I arrived at Cold Bay in May of 1970. I had left behind my wife and baby girl, eleven months old. The Air Force did not allow me to bring them with me. Leaving my daughter was the most difficult thing I had ever done. I would not be there for her first birthday. I would not see her take her first step. I would not hear her first words. I would miss the second year of her life. Us separating would have a lasting impact on our lives from that point onward. Over the ensuing years, I have spoken at great lengths about how much I enjoyed Cold Bay. My daughter has heard all of the stories. As a result of all of this, Cold Bay has become a part of her life as well as mine. At the time I write this, my daughter has asked for only two of my treasures from her early life. One is the trophy that was presented to me for being the only person to become a parent during a particular golf tournament. I was called away when she was born. The other was this sweatshirt that I bought and wore at Cold Bay several decades ago. It is a symbol of a connection that we will have forever.