Every year during Memorial Day weekend, there is a steady stream of activity in the skies over my house. One by one, they pass by. First, the B-17, and we cheer and applaud with excitement. We’re awestruck as this lumbering ghost ship passes overhead. We can see the turret where a veteran of WWII operated a machine gun, blasting the enemy buzzing past. Next comes the B-24, then the B-25. We hoot and holler, jumping up and down as though the pilots and passengers can see and hear us as they pass by.
After several years of watching this spectacle, we decided to take a ride ourselves, so we drove out to the local municipal airport, and boarded that B-17 for the ride of our lives, There were 8 other passengers and 2 pilots. Everyone looked thrilled about this once in a lifetime experience.
It was 9:00AM. There were excited faces, some young, some old, some veterans, and some are daughters. On the tarmac, I see a living legacy of our veterans. There’s the B-17, a B-24 and 25, and there’s a P-51, all used in active duty during WWII. There is a sense of great pride among those gathered here on this Memorial Day.
We board the B-17. It smells like machinery and grease. The seats are on the floor. You sit on a cushion, and the seat belt is attached to the floor of the plane. I wonder what good this could possibly do you. On either side there are 2 windows with machine guns sticking out of the plexi-glass. My husband takes a photo of me with my arms wrapped around one of them. I’m playing strafe the Nazi, with an enormous grin on my face, doing my best to make machine gun noises, but I sound lame. We passed though this section of the aircraft, and I sat with my husband in the middle of the plane with elderly gentleman. He served in the Korean War, and it’s his 3rd trip in one of these iconic planes. He had ridden on the B-24 and B-25 in previous years. Greg and the Korean vet are sitting on the floor on one of those cushions, but I get to sit on an office chair where the radio operator used to sit. The old radio is still there, but inoperable. There are old dials and switches, old tubes. I want to play with them, but suddenly become apprehensive. Maybe I shouldn’t touch them. I strap myself into my swiveling office chair with that burlap seat belt, but I’m having a hell of a time figuring out how to lock it, but it doesn’t matter. I’m too excited to care. I looked up and there was an open hatch directly above me. A built in sunroof!
The plane started to move down the runway, but we stopped at the end. It was a “cold” take-off, so the pilots had to spend about 10 minutes warming up the 4 engines. One at a time, the propellers started. I could see them from my little window where I sat. They run the engines full blast for a few minutes, and then we started to move again, but faster this time. Before I knew it, we were lifting off the ground. I quickly unbuckled my burlap belt and stood up. (They had told us we could stand up as soon as we were off the ground) I immediately poked my head out of the hatch and looked out behind. The Livermore Valley glistened in the morning sun and patches of fog. The wind was whipping through my hair, and I suddenly felt like a happy dog on a joy ride in her masters car, head poking out the window, tongue happily hanging out of my mouth; colors and movement everywhere!
We flew north at about 2000 feet for about 15 minutes, and I was transfixed, standing next to one of the machine guns gazing out the window. I saw familiar sights, even my own home as we passed over my town, but what was even more astonishing to me was what I felt. As we lumbered through the sky over Contra Costa County, I felt a great wave of emotion. I soon recognized that what I was feeling was a combination of pride and admiration for our fathers and mothers who lived through a definitive time in history. I also felt a great sense of loss. On average, 1000 WWII vets die each day. In a few years, this generation will be completely lost to us. My father has been gone since 1976, and maybe those moments on that B-17 brought him back to me, if only briefly.
After several years of watching this spectacle, we decided to take a ride ourselves, so we drove out to the local municipal airport, and boarded that B-17 for the ride of our lives, There were 8 other passengers and 2 pilots. Everyone looked thrilled about this once in a lifetime experience.
It was 9:00AM. There were excited faces, some young, some old, some veterans, and some are daughters. On the tarmac, I see a living legacy of our veterans. There’s the B-17, a B-24 and 25, and there’s a P-51, all used in active duty during WWII. There is a sense of great pride among those gathered here on this Memorial Day.
We board the B-17. It smells like machinery and grease. The seats are on the floor. You sit on a cushion, and the seat belt is attached to the floor of the plane. I wonder what good this could possibly do you. On either side there are 2 windows with machine guns sticking out of the plexi-glass. My husband takes a photo of me with my arms wrapped around one of them. I’m playing strafe the Nazi, with an enormous grin on my face, doing my best to make machine gun noises, but I sound lame. We passed though this section of the aircraft, and I sat with my husband in the middle of the plane with elderly gentleman. He served in the Korean War, and it’s his 3rd trip in one of these iconic planes. He had ridden on the B-24 and B-25 in previous years. Greg and the Korean vet are sitting on the floor on one of those cushions, but I get to sit on an office chair where the radio operator used to sit. The old radio is still there, but inoperable. There are old dials and switches, old tubes. I want to play with them, but suddenly become apprehensive. Maybe I shouldn’t touch them. I strap myself into my swiveling office chair with that burlap seat belt, but I’m having a hell of a time figuring out how to lock it, but it doesn’t matter. I’m too excited to care. I looked up and there was an open hatch directly above me. A built in sunroof!
The plane started to move down the runway, but we stopped at the end. It was a “cold” take-off, so the pilots had to spend about 10 minutes warming up the 4 engines. One at a time, the propellers started. I could see them from my little window where I sat. They run the engines full blast for a few minutes, and then we started to move again, but faster this time. Before I knew it, we were lifting off the ground. I quickly unbuckled my burlap belt and stood up. (They had told us we could stand up as soon as we were off the ground) I immediately poked my head out of the hatch and looked out behind. The Livermore Valley glistened in the morning sun and patches of fog. The wind was whipping through my hair, and I suddenly felt like a happy dog on a joy ride in her masters car, head poking out the window, tongue happily hanging out of my mouth; colors and movement everywhere!
We flew north at about 2000 feet for about 15 minutes, and I was transfixed, standing next to one of the machine guns gazing out the window. I saw familiar sights, even my own home as we passed over my town, but what was even more astonishing to me was what I felt. As we lumbered through the sky over Contra Costa County, I felt a great wave of emotion. I soon recognized that what I was feeling was a combination of pride and admiration for our fathers and mothers who lived through a definitive time in history. I also felt a great sense of loss. On average, 1000 WWII vets die each day. In a few years, this generation will be completely lost to us. My father has been gone since 1976, and maybe those moments on that B-17 brought him back to me, if only briefly.
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1 comment:
I am totally jealous!
Tom
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