Ultimately as fate has it , he was. He was too wily however , and had his facts straight by way of legal protection. The Dept of Health tried and tried to toss him out, but it never came to pass. Could it have saved his life ? Yes. Would he have been miderable living in some VA facility ? Yes. He just wanted to be left alone. When Joe died a terrible and lonely death, the local news media reported that an old man who was a "hoarder" had died in the clutter of a house fire. No one made mention that Joe was a WW2 vet who risked his life to save lives in the skies above The Pacific.  This one is for you  Joe…. you are not forgotten: