From the age of twelve at the start of World War II, until I met my American G.I. husband, I worked in the cafA© my parents owned in Bab-el-oued, a working-class neighborhood in Algiers. My parents, whose stories we treasured, were exceptional in many ways. My father Salvador was a constant, reassuring presence in our lives. My mother Rose, epitomizing mind over matter, treated neighbors afflicted with typhoid fever, typhus, malaria, meningitis, and even cholera! She was absolutely certain she would never catch anything; according to her, because she never charged anyone, rich or poor, for her services, and she was guaranteed Godas protection! And neither she nor her four children ever caught any of the diseases that afflicted the people she cared for. I recall the neighbors, the customers at Le CafA© de Cadix, Arabs, Jews, and Latinos-mixed French, now called pieds noirs, who exuded a joie de vivre rarely found anywhere.