(Editor's Note: The following article was written by Lynbrook resident Laura Sarli as a tribute to her father, Hicksville resident Fred Hoehing, who turned 84 on May 26, 2005.)

Sixty-two years ago World War II had exploded in earnest and a 21-year-old soon-to-be soldier was sworn into the United States Marine Corps at a recruitment office at 299 Broadway in New York. This was the first time that Fred Hoehing would be away from home but as he solemnly held up his hand to pledge his allegiance to defend our great country he knew that he was "doing the right thing."

In New York City, Hoehing boarded a bus that brought him first to boot camp in the Carolinas and eventually led him overseas to fight for our freedom. His first step onto the waiting bus began his journey as a Marine Corps soldier and his journey as an American hero.

As the bus lumbered slowly out of the depot, Hoehing watched through the bus window as his mom and dad, huddled quietly together, grew smaller and smaller until they faded in the distance. He thought to himself, "My God, how old they look;" they were only in their 30s. He would not see them again for three very long years and the sight of his parents standing together, alone, has never faded from his thoughts.

Boot camp taught him to be strong, to use a rifle and to always remember that your best friend was your rifle. He was shipped overseas out of San Diego, CA on a cement ship that had been quickly pulled from domestic use and refitted as a troop carrier named the Kitty Hawk. With six weeks of training under his belt he thought to himself "was six weeks enough?" Just before landing on the first of several remote islands located in the Solomon Island chain in the South Pacific Ocean, Hoehing stood at crisp attention on the troop carrier's deck with the others in his troop. Most were only 18 or 19 years old and for many, this was the first time they were ever away from home and family. A chaplain spoke softly to the eager but tense young Marines, telling them to "Look to your buddy on your left and look to your buddy on your right and remember this: only one of each three of you will be coming back alive." These were spoken words that Hoehing has never forgotten.

With these words still hanging heavy in the morning air he landed on the shores on the first of several islands. Tents were pitched and a small piece of this island was claimed as home. The remainder belonged to the enemy, hidden in the dense bush. For almost two years Hoehing slept on a thin military-issued cot in a small canvas tent in steamy, hot jungles on islands with different names such as Peleliu, Bougainville, Green Island and Emirau that all looked the same.

He slept with his rifle at his side, never forgetting the words that it was his "best friend" as "you never knew when you were going to be attacked." I sometimes think what it would be like to go to sleep with this fear. On the not so lucky nights he slept in muddy foxholes with swarming insects for company. He wished for clean clothes, a home cooked meal and the sound of his mom's voice. He contacted malaria, ran a high fever for weeks and still he stayed and fought for our freedom. An American hero, perhaps?

Hoehing was sent on ground missions to flush out the enemy who waited silently and deadly in the hills of the jungle. After each mission, he watched a few more buddies, his friends, go home disfigured, some without a limb or two. He prayed to God that if he were shot that death would come quickly but thoughts of his mom's broken heart made him determined not to be among the many lifeless body bags that were neatly lined up each day. He kept safe and strong, determined that he would go home standing; that he would be the lucky one of the three.

Hoehing flew air missions in a Grumman Avenger carrier-based torpedo bomber made by Grumman Aircraft over the islands to flush out the enemy lodged securely in the hills. His orders were simple but direct - stretch out on his belly, face out of the back tail of the plane and shoot at enemy aircraft as they returned fire at him. To this day, he won't fly in another plane. He defended our great nation, watched his fellow soldiers die and waited until he could go home.

World War II finally ended as explosively as it started and he was sent home, not to a hero's welcome but to the quiet, tearful embrace of his mom and dad. He was the lucky one of the three.

He eventually married, settled in a small post-war tract house in Hicksville, raised a family and moved on with his life, but never forgets. Each day the American flag is proudly hung in front of his house. His Marine Corps' medals are proudly displayed in a simple shadow box that hangs on a wall in his home. He attends meetings at the Hicksville American Legion Post 421 talking with fellow veterans about our country as it is today. Sometimes he comes home from these meetings a little sadder because another WWII veteran at his post had died.

Each Memorial Day Hoehing goes along with his fellow American Legion members to the Veterans Cemetery in Pinelawn. He stoops and pushes a tiny American Flag into the ground at the head of one of the graves. He stands, pays his respect to the "unlucky one" and moves on to the next. He repeats this process hundreds of times until all of the graves have a tiny flag waving proudly, defiantly, in the breeze. He marches in the Hicksville Memorial Day Parade with the members of the Veterans of Foreign Wars.

Throughout the many years of attending parades, he taught his family to always stand up whenever the American flag was carried by as a sign of respect for what it stands for. To this day, at the age of 84, he still stands up if a flag is carried by.

So this Memorial Day I would like to pay my respects and give thanks to all of the veterans who have given so much for our freedom and especially for a man who has lived his entire life with honor. A man who has fought for our freedom and who has continued to live his life each day with respect for the sacrifices others had made for our wonderful country. A man who truly knows what our American flag stands for.

This to me is a true American hero; a man who will always "do the right thing." My dad.