My Dad would have been 103 today. He died in June 1981, literally three days before an OpEd piece of mine was published in the Wall Street Journal. That was the first thing I’d ever had published in the national press—he would have been beside himself with pleasure. And I would have been beside myself that he was beside himself—Frank Jacob Ebert Peters was as German as the name suggests, and praise didn’t exactly emerge from his mouth with regularity. (He was first generation American—my Granddad Peters, a contractor who among other things built Bancroft Hall at the U.S. Naval Academy, came over in the 1870s.)
