It's a simple home, one of uncounted thousands very much alike.

An unpretentious place, with a bit of well tended garden in the summer, and yellow light streaming ready welcome from its windows at nig ht.

It's a home that once rang with the noise and tumult a healthy boy can make, a home pleasant with fragrant kitchen smells and comfortable with the worn hollows of familiar and friendly furniture.

It's a home where hope has been born, where suffering has been met, where great plans have been laid and achievements, big and little, have been celebrated.

Now, suddenly, over it a shadow falls.

The time has come when the brave flag with the star of blue on it must come down, so that one with a star of gold may taKe its place.

This is war, and war is striking home.

Striking at the simple, the peace-loving homes where live those who must now be the bravest of the brave.

What can you say to those whose hearts bear the aching burden of this conflict?

That their sons have died in a noble cause?

That the nation mourns with them in their bereavement?

That these men shall be avenged, that we shall see to it that they shall not have died in vain?

No, you can't say these things and have them really mean anything.

You can't say anything-you can only do.

You can only bend a bit more grimly to whatever task is yours in these stern times.

You can only try, a little harder than you thought you could, to make sure that no boy, yours or any other's, falls because of anything you do or leave undone.

You can only pull tight your belt, and buy to the limit of your ability the War Bonds it takes to equip our fighting men.

You can only fall in line with friend and neighbor and, through scrap drives and conservation campaigns, play your part as fully as you can, as every good soldier on the home front should.

You can only remember that every helpful act, no matter how small, not only hastens Victory but does its share to bring more boys back before their blue stars turn to gold.

Here at Goodyear we have a service flag of our own.

Already it is beginning to show a tinge of gold.

Because it is, everything we build--every airship, every plane, every life raft, every barrage balloon, tire, wheel, brake, bullet-puncture-sealing fuel tank and fuel line--is built with something more than just the thought of building all we can as fast as we can.

It is built also with the idea of doing the bestwe can--that fewer gold stars shall hang in the simple homes of the brave.