In the 1960s, when substantial benefits were introduced for war participants, my father was the chairman of a war veteran council at a large metallurgical plant.

One day, my father and I in the garage repaired our hollow "Zaporozhitz".
I, a teenager, was digging in the engine, and my father with the garage men, as it often happened, sat in the neighboring box and drank. It must be said that the people in the garage cooperative were the most diverse in nationality and social affiliation. There was a German Peter.
Fridrichovich, who was captured in Stalingrad, was in a prison camp in our city, and after his liberation, he had a family here and "brought up". He worked as a small boss in a taxi park (where he was long ago renamed Petro Fedorovich).
The men in the garages liked to scratch their tongues, scratch each other, and they were able to do this smartly and funly - at such sessions often outbreaks, explosions of laughter were heard. But at that time the blast was so powerful that in the evening I remembered and asked my father what was so fun there. My father said:
The men began to ask me how to get the benefits of a war participant.
I explained that I should write a statement to the council of war veterans and
To get a certificate... And then Peter thoughtfully whispered: “What, Petrovich,
Can I write a statement?”