A Memorial Day Reflection: When We Were Thirty
My memories of when I was 30 differ greatly from those of my father and my uncle. When they were 30, they were serving in the Navy and Army Air Force, respectively, during World War II.
As I reflect on when I was 30, I was married. We would have our son within the next 2 years. I would complete graduate school. Finding a home, building a career and looking forward to a safe tomorrow were what daily occupied my mind in those days.
In stark contrast, when Dad and Uncle Scheib were 30, their thoughts of a safe future had been interrupted, put on hold or in some cases forgotten altogether. For them, it was day to day survival in an uncertain world gripped by a world war.
Dad, a Navy Seabee Chief in the South Pacific and Uncle Scheib, a fighter pilot in the European front both endured a long war on a daily basis. War has been often described as long days and hours of boredom interrupted by short moments of sheer terror.
For Dad, it was being part of that first wave of construction engineers to move in to repair and rebuild captured Japanese island airfields and bases. It was not uncommon for the fighting to be ongoing just beyond their construction perimeter. With enemy snipers often still not swept from the area, life remained very uncertain for the armed Seabees as they labored to build secure footholds on the island hopping victory march to Japan.
Uncle Scheib, a fighter ace, engaged the enemy directly, ruthlessly, without quarter. Flying bomber escort missions in his P47 “Thunderjugs” and later his P51 “Mustang,” his mission usually began with hours of peaceful flying on his way to the fight.
In the beginning, because of the limitations of his P47’s fuel capacity, all he and his other fighter pilots could do was escort allied bombers part of the way to their target. Waiting just beyond P47 fuel range, all could see the German fighters hanging and circling like an angry swarm of hornets just waiting to pounce on the soon to be unprotected bomber squadrons.
Returning home, with frustration high, he and his group would seize upon targets of opportunity, hitting the enemy wherever they could. It was a very unsatisfying response to what they had just seen. Finally, their ability to strike the enemy who would attack their bomber squadrons would improve.
They would bring new, offensive tactics to the fray with the introduction of their new long-range P51 Mustangs. Fitted with high capacity, long-range fuel tanks, they could now escort allied bomber missions to and from their targets, fighting the enemy all the way.
Although more satisfying on the one hand, a fighter pilot’s odds of not surviving increased dramatically. Such was warfare. They did survive, though.
Their memories survived as well. Memories such as these were not uncommon for young, married men in their 30’s returning from the War. It is from these memories and those who have defended our nation before and since that we owe our nation’s freedom and safety.
For me to have the relatively uncomplicated ordinary memories of a young husband, father and professional during his 30’s, I, along with the rest of our families, friends, neighbors and countrymen have fathers, uncles and others who served and sacrificed so that we would not. For this nation, there can be no greater sacrifice than that of those who served and died so we may live to carry on the dream for which they fought.
