Unlike the Korean War tags we never were awarded


 (Draft 2,August first, 1997. American Air Museum in Britain, June 11,2001)
Unlike the Korean War tags we never were awarded, the stringed I.D. dangling around our necks
‘’The American Air Museum in Britain ….Official Opening By Her Majesty, The Queen ….1st
August 1997’,

The good wife and ourselves sidestepped the barricade unto the Duxford RAF landing strip that memorable
yesterday outside Cambridge, UK……


                                                                              I

The Pakistani clerk at our London bed&breakfast  digs , 50 miles away, had said  earlier…”Sir, if the
hotos you took of me make me seem like a Prince Charming Don’t mail them back. My brother is on his
holiday at our sister’s apartment He works across the street. Save your money”,scribbling her phone
number, A Brooklyn 718 area code on a scratch  pad.

 Developing the view  press &click snapshots back on Coney Island Avenue, we dialed the number..an a
Omar Sharif’s voice, in its lilting soft tones, answered  “You got my brother’s pictures? Can yo deliver
them  ipso facto  Major. We’re flying  back to perfidious Albion from JFK, later today.”

“Where are you? You know Brooklyn’s Flatbush?  815 East 14th Street, apartment One H?”
 

“Do I know? It’s God’s way,”we said.”It’s a six floor elevator apartment house, on Avenue H. Two blocks
from the local BMT stop. Art Carney, Jackie Gleason’s kimosab (“Ed Norton”) lived across the street,
atop the Bohack grocery on the corner of ‘H’ and 14th Street where Rugby Road begins.”
 
A day dreaming punk  from Santa Monica, California.,we were raised in that reality scene.
Attending Public School 217 with Dr. Howie the piano player from apartment one H. Midwood High
School. The best man at our wedding. The “Moose” aka Jack the hack, left handed pivot frpom the rucker
basketball courts at Wingate Field..But Dr. Howie and his sister and folks lived in the same digs  as your
sister.

“How’s that for being in the flow of the game. The fluid moment, sir?”
 

                                                                              II

Our odyssey begins a month earlier, Fort Hamilton Army Library. Bay Ridge, a historical neighborhood not
that far from Flatbush. Keith  Lewis, Jr. an internet pro, E mailed Sandra Brooks, Mildehalll
R.A.F.,Beck Row Village,29 miles from Cambridge ,U K. About standby billeting for a once Air Force
Ready Reservist with 23 years longevity, and his good wife.


                                                                            III

When the electronic mailbox was sorted out for the fourth time, Sandra Brooks who wasn’t from Brooklyn
wrote  “Major, call USAF-RAF Lakenheath direct.”
“Sergeant Gideonse,”answered, the NCO in charge of lodging. “Com’ on ahead, Major. We’re expecting
the good wife. Our motor pool is on orders for her Majesty’s honor guard, Transportation Squadron,48th
Fighter Wing.”………….. 

                                                                                IV

We thought back all of our yesterdays. 47 years  ago, June 29,1950…..a Second Lieutenant, out of Ucla’s
Rotc,  in the role of a Supply Officer on temporary duty to the Officers Club..448th Reserve B 25 Light
Bomb Wing, Long Beach, California, adjoining  Signal Hill’s rasping oil drills.

President Harry Truman, a no nonsense Commander in Chief, activated the 452nd B 25 Light Bomb
 Wing, on being  briefed about the North Koreans invading South Korea, crossing  the demilitarized zone.
Colonel Cochrane, the Long Beach base’s full time operational  officer for Colonel Keeney, the 
448th,Colonel Sweetzer, later Brigadier General,452nd…

.”Lieutenant, you’re on verbal orders. Report Hamilton Air Force Base, the 2567th Processing Squadron,
San Rafael, California. Travis Air Force Base, Japan, Korea. That’s your fateful scenario, my boy.”
 

                                                                                     V

Deferred until February ’51, for graduate school in Education, Colonel Paul  McGuire called ,during the
Cuban crisis, Kruschev   steaming missiles toward Castro’s Cuba, ”Be my Group Intelligence 
Officer, Canoga   Park, California . We’ll cut orders, giving you jurisdiction from Santa Barbara to Long
Beach, sending you to Intelligence School, Shepard Air Force Base, Texas. On the panhandle to 
Oklahoma…Assistant Chief of Staff, Intelligence, Pentagon. Defense Intelligence Agency, Western
 European Desk, Arlington, Virginia.”

How’s that sound, Lieutenant?”

“How can we resist you, sir?”

                                                                              VI


For another 12 years…two week tours at a stretch ,several in California’s Mojave desert, the AF Academy, teaching  Space, we found ourselves  August 1st,1997, at Duxford RAF base, strolling toward the elliptical designed  American Air Museum in Britain, the skies opening up, the raindrops descending.

                                                                          VII

 She ran for cover in the makeshift hangar where  2000  Yanks, many of them in  their tattered khakis, blues, bespeckled ribbons, medals galore….Milling around the dining tables ,with  wives, children, grandchildren, widowers, widows, sweethearts, mistresses, girl friends, chums, next of kin, testing the grub of sandwiches, English biscuits, warmed over hot meals, fish&chips, tarts, pastries, tea, coffee..

 Reminiscing of some  6 decades,  spilling the air ,the BBC audio taping “in yer face”,London’s Imperial  War Museum pro Greg Smith, clicking, snapping  away….pilots, co-pilots, crew chiefs, navigators, bombardiers, tail gunners, ground crews, flight officers, air controllers, radar techs, intelligence officers, supply , operations….

 

                                                                      VIII

Meanwhile the Major  “nuisance” in his good wife’s stead. fled  for  the Air Museum’s cover, those earlier
 rain drops, pelting the air strip like big chunks of  hail out of the ice age .…the hangar’s door, inside the
swooping P38’s, ‘47’s, step ladders into the cockpits, flying fortresses, nary a B 25…

 “Charlton Heston,”he called, the echo resounding in the cavernous space, the actor stumbling at the
Museum’s door .on hearing his marqueed name .

 ”It sure is wet,”he said, looking  into&thru the Major, a  limo pulling alongside the entrance,

”Where did we meet?”
 

                                                                           IX

Those yesterdays trailing back 30 years, Ucla’s reality scene of  a bon voyage  for Jules Stein’s departed
soul. Henry Mancini playing out his theme from “Romeo et Juliet”,the solemn airs sounding thru the
campus..Dr.Stein, a bandleader turned opthomologist had bought Universal Studios where Mr.Heston had
starred, “Airport ‘75”.

                                                                               X
The limo driver cried “Charlton, her Majesty’s jet , from Edinboro Castle, Scotland,  is  taxying .Hurray,   
water cress sandwiches with  venison is worth writing home. Rank knows no chow hounds, sir.” Insides the dining hangar for the 2000 Yanks, the War Museum’s pro,Greg Smith, continued his viewing. Snapping, shuttering.

 For the benediction, the well groomed museum staff, distaff and male,set up chairs and benches…outsides 
on the strip, the skies closing, raindrops ceasing..


                                                                            XI

Her Majesty, Prince Philip, former Prime Minister Maggie Thatcher, Duke of Kent, a Field Marshall, Charlton Heston.
Greg Smith clicking away like into a dot.com, on a web site’s home page. Her Majesty in her yellow ponchos tucked under the canopy set up outside the Museum hangar. Her USAF color guard in their protocol, the band playing  the strains that bonded the American Anglo Saxon peoples in the Battle of  Britain.

 “Do you know the Greg Smith singers, always playing the Ucla Spring sing?”asked the Major.”Any
relation?”,the Fly Over into the graying mists. 3 F’16’s ,wingtips fingerprint touching  thru the skies, a lone
Flying Fortress… sailing thru the ocean of humanity…

                                                                           XII

The resounding voice of “Airport ‘75”,Charlton Heston, leaping into the Bard’s “Henry V”, the
loudspeakers in sync….”My soul shall thine keep company to Heaven; tarry sweet soul for mine. Then fly
abreast.…As if an Angel dropt down from the clouds….O for a muse of  fire that would ascend. the
brightest Heaven of invention.. A Kingdom for a stage, Princes to act. And monarchs to behold the
swelling scene….”

                                                                               XIII

On the USAF bus ‘s return thru the countryside toward  Lakenheath, the Honor Guard stripped of their protocol,  cajoled the latrine officer from Cleveland’s Shaker Heights ,laughing at the toilet talk, reminiscing about her moment’s moment..

                                                                                  XIV

  
On the ‘morrow, Greg Smith called  from London’s Imperial War Museum.”Major, before departing for Heathrow,. call Andy at Duxford’s darkroom. He’s processing  all our negatives. You &Estelle might be lucky.” Greg Snith not knowing New York cut steak was  a la carte for the Major and the good wife’s getaway back to JFK and the City that never sleeps.
                                                                                  

                                                                       XV
                                                                               

Walking thru the lush Lakenheath grass toward the post office’s phone, he stumbled, his blue eyes sighting a buried tablet. To Andy.  He paid the ultimate Transportation Squadron 48th Fighter Wing sweeping into a plaque….
‘To the airmen of many nations who flew with the R.A.F. during the Battle of Britain. And soared into the
Heavens that others might live...”If the British Empire and its Commonwealth last for a thousand years,
men will still say “This was their finest hour.”  Sir Winston Churchill, Prime   Minister….

 

Saturday, July 12,1997,Duxford RAF, England