Surviving 24 bombing missions over Germany as tail-gunner on a B-17 was remarkable. Surviving a parachute jump from a stricken plane on your 25th, in broad daylight over enemy territory, with shrapnel embedded in one eye, was nothing short of miraculous. Edward P. Troy (“Uncle Eddie” to me) richly deserved every medal the U.S. Army Air Corps pinned to his chest – but bravery in combat was only part of his personality. A small part, actually, when compared to his amazing wit: sharp, but never cruel, animated, fresh, and original. I can never remember him falling back on a cliché. If you ever sat next to him at a baseball game you're not likely to forget his bugle-like voice – or his whistle – which made itself heard by half of the stadium, not to mention the players, the umpires, and the First Base coach – everyone laughing in spite of themselves. Eddie was also a brilliant mimic. He may have lost an eye, but the one left seemed capable of x-ray vision. He was quick to spot the foolish side of virtually everything – make you see it too, and laugh about it. Laughter is what I will miss most about Eddie. The hardest, saddest blow he suffered was the aphasia following a stroke in his early seventies. It robbed us all of that infectious humor and condemned him to nearly two decades of silence. But Eddie had something else to sustain him through those long, difficult years: a deep, unwavering, humble Faith. Eddie was the last to go; he outlived his parents, his brothers, his sisters, and their spouses – an extraordinary family, the Troys, and Eddie especially. God bless him.