 That which will be best remembered will not be its wars and its jet planes or its giants who lived and died. Maybe all that will survive to linger in the day-by-day vocabulary of generations yet unborn will be a song about a Tennessee frontiersman or the incident at the window that night a speck of dust blew in and penicillin was discovered. But for any Fourth of July, I, Paul Harvey, do hereby bequeath unto you something to remember.