Some wishes do come true. The proof came to me a few years ago, when, employed by a major film company, I was sent to Paris as a music advisor for one of their films.

The anticipation of the trip, and the prospect of working with famous movie stars was exciting enough, but, heightening my enthusiasm was the thought of possibly visiting, and paying my respects at the graveside of an uncle (for whom I'm named), who was killed in the Meuse-Argonne battle in France, a few weeks before the Armistice ending World War I.

As a young boy, my favorite reading material was a large volume containing the history of World War I. It contained photos, artists' renditions and battle descriptions.

The interest was enhanced by being told stories about my Uncle Danny, the only soldier in the family. Whenever possible, I would read the book, and, in my mind's eye, I would fantasize visions of Uncle Danny, and in a typical boyish way, "glamorize" the life of a soldier - my personal soldier, Uncle Danny.

Frequently, I would look up from the book and say to Uncle Danny's sister - my mother, "Someday, Momma, when I get rich, I'm gonna go to France and put flowers on Uncle Danny's grave". My mother's reaction was predictable.

Moving ahead several decades - my wish came true.

One weekend in Paris, I was able to coordinate my plans. I called the American Military Graves Commission to help me materialize my sentimental adventure.

She patiently described every necessary detail. During the conversation she called my attention to the coincidence of another American, named after his uncle, planning a visit to the Meuse-Argonne Cemetery the very same day that I planned to go.

That, plus all the other factors involved in my commitment were deeply ingrained in my mind, to the point of not having to write any directional notes, at all.

The day came. I boarded the train and entered a compartment comprised of people speaking fluent French. Gregariously, I greeted the occupants with: "Bon Jour, Je Suis American" (Good day, I'm an American), and then proceeded to attempt a conversation in my scholastic French.

During the small talk, my peripheral vision glimpsed an American-looking man passing our compartment. I impulsively called out to the stranger, "Stephen - Stephen James!" I waited, and then looked down the aisle to see a reaction from the stranger. He had a bewildered, frustrated look. I beckoned him to come into the compartment.

He sat down, and I said, "Your name is Stephen James, and you're going to visit your Uncle Stephen's gravesite at the Meuse-Argonne Cemetery". Fearing a harmful reaction when he blanched, I hastily described my conversation with the representative at the Graves Commission, and her mention of another American going to visit his uncle's gravesite, like I was planning. "

When I saw you," I continued, "I recognized you as an American, and something compelled me to call out your name. Obviously I was right."

When I saw color come back to his cheeks, we spent the following time sharing our mutual thoughts and expectations. Part of the time was respectfully silent - anticipating the unknown elements of our visit.

As the Graves Commission representative informed me, a civilian met us at the Verdun Railway Station. We were the only passengers in his car, and he engaged us in conversation relating to the imminent destination. I sensed a very deliberate, measured manner in his spoken delivery, which we later found was strategic. He wanted us to take our time with the visit. Previous visitors had rushed through their visits and paid a consequence with severe emotional reactions.

He spoke of visiting his living quarters, on the premises, to have a drink and toast our uncles. We respectfully and patiently complied with his request. Soon followed a description of the peripheral area and also the battle, which was an anti-climax to the closing weeks of the war.

We then followed him on a stroll through the significant Argonne Forest. After a few steps, I stopped, closed my eyes, and very vividly (as influenced by my memory of The Book) imagined Uncle Danny's participation in the battle. The civilian's voice, calling out to me, brought me back to reality.

We continued to walk and eventually arrived at the administration building. We were introduced to an army major who was in charge of the historical documentation stored on the premises. After a brief, but efficient search of several volumes, he found the location of Stephen's uncle's gravesite. He directed the civilian to accompany him to the location.

After I furnished the major information about Uncle Danny's military affiliation, which accelerated the finding of the burial site, I was then escorted to Uncle Danny's grave site. Awestruck, I stood, for a long while, focusing on the engraved headstone, reflecting on my past juvenile wishes.

After a while, I sensed the presence of the civilian, who interrupted my reverie with: "Mr. Gould, I realize you didn't have time to obtain any flowers to adorn your uncle's gravesite, so I picked some from my garden which is on the edge of what was the Argonne Forest". That poignant gesture was tearfully acknowledged.

The visit was concluded with photos, and words of appreciation to the two gentlemen who attentively, patiently and compassionately helped resolve our sentimental experience.

The letter that I wrote to Uncle Danny's siblings was received with assurances that each and every detail that I described would remain lovingly in their respective memory banks, verifying that a little boy's wish did come true.