I have seen
Adolf Hitler,
Henry Wallace,
Franklin D. Roosevelt and
Douglas MacArthur . . . I have shaken
Harry Truman's hand. I have seen the
Graf Zeppelin . . . I have seen the swastika-chalked brick-halves that
came through our windows at night, and I was playing in a sandbox in
Manhattan the afternoon the Hindenburg cruised overhead on her way to a
thunderstorm and her grave. I have been called a Nazi, a Communist, a
clod, a petit bourgeois and a long-haired egg-head. I am, in short, a
child of the twentieth century.