The recent attack on the World Trade Center brought back memories of some 60 years ago when I stood on a New Jersey beach and witnessed the depth-charging of an enemy submarine-almost in by front yard.

Part of Germany’s submarine force, known as "The Wolf Pack," operated off the New Jersey coast during the summer of 1942, playing havoc with Allied shipping.

As a boy I sometimes summered with my grandparents at Harvey Cedars on Long Beach Island some 20 miles south of Barnegat Lighthouse. This was a thin stretch of sandy soil with Barnegat Bay to the west and the Atlantic Ocean to the east.

On this day I was awakened by a distant "booming" sound. Still in my pajamas, I ran across the two lane road and over the primary dunes.

Standing atop the white sand, I was excited by what I saw: a Navy blimp, not far offshore, dropping depth charges.

World War II just moved into my front yard. My concentration was broken by an approaching shore patrolman on horseback. The sailor was from the Loveladys Coast Guard Station. With an M1 rifle strapped across his back, he wore a white uniform with a black armband with the letters "SP" in gold - he was a member of the shore patrol. What an imposing sight for a skinny little boy. "Hey, kid. Get off the beach - now!" said the SP.

This was my first encounter with a U.S. government agent. The SP didn’t have to tell me twice. I was of the generation who respected authority and mostly did as we were told. I glanced once more back at the blimp as the Navy’s depth charge attack continued.

Back at Grandmom’s I woke up my little brother. I felt like a returning war veteran. "Ray, guess what I saw - we’re dropping bombs on the Nazis."

After breakfast I gathered enough courage to tell my grandparents. They were horrified that I, a mere child, had been so close to the war. I was told not to go back to the beach.

That evening before sunset, my grandmom’s curiosity got the best of her. We walked to the beach hand-in-hand to inspect the aftermath. It was high-tide and oil slick was everywhere on the once white sand. Pieces of a wooden box washed ashore. On one slat was stenciled a German swastika. This was no movie. This was real war. I felt a shiver as Grandmom pointed out to sea saying, "Somewhere out there are the bodies of many dead sailors."