My father was a boxer and another story he told me how he got to be one,he said nobody he knew had money so the kids ,he said was 11 when he went to the streets,would have fist fights to entertain the older people who would bet and would give them a bit of money ,food and a pep talk for their black eyes. The more fights you won the better you ate. You became a man fast.Meine Vater recounted much the same experience. Grew up in the most industrialized city in Deutschland, which received the most significant attention for destruction. He was routinely sent out to pilfer chicken eggs, which the family depended upon to avoid starvation. He told me that he truly disliked this, but his dad and uncle sent him out regardless because he was a kid and if caught would get a wrist slap as opposed to a full on adult. Apparently he never did get caught. He was very fortunate to see the warning signs somehow and told me that when he started to see the precursor of the formal Brownshirt's begin doing patrolling it was time to bail. He landed on Ellis island, like many, with only a suitcase, and likely some coins of some sort to ensure that he would not starve. And, you are right. Generations younger than boomers do not have these first hand stories from their parents to grasp just how very lucky we really are.