Over the years, we’ve heard many stories in this family about its many characters. Two in particular came to my mind recently. One was Jane and JR’s dad, Bob Rost, who as a member of the illustrious Big Red One fought his way across Europe. Then there was my own grandfather, to many of you “Uncle Ted”. Ted was a celebrated fighter, and later a fight referee and judge. But what occurred to me, after all of these years, is while Bobby was the soldier in the family and Teddy was the boxer in the family, the true fighter in the family was Jane Rost. Her fight lasted twice as long as WWII and many times longer than a boxing career. Her fight did not involve guns or gloves. Hers was a bare-knuckled scrap to the finish. And she fought her fight with a courage and a dignity and a grace we could only admire and hope to emulate when faced with our own trials and tribulations. And when her fight was over, she did not lose. We did. The last time I saw her – a few weeks ago – even in her weakened condition, she still smiled at me, and gave me a big hug and told me she loved me. The way champions always do.