Remembering My Wings

My father retired as a Lieutenant Colonel in the Oregon Air National Guard. He 

Oregon Air National Guard F-4 Phantom

spent 35 years as a meteorologist and many years as the commander of the 123rd Weather Flight in Portland, Oregon. I was always proud of his service and loved going to the airbase. It was a serious moment when we were waved through at the guard shack. Almost like crossing a border into a new country. My dad was recognized by most of the airmen pulling guard duty. But on one occasion he was asked for ID. We held our breath as the guard examined his card and then quickly waved us through. Many trips consisted of going up to his office which overlooked the fighter hanger. The plane I remember seeing in those days was an F-4 Phantom. Sitting there so serene it seemed more like a work of art. Metal bent and stretched over a massive engine. The F-4 was dubbed a triumph of thrust over aerodynamics because of its mass and bulk. The more cynical critics declared that it proved "anything could fly if you put a big enough engine on it." To me it just looked cool. I also remember several dinners at the officers club. And once during a birthday reception, a pilot walked in, his orange flight suit looking casual among the blue dress uniforms. The room seemed to quiet down a notch, or maybe it was just me imagining myself asking for a ride. As I sit here now some 45 years later I realize that taking his four kids out to the airbase was not an easy thing to do. And a steak at the officers club might have been a value but feeding his family there was a treat when McDonald's still had a burger for 35 cents. I remember ordering anything I wanted.

In 1969 I broke my leg jumping off a porch, which is an entirely different story, but that event gave my stepmother, Caroline, an opportunity to be very kind and 

give me something to do. I hobbled into the car for a visit with her and my dad and she handed me a box. It was a model of a World War II B-24 bomber. My brother and I were quite the model builders back then and had several planes displayed on shelves and hanging from the ceiling in our bedroom. This would be a historically appropriate addition to the collection. Twelve O'Clock High was one of our favorite re-runs in those days and my new B-24 would be the perfect accouterment for reliving a bombing mission over Germany. It was a technicality that they were actually flying B-17's on the show.

Honestly, I cannot remember building or displaying it but I must have. The thing I remember is the look on Caroline's face as she handed me the model. She knew she had delighted me, and she looked as though she was just as delighted. I have thought about that moment several times over the years but I didn't realize until I had my own kids that she was probably more delighted than I at the time.  Seeing a look of happiness on a child's face is precious. Even more so when you had something to do with it.

I bought a Ford F-150 kit for my son when he was 6 or so. I was hoping this would lead him to want to build models like I did. But the die was cast the first time he saw a video game.  And I too have a taste for the games that depicted actual fighters in combat. Ace Combat 5 was the only game I saw through to the end. Although my younger son had to complete the last mission for me.       

Fast forward to September 2013. I am standing in a parking lot when a B-17 roars overhead. Bursting with enthusiasm I shout to a friend "that is a B-17! My favorite airplane!"  Seeing it lumbering past on a clear day was such a treat. But an even bigger treat was in store. My friend recognized my glee and ordered tickets to "Wings Over Houston". Not just tickets but VIP passes to the Eagle Squadron tent where food and beer were flowing all day long. We enjoyed comfortable chairs as the only flying B-29 taxied past. A very sexy F-7F Tiger Cat Fighter roared by at 400 knots. The B-17 "Thunder Bird" casually and gracefully took off and landed. But the biggest treat was at long last seeing my B-24 up close.  It was haunting to realize how truly small these "heavy" bombers were. Crawling through the hatches and banging on every metal object within reach of my head was an eye-opener. As a nine-year-old with those plastic parts in my hand, I had no concept that a real one was out there somewhere being carefully brought back or kept in running order.  

I guess this completes the circle except to say thanks to Dad, Caroline and my friend for making this such a wonderful memory for me.