I WAS in Carly Wharton’s office, going over our casting problems, when a secretary came in and said, “Turn on the radio.” It was December 7, 1941, and that was how I heard about the attack on Pearl Harbor. A couple of weeks later, after I’d waited for some kind of call to arms, I went to my draft board and asked where I stood. I was eager to go, not because I was burning with patriotism but because entering the service would free me from the terrible tangle of my personal life. I believe many men who quickly entered the ranks had similar reasons. My draft board informed me that I was 3-A, by reason of my age, my marriage, and my two kids. I would have to deal with my personal problems personally.