A Very Special Man

Anyone recognize the man with a cigarette in his mouth offering a smoke to a buddy?

Nobody I ever met, but a man thousands of World War Two veterans knew and had deep appreciation for. His name was Ernie Pyle, and his newspaper articles about the average GI told
an amazing story of privation, courage, and sacrifice. He didn't spend time extolling the greatness of senior level commanders - instead he shared foxholes with everyday fighters for freedom. In the end,
like so many heroes of the fighting fields, ashore and at sea, he lost his life in a far-off battlefield..

Ernie Pyle was an extraordinary everyday kind of a person. A Hoosier from eastern Indiana, he had the gift of writing about the guy down the street who responded to the call of his country and did it to reflect the sacrifice of ordinary men in extraordinary circumstances.

One thing I never knew about Ernie Pyle was that before the war he wrote newspaper columns about everyday Americans. Like John Steinbeck in 'Travels With Charlie', Ernie traveled all over the United States. His company, rather than a canine, was his wife who was called, for lack of a better description, "That Girl." Actually, her name was Jerry, but we all have our pet names for our mates.

Ernie's travels have been locked into book form in a volume titled "Home Country" which I found in
a shop selling clothes, furniture, electronics, old 33 RPM records, and yes, a lot of cast-off books.
Looking at the flyleaf of "Home Country", I see printing dates between 1935 and 1940. So, what could this book have to do with our life in the twenty-first century?

First, it reflects a potpourri of history as it was. Built around everyday people of the time, it colorfully reveals life back in the thirties. But at the same time, in a lot of ways, it reflects life today. In a very positive way it reveals human nature in a variety of situations. And it expresses the life of both ordinary and extraordinary people in a way that tugs at the heartstrings and at the same time reflects the beauty of our nation as well as the humorous side of people. In short, I loved the book may well keep it to read again and again.

Interestingly enough, it's not just a book out of someones closet or attic --  it is still available in different printings, even a reprint in the 1980's, from Amazon. I thoroughly enjoyed it - and commend it to your bookshelf. It goes to show that an ordinary guy from Indiana has had an enduring ability to not only put himself in the shoes of men called to battle, but also in the shoes of everyday people whose lives have not faded away but live on in many ways today.

Flying High

 

It has always been traditional for dad to get shirts and ties and sweaters  for Christmas.I couldn't believe, this past Christmas that there wasn't the usual emphasis on clothes. Not that I didn't need apparel - I can always use things like socks and skivvies - but this year was different. Lots of goodies, and, unfortunately, not a lot that fit the diabetes regime - but that worked out well for others - what wasn't necessarily good for me was good for them.  But the most unique gift was a radio control helicopter (shown above).

 

Now, at age 85 I don't often get toys for Christmas - but it did not take long for me to learn that this was not a toy - it did not want to respond to my commands. Oh, it hopped around a bit, and it skittered across the floor to crash into one piece of furniture or another. It seemed to have a mind of its own - and, to say the least, it did not take long for me to begin to wonder why anyone would give a helicopter - supposedly controllable, to an octogenarian who had lost a lot of coordination. So the helicopter remained as shown, on a living room table.

 

Some three weeks later I ended up at Tawas St. Joseph Hospital with what was diagnosed as a heart attack, and which involved transfer to the cardiac ICU at St. Mary's Hospital in Saginaw. Dosed up with morphine, I was advised at first that I would go by ambulance for an hour and half ride - and then minds changed and they said I would go by - you guessed it - helicopter. My past experience of not getting my model off the ground went through my mind and I became a little concerned. I even asked the pilot how long ago he had gotten his 'drivers' license. Loaded aboard, off we went and I was afforded great care and a nice nighttime view out the real clamshell windows of the Lake Huron shoreline, Bay City, and eventually, Saginaw.

 

During the time in the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit I underwent EKGs, Xrays, echocardiograms and a heart catheterization and got visited by medicopter crew members. During these visits I mentioned my Christmas helicopter gift and my inability to get my copter off the ground. They laughed and told me about actual helicopter pilots (including a U.S. Marine Corp pilot) who had the same problem with radio control models like mine. I was relieved to know I wasn't alone.

 

Once past my medical crisis, I was released and took a much longer ride back home. Almost as soon

as I got home I tried my R C copter out again and would you believe, it FLEW! Up to the ceiling and back down. Amazing. I could make it go up and down. But I couldn't make it go left or right, forward or back. But it flew. And thankfully, so did the medicopter that took me to Saginaw.

 

As for me, I'm feeling great - in fact,flying high. And thankful for today's blessings. At least till the bills start coming in.

 

 

 

 

 



It Really Happened This Way

Requiem to a Dead Bird

Alas, poor bird - you have left this life. Such a sacrifice for the welfare of of the hungering multitudes. Welfare, he says? Well, if hyper-gastric acidity is welfare, so be it. At least one
person at our house consumed so much of the gobbler and accessories that the un-named person
is still quite full almost 24 hours since the feast. So, Mr. Turkey, rest in pieces - your goodness will be remembered for at least another year by all who partook Thanksgiving,long with the warm and loving fellowship of he family who gathered around the table.And the remains will fuel some enough that they will have strength to cope with Black Friday. Now let's move forward through the great open door to the Holy Season of CHRISTmas.

They said I was AWOL

It was August, 1953. I was being transferred from Chanute AFB in Illinois to Selfridge AFB in Michigan. I was to travel by military air using one of our Wing C-46 Curtiss "Commando" aircraft.
With all my gear I checked in and the clerk at Operations said I was on the manifold (passenger list)
and that I was to go out to the flight line and board the plane.

Once boarding I found the pilot to be someone I knew quite well and so I felt comfortable with him at the controls. Once airborne we headed east and, with two hours completed< I thought we ought to be getting close to the Michigan area. But when I looked out the window I saw a city below surrounded by a "Y" of rivers. Going to the cockpit I told the pilot that it sure looked a lot more like Pittsburgh 'downstairs' and he said I was correct. I asked,"isn't this a strange way to get to the Detroit area?" He replied that I was pretty perceptive, but that we were not going to Michigan - we were going to Suffolk County AFB in Long Island, NY. Obviously there was a glitch in the flight plan, or maybe it was a problem with the manifest. At any rate, when we got to New York the flight crew supposedly checked with Chanute to see what they should do with me. Chanute came back to say that they would let us know.

And so we charged on to the next base: Dow AFB, ME. Another check with Chanute. Same answer.
Same thing at Andrews AFB. And Donaldson AF. At MacDill AFB in Tampa, FL there was a B-25 going to Selfridge But no authority to switch planes was granted from Chanute.

By this time I was beginning to think that I had been drafted into being a lifetime load master because at every base I was wrestling equipment off and onto the aircraft. I may have even heard a few snickers from the crew chief and the cockpit crew. Every base we stopped at the answer was the same;' We're working on it and we'll let you know'.

From MacDill we went to Keesler - Biggs - and Barksdale. Same old story. From Barksdale we headed north to Seward AFB, near Nashville TN. By now the flight had consumed almost a week.
I had now gotten interest in the Loran navigating system and had almost gotten it down pat. One more base to go: McGee/Tyson AFB in Knoxville TN. Well, actually there was another - back to Chanute AFB from which  I had started this ill advised trip. Getting back quite late at night I stayed over in the transient barracks wondering is was fated to go out on another load master assignment.

Not likely. When I checked back in with the First Sergeant of home squadron. Instead of a warm welcome home I found myself in the midst of a hornets nest. Turns out that none of the calls from the aircrew had gotten back to the squadron and I had been carried as AWOL (absent without leave). When everything was ironed out they prepared new orders for me to my initial goal, Selfridge AFB,
Michigan. What's more, they heeded my plea not to send me by military air - "Let me go by train,"
I begged. That's what they did and I finally got to the base the next day where I was roundly counseled by the Detachment First Sergeant.

I think it was only two weeks later that I bought a car and the rest of my transfers were by car. After all, I was no given a load master rating so why should I have to do it without getting flight pay?

How Time Flies

I was reminded, yesterday, that it was fifty years ago that President Kennedy announced to the public that our nation was blockading Cuba. Aerial reconnaissance had revealed that missile bases were being established on Cuban soil - facilities so close to America that our nation was endangered. And I was there.

Not because I wanted to be. I had just returned from a Navy deployment in the Mediterranean. I was informed of our new departure right after lunch one day - told that we needed to be aboard the USS Enterprise in four hours. I called home and told Joyce to pack my bags. She responded that they hadn't really been unpacked and where was I going. We had been told that the ship was pulling out of Norfolk on a hurricane evacuation. That included my squadron's aircraft as well. I never stopped to ask myself, "Why do field engineers (civilians) have to go on a hurricane evacuation?

I did what I was told - skidded cruise boxes of support material down the stairs at NAS Oceana, rushed home and on to Pier 12 at NOB (naval operating base) Norfolk and shortly after we were under way out of Chesapeake Bay and into some rough weather. I began to think it was a hurricane evacuation. Until the next day.

Then came aircraft changes - A3J Vigilantes from Florida were flown off the ship - A-4 Skyhawks came aboard. The announcement came to us - "We're going to blockade Cuba and we have no idea how long it will take."  Communication from the ship to home was not allowed and so, knowing what we knew, we were unable to let our families know. That is, until they heard the Presidents announcement and all they knew then was that we were in harms way. That was hard on loved ones but that is service life and though we were civilians we were no different in our responsibility from any active duty Navy personnel in the same situation.

We remained on combat readiness for some time. The ship was assigned south of Cuba where we went back and forth between Cuba and Jamaica. Finally the Russians backed off. The tension of combat readiness eased and then boredom set in. We still maintained flight operations but it was obvious that the worst of the deployment was over. Now it became a waiting game. It finally ended not long before Christmas.

Now, fifty years later Enterprise is still sailing. It served in the Vietnam conflict. It served in the Middle East conflicts. But ships get old. Many ships do not maintain effective operations longer than 20 or so years of service, For Enterprise it's been over fifty. Newer ships have been deactivated but Enterprise sails on. I've heard she will be retired in 2013. If true, she will have amassed a significant record. And I'm proud to have been part of her history.

A Lovely Cottage in the Country

It's been a busy week. A couple of days ago we checked out houses that Vic and Amy have been looking at should his job keep him at Headqurters. Our greatest impressioin has been that the stories about the DC traffic appear to be true. To be sure, we haven't been in the capitol city itself yet - but Alexandria and Arlington traffic has convinced us that Indianapolis traffic isn't so bad after all.
Needless to say, the Beltway congestion has lived up to all the stories we've heard.

So, our visit yesterday to George Washington's home at Mount Vernon was a breath of fresh air. A lovely home with a marvelous history. There was a strong reminder that our first president had some great dreams for the future of our country.

The first time I ever saw Mount Vernon was way back in 1941, just after the attack on Pearl Harbor. My dad was making a stop at the War Department to initiate his return to active duty in World War Two. The house itself remained as beautiful as ever, and this time we spent hours roaming the plantation rather than the few minutes we had in 1941. I loved the view from the front porch looking down over the Potomac River. It was easy to see what made the estate so special to Martha and George. (Am I being a little flip usaing their first names?)

But the trip was more than sightseeing trip - it was an emotional trip in history.
A reminder of where out country came from and the values that were so important in the formation of thiss nation.  One of my favorite reminders of the greatness of George Washington was a painting of the General at a dark moment of the Revolutionary war. I've included it in this blog because it says a great deal about our first president. A reminder that in our darkest moments prayer still matters. Even today - and maybe especially today.