Daddy was born on October 23, 1910 in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and he was the fourth child to join the family of Rebecca & Joseph Rutberg. His older siblings were Kate, Jacob (Jack) and Esther; and his younger sibling to follow was his sister, Jean. Daddy grew up in an orthodox kosher home in the city of Philadelphia (also known as the city of brotherly love).

Whenever anyone would ask me what my daddy looked like, I would answer, "He's tall, dark, and handsome." When I was asked whom my daddy worked for, I would proudly answer, "He works for Uncle Sam." His name was Leon but everyone called him Lee.

Daddy graduated from Central High School in Philadelphia in 1928, and he finished all but one year of medical school before he needed to take a break. He decided to head west with friends to the Golden State; and when he arrived in California, he found a night job at the emergency hospital in downtown Los Angeles. Soon after his arrival, a friend of his wanted to fix him up on a blind date with a nice Jewish girl. The friend knew my mother, Lilyan; but when the mutual friend approached my mother with the idea of another blind date, she didn't jump at the chance, because this same friend fixed her up with a few undesirable dates. Since Daddy had free time during his night job at the emergency hospital, he called Mom every night for a month and just talked and sang to her on the phone until she fell asleep. After a month of listening to the voice on the phone, Mom decided that it was time to meet Daddy, if only out of curiosity. She was pleasantly surprised when she found that Daddy was a tall, dark, and handsome young man dressed in a white lab coat. After they planned to get married, Daddy decided to go back to Philadelphia because he would be able to finish medical school faster. After the wedding on June 21, 1936, they drove back to Philadelphia; and since Daddy was in a hurry to get back home, he wanted to drive day and night until they got there (they took turns driving). When they arrived, Mom wanted to freshen up before meeting her new in-laws, but when Daddy stopped at a drug store, he came out with his brother, Jack, and Mom had to meet her new brother-in-law for the first time before freshening up.

While Daddy attended medical school and Mom worked, they planned to live with Daddy's two married sisters and their orthodox Jewish mother. In other words, seven adults lived in one house, which included Aunt Esther, Uncle Meyer, Aunt Jean, Uncle Jack, and Grandma Rebecca. All the plans changed when a surprise package was delivered on October 5, 1937 in the form of a baby daughter named Carole. Since Mom was too sick to work, Daddy had to quit school in order to make a living. He sold insurance and owned a gas station; but since he wasn't happy with selling insurance or pumping gas, he had to find a way to practice medicine. Besides not liking the Eastern weather, which included the cold winters and the hot, muggy summers, Mom wasn't happy living in a kosher house without any privacy.

Mom and I came out to California by train when I was one year old, and Daddy followed three months later, which is when he joined the USNR. My first memories were in Los Angeles when my mother and I lived with my maternal grandmother; and when my daddy joined us, we had our own apartment. In addition to wanting to serve his country, my daddy knew enough about medicine to practice it in the Navy, and he became a corpsman and attached to the Marines. When my daddy was stationed at Camp Elliot Marine Base in San Diego, we lived with my mother's stepsister, her husband, and their little son. I remember going to an Open House and a dinner at Camp Elliot, and we made records at the dinner. Daddy was the MC on the records, and I still have the records. I also remember that Daddy took us on a tour of Camp Elliot, and he introduced us to the cook. He told us that he always made friends with the cook because that's how he got extra food.

Daddy was in Iceland from July 14, 1941 to Feb. 9, 1942, and he was in the Guadalcanal when my brother, Gary, was born on December 1, 1942. In fact, he didn't know he had a son for a month. When he finally found out he had a son by letter a month later, he ran up and down the barracks yelling, "It's a boy! It's a boy!" Mom framed the beautiful letter that he wrote. Mom really wanted to wait until the war was over before having any more children, but Daddy couldn't wait. Daddy got the son he wanted so much. Daddy was in the Guadalcanal from October 18, 1942 until October 9, 1943. When Gary was one year old, Daddy saw his son for the first time. He was home for a year before he left for the last time for Okinawa, which is where he was killed.

It is very sad that Daddy didn't get to know the son that he wanted, and Gary doesn't have any memories of his father. I remember that Daddy liked to sleep, eat, sing, and talk like I do and I miss the companionship I would have had with Daddy the most. The memories I have of Daddy are like indelible ink on my mind, and I'm grateful that I'll never forget the man that I called Daddy.