My favorite uncle Paul died yesterday at the age of 94. He was a P-51 pilot in WWII. He had not gone to college when he volunteered so they only gave him a Flight Officer rank. He broke his arm in a motorcycle accident just before he was to deploy to England (I'm trying to identify exactly which unit he was to go to, probably as a replacement pilot since it was 1945) and was never sent. His best friend Otis Kurth, who he went through all the training with, went without Paul and was shot down and killed on a ground attack mission. I know Paul always felt bad about not being there with him. But breaking his arm probably saved his life.
RIP Uncle Paul
Soon there will be none of those guys left.
RIP Uncle Paul
Soon there will be none of those guys left.