My mother understood my excitement while holding that old black and white photograph up close. There was my father, standing tall at the foot of his officers tent with hands on his hips, staring intensely at several men who were in the foreground. Each on a bent knee, they were burying something in a small, shallow grave marked with a white cross.
According to Dad, these men were burying a cigar box “coffin” marked with a card. The cross had some inscription but I couldn’t make it out. I asked him who the older guy was that was standing to the side of his tent.
Dad raised his finger and silently waived off my barrage of enthusiasm. In order for me to appreciate who that gentleman was, I would have to understand the backstory he was about to share. All that would be required was my attention. Pointing to those men, he told me they were his flight crew.
Then he pointed to that rugged looking gentleman and said, “And that guy right there – he was my commander. He was watching the funeral.”
“What was the funeral for?”, I blurted.
“Well, I took liberty away from my men and restricted them to the base for three days.”, Dad said with a smile. “That old codger in the back was General Chennault.” Dad knew I was boiling over with questions but he obliged my curiosity by continuing to recount the tale.
Unbeknownst to my Dad, it seems the general had overheard a heated conversation between himself and his men a few days earlier. Perceived as borderline insubordinate, Old Leatherface summoned my father for a small chat.
“He told me I was too soft. He said my crew didn’t need a friend or a buddy leading them. Command leadership of a crew required unwavering respect and discipline. He said my crew deserved that type of leader. Anything less would jeopardize their focus during critical mission operations. And he was right.”
He said he left with a changed attitude. He knew what he had to say and went straight to their barracks. He busted their barracks door open and had them all stand at attention and then began chewing their asses out.
Dad leaned in. His steely blue eyes met mine in a cold stare. “I told them insubordination wouldn’t be tolerated. It was about the respect that comes from having earned command and authority. Not only from my bomber crew, but from entire flight group. I also reminded them that I earned that respect.”
As the words flowed out, I envisioned him doing all the things he had just told me. “So you laid down the law to them!”, I said with a sense of pride.
“I did, so I took away their liberty and restricted them to the base. I placed them on weekend guard duty. I made them clean our B-24 inside and out. I even made them fix the barracks door I busted open. And before I left, I reminded them that they might not like it, but following my orders would give them the best chance of coming home in one piece.”
Then he paused while I picked up the picture, likely assessing how much I had absorbed thus far. I still didn’t understand the whole “funeral” idea. I was very curious about what was inscribed on that cross.
I shot a look back at my father. “Wow. And Chennault saw this? What did he say?” I couldn’t hold back my excitement.
“Well, the guys were dramatic. They even played the worst rendition of “Taps” ever heard in military history – on a kazoo. After that, they turned and saluted. I saluted back and dismissed them. I had no idea what the hell was going on.”
I could only fathom what Chennault was thinking after taking in this spectacle. “What did the general say after seeing all that?”
“Everyone laughed as we watched them limp back to their barracks. Before I knew it, Chennault was already walking over to see what was on the placard. After a small smirk, he walked straight up to me and said, “Good man. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” It wasn’t until later I found out someone had taken that picture.”
The picture now came alive. My head filled with imagination. I envisioned the motion of events as if I was a firsthand witness, all sparked from the memories my father was sharing.
“You’re probably wondering what it said on that cross, huh?”, Dad said with a dead-panned look. My eyes were now wide open.
“Just flip over the picture.”, said Mom, who equally beamed with pride.
And there it was. Written forty years earlier, with ink now weathered and faded with time, was the epitaph inscribed upon the small wooden cross.
We Bury This Friendship,
Until This War Recedes.
But Replace it with Respect,
And With Undying Loyalty
I was now a slave to my thoughts. I was in awe of the magnificent history unfolding in front of me and the part my Dad played in it. He was a Flying Tiger! A distinguished officer and pilot with the 14th Air Force, 308th Bomber Wing. He flew B-24’s. His commander was General Che…
My daydream was interrupted as I felt a heavy tap on my shoulder. It was Dad. He gently took the picture out of my hand and pointed at the push mower.
“So now son, when I tell you to mow the lawn, it doesn’t mean you can tell me “in a few hours”. I expect it to be done – right away.”
(sigh) “Yes sir”
The End
T.E. Snyder
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