I am Sylvester Sandilier (sic); badge number 67339. I was one of the 10,000 men who went from this shipyard to fight. I was in the Navy. I've been in the campaigns and invasions of the Philippines, Mindoro, Iwo Jima and Okinowa. I was aboard the USS Pringle when it was blown up.

I'm a holder of the Purple Heart. I guess, Mr. Wolfson, the best thing everyone remembers is the placing of our Stars and Stripes at Iwo Jima.

Oh, there is lots else we remember--those of us who did the fighting. The hunger, the dirt, the hard ground and the cold food. We know what it's like to go for days half starved all the time. We know because, Mr. Wolfson, we were there.

We know, too, what it means to ration out--not just bread, Mr. Wolfson, but bullets. Bullets that had to be rationed, so may to a man, because supplies were coming too slow. Supplies that only could reach us by ship. And those ships for supplies had to be ready. We couldn't wait to build them, Mr. Wolfson. They had to be ready--not when we got around to it--but ready when war began. It was the ships that were in readiness, Mr. Wolfson, that got the first men over and the first supplies. And that kept those supplies and men coming until more ships could be built.

We know the anguish of waiting. Each hour, each day, each week on week--holding out just a little longer for help to come.

Have you ever held a buddy in your arms, Mr. Wolfson, and watch him die? Have you ever had him search through a torn wallet for a picture of his kids? Or have him ask you to go see them--when you get back? It's not a good feeling you have as you take a worn snapshot of two little kids. And it's not a good feeling you have while you wait--and wait--and wait--for ships that never seem to come.

And you vow deep inside you, Mr. Wolfson, while you hold a worn picture in your hands, that this will never happen again.