During WWll, my mother worked in the Pentagon. Each day she'd walk by the Lincoln Memorial and say "Good morning, Mr. Lincoln." To my knowledge, he never responded.

Mom, then 17,  had left small town New Hampshire on a mission. Her brother, my uncle Peter, was one of thousands of American and Filipino soldiers captured in the Philippines shortly after Pearl Harbor. My grandmother sent my mom to DC in search of information. Ultimately it was learned that he was a POW. He survived the Bataan Death March but sadly died of dysentery in the camp, He was 22. It was a bittersweet time for my mom. Uncle Peter's death loomed large over the family, but still, my mother saw her time there as a patriotic adventure of sorts. She later became a WAC, went to college on the GI Bill, met my dad there, and yes, Peter T. was born in DC! 

Peter T.