Opinion Letters
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Flight of Honor
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Published: November 8, 2009
Back in August, the Flight of Honor program for old-time veterans was announced. It seemed like a nostalgic thing to do, so I signed up for the second flight on Oct. 28. (I had joined the U.S. Navy at age 18 in 1942.)
On Oct. 3, a congregation of family, friends and television crew had greeted the initial flight when it came back from Washington. As the yellow-shirted and blue-capped vets came into view, tears welled up as they tried to express their feelings about the day. One said, "It was the best day of my life."
Could these men be the gung-ho, hell-for-leather spirits that permeated the minds of World War II? Had 65 years of the quandaries of life softened them to tender tears? What had they seen up there?
On Oct. 28, we flew to Reagan National Airport. On the concourse, several hundred strangers shook our hands and said, "Thanks for serving."
At the World War II Memorial, a 10-year-old girl lifted her hand up to me and said, "Thanks for serving."
On the plane home, "mail call" delivered a packet of letters from school kids. One of mine asked, "Do you have tattoos?"
And on the concourse at home, we took our time shaking all hands extended from the 2,000 family members, relatives, friends, military units, Hell's Angels and police officers present, saying, "Thanks for serving."
The line stretched out the door to the parking lot.
I wiped my eyes on my sleeve.
JAMES E. MUNDEN
RADIOMAN, U.S. NAVY
Winston-Salem
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