(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
August first,1997’,the good wife and ourselves sidestepped the barricade unto the Duxford
RAF air strip that memorable yesterday outside Cambridge, U.K……
The Pakistani clerk at our London bed & breakfast digs , 50 miles away, had said
earlier…”Sir, if The photos you took , make me seem like a Prince Charming ,don’t mail them
back .My brother is on his holiday. Our sister’s apartment He works across the street., Kuwait
Embassy Save your money”, scribbling her phone number, a 718 area code… Brooklyn..
Developing the view press &click snapshots back on Coney Island Avenue, we dialed the
number, an Omar Shariff voice, in its lilting musical tones, answered “You got my brother’s
pictures….can you deliver them , ipso facto Major. We’re flying back to perfidious Albion
from JFK, this afternoon.”
“Where are you, Omar?”
“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 Avenue H station. .The local subway.stop. .A day dreaming punk
from Santa Monica, California., we were raised there .Attending Public School 217, Midwood
High School. The best man at our wedding. Doctor Howie,” the pianist, CPA ” lived in the
same apartment, as your sister. How’s that for being in the flow of the game .The moment, sir?”
Our odyssey begins a month earlier, Fort Hamilton Army Library. Bay Ridge, dating
historically 1825 Not that far from Flatbush , Keith Lewis, Jr.an internet pro, E mailed Sandra
Brooks, Mildenhall R.A.F.,Beck Row Village,29 miles fromCambridge,UK. About standby
billeting for a once Air Force Ready Reservist with 23 years longevity, and his good wife ?
When the electronic mailbox was sorted out for the fourth time, Sandra Brooks who wasn’t f
from Brooklyn wrote “Major, call USAF-RAF Lakenheathdirect.”
“Sergeant Gideon,” answered the NCO in charge of lodging. “Com’ on ahead, Major. .We’re
expecting Lady Fenton, the good wife. Our motor pool is on orders for her Majesty’s honor
guard, Transportation Squadron, 48thFighter Wing.”
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 fate, my boy.”
Deferred until February ’51, for graduate school in teaching, Colonel Paul McGuire called
during the Cuban crisis, Khrushchev 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 Intelligence School, Sheppard Air Force Base,
Texas…Assistant Chief of Staff, Intelligence, Pentagon. Defense Intelligence Agency, Western
European Desk, Arlington….How’s that sound?”
“How can we resist you , sir?”
For another 12 years…two week tours at a stretch , several in the California desert, two ,the
AF Academy, teaching Space. in schools, we found ourselves August 1st,1997,strolling
toward the ecliptic designed American Air Museum in Britain, the skies opening up, the
raindrops descending. She ran for cover in the makeshift hangar where 2000 Yanks, many of
them in their tattered khakis, mothballed blues, besprinkled ribbons, medals
Milling around the dining tables , with wives children grandchildren widowers widows girl
friends, sweethearts, lovers, mistresses, next of kin testing the grub:: sandwiches, English
biscuits, warmed over hot meals, fish & chips tarts pastries tea and coffee.
Reminiscing of some 6 decades spilling the air, the BBC audio taping “in yer
face”, London’s Imperial War Museum Greg Smith clicking snapping away…pilots, copilots.,
crew chiefs navigators, bombardiers, tail gunners , maintenance crews flight officers air
controllers radar techs, Intelligence officers supply operations medics, flight surgeons legal
eagles armaments anti aircraft crews reconnaissance nurses WAFS mess personnel chaplains
M.P.s, grave diggers.
Meanwhile the Major “nuisance” in his good wife’s stead. fled for the Air Museum’s cover,
those earlier raindrops pelting the air strip like big chunks of hail out of the ice age .inside
the hangar’s door the swooping P38’s, ‘47’s,flying fortresses,step ladders into the cockpits,
nary a B 25, A10…..scaffolding for a Remembrance reality scene & ceremony, Fall 2002
“Charlton Heston” he called the echo resounding in the cavernous space, ,the actor stumbling
at the Museum’s door, hearing his credits. ”It sure is wet,” he said, looking into & through the
Major, a limo pulling alongside the entrance, ”Where did we meet?”
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 through the campus. .Dr. Stein, a bandleader turned ophthalmologist had
bought Universal Studios where Mr.Heston had starred, “Airport ‘75”.
The limo driver cried “Charlton, her Majesty’s jet , fromEdinboro Castle, Scotland is taxying
.Hurray, water cress sandwiches without 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
&male, set up chairs and benches on the strip, the skies closing, raindrops ceasing..
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 outside the Museum hangar. Her USAF color guard in
their protocol, the band playing the strains & some Sousa that bonded the American Anglo
Saxon peoples in the Battle of Britain.
“Do you know the Greg Smith singers, playing the UCLA Spring sing?” asked the Major .”Any
relation?”, the Fly Over into the graying mists. 3 F’16’s ,wingtips fingerprinting through the
skies, a Flying Fortress… sailing through the ocean of humanity…
The resonating 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 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.
Monarchs to behold the swelling scene….”
On the USAF bus ‘s return ,,passing Madingley American Military Cemetery, through the
Brandon Suffolk countryside toward Lakenheath, the Honor Guard stripped of their protocol,
cajoled the latrine officer from Cleveland’s Shaker Heights, laughing about her moment’s
moment..
On the ‘morrow, Greg Smith called from London’s Imperial War Museum. ”Major, before
departing for Heathrow. call Andy at Duxford’s darkroom. He’sprocessing all our negatives.
You &Lady Fenton might be lucky.”
Walking through the lush Lakenheath grass toward the post office’s phone, he stumbled, his
blue eyes sighting a buried tableau. ’To Andy, his was the ultimate sacrifice. 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,Lakenheath RAF, England
Saturday, July 6,2002,Brooklyn
