Specifically, the enormous contrast and societal chasm separating routine-drudging-workaday, tranquil weekend recreational (drinking, dancing, flirting) lives of "the many" in the USA and the desperation, despair, pain, suffering, horror...
...of "the few," in and around the jungle and watery hell around Guadalcanal, at precisely the same moments in time.
A painting in the Art Institute of Chicago, dated 1943 depicts a typical nightclub scene; well-dreseed, happy people drinking, dancing, musicians wailing out jazz-swing music...
...not one, wearing uniform.
While on the other side of the world, 14-inch shells roared in like freight trains from Dante's pit, Long Lances ripped into ships, F4F-4s and SBD-3s were fueled with hand pumps from 55-gallon drums in mud and heat, terrified young men clenched 1903 rifles and grenades in the jungle night facing a fanatic, merciless, midnight surreal banzai charge.
Those faraway Marines, sailors and soldiers endured hell..."so" the others "could" carouse. And (at least, most of) the celebratory throng never knew what was happening, thousands and thousands of miles distant, "in another reality."
'Sometimes it feels cosmic weird, to comprehend the big picture.
Eternal honour and thanks to those who served and sacrificed so far away, to save the world.
Please excuse the not-entierly-ships-history rambling. Thank you.