My uncle enlisted in the Navy, right after the attack on Pearl Harbor. I found this picture of him

[watrwefitinfor]

64. My dad was in the Army Air Corps in England, somewhere near the Cliffs of Dover.

Dad had wanted to be a pilot, too, but though he barely met the height standard (he was 5'6), he didn't meet the weight standard. Oddly, he weighed too little. (You would think that would be a bonus.)

Instead they made him a staff sargeant, and he kept maintenance records (a librarian he called it) for the planes on his base.

I grew up hearing stories from my mom of how he wanted to make the grade so badly, stuffing himself with mashed potatoes, gravy, and bananas for the last week prior to the weigh-in, but still fell about three pounds short. After his mother died, I found his test results among her papers. He had passed the written with flying colors, but alas, was just too damn skinny to be a pilot.

He only talked to me about it once, when he told me years later that he was bitterly disappointed about it at first, but he felt somewhat differently after watching the guys come limping back in - some of them shot up so badly they crashed onto the field instead of landing, often catching fire. He said the things he saw on that airfield were never out of his mind, but he never discussed any details, or whether he had a role in the clean-up.

I wonder if they were on the same base, or maybe knew each other, your uncle and my dad.

Wat