Rear view volume II
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by an abundance of luxuriant tropical vegetation. Swan and I found a vacant beach near one of the public ones, and enjoyed some skinny dipping. But the girls wouldn't join us.
Isles); a guided airline junket to tropical islands (Hawaii); a 25-day chilly weather tour of some of the most magnificent mountain country in North America (Alasska & Canada); a week's traipse in desert canyon country (Arizona & Utah), and an ocean liner cruise in the Caribbean. Maybe the reason we finally quit new-experience trips was that we couldn't think of any new-experience type travel to try. Whatever; Carol and I thereafter did our traveling only on periodic trips to visit friends nd relatives in Wisconsin and Indianapolis, and, of course, the cabin.
1985-1992. This organization, whose membership includes many hundreds in branches around Texas with some in other states (including Michigan and Indiana!), has the primary mission of acquiring, restoring, maintaining, and flying WWII aircraft in air shows throughout the U.S., to acquaint younger generations with the American air power in 1939-1945 that did so much to help us win WWII., and to nourish the nostalgia of the oldtimers who saw and participated in it first hand.
P-51, reputedly the greatest fighter plane of the war. So they formed a loosely organized club to share the fun and expense of keeping the plane fit for them to fly. One of them in jest painted "Confederate Air Force" on that Mustang's fuselage, and the rest of the men thought that name would be a good appellation for their club.The idea took hold, several more aviation enthusiasts joined the group, and in September of 1961 they had the CAF chartered as a non-profit self-supporting privately financed organization incorporated in Texas for charitable and educational purposes. The CAF grew rapidly as members were added, more planes were acquired and put into flying shape, and occasional exhibits and fly-overs were done at various fairs and public festivals.By the time I joined their flying museum (appropriately called the "Ghost Squadron") included 77 flyable aircraft representing 49 different aircraft types flown in WWII, a collection which has been recognized by the U.S.Air Force and U.S Navy as a valuable national asset. The CAF headquarters for many years was in Harlingen, Texas, but in recent years has been moved to Midland, Texas. Both locations have/had museums at which many of the planes are/were housed and displayed, which have been very popular tourist attractions. Since the museums could of course not accommodate CAF's complete fleet, many are stored between summer air shows in private airport facilities, supervised and financed by CAF members. Houston air shows are held in the fall at Ellington Field. They're usually a 3-day event, at which most of the CAF fleet in on display for inspection by the attending crowd (which often number as many as 80,000 persons). The "showtime" activities include much acrobatic and formation flying (including frequent much-appreciated participation by current Air Force bombers and fighters). A main attraction are the mock battles, one of which is an impressive version of the Jap raid on Pearl Harbor with replicate Jap Zeros dropping a lot of simulated bomb explosions in the field opposite the audience arena. After enlisting in the CAF and acquiring my official colonel's uniform, I was assigned to help demonstrate at Houston air shows the B-17 (named "Texas Raiders"), a 4-engine heavy bomber. The B-17 was very similar to the B-24 I had most experience in during WWII, so I was well qualified to guide people through the plane (for $5 fees) and lecture them on the combat features of this old "Flying Fortress" (as they were optimistically called during WWII). The CAF members who refurbished this fine plane had with some research and effort mnaged to equip it with a complete assortment of WWII battle gear: 10 real 50-caliber machine guns, authentic radio equipment, unloaded 500-lb. bombs, and one of the then-famous Norden bomb sights (which, it was said, enabled the bombardier to drop bombs from 20,000 ft. elevation to within a half block or so of the target). I enjoyed being the spectator's host, but was happier when it became necessary for me to occasionally serve as pilot. The B-17 CAF pilots, at the time I joined them, were with one or two exceptions airline pilots younger than WWII vintage, in lieu of ex-service pilots who weren't qualified with commercial pilot licenses to permit their flying B17s (or any other plane) in air shows. But I had maintained the commercial pilot's license I acquired after WWII (in anticipation of being an airline pilot), so I was about the only real WWII pilot they had for the B-17 at air shows. So I had numerous opportunities to fly the B-17 to-and-from air shows in other states and locations, as well as taking turns with the younger pilots in doing fly-overs at the air shows. One such event I was proud and pleased to participate in was in 1988 when the CAF was invited to show some of their planes at the first "International Air/Space America 88" air show at Brown Field in San Diego, California. The B-17 was included, of course, and we pilots all wanted a share in piloting it to and from San Diego. It was finally agreed that four pilots would do it, two flying out and two back. My leg of that journey was the second half of the trip out, from Phoenix to S.D. It was a fun trip, zooming over the mountains and getting a great aerial view of the ocean as we approached Brown Field. Maintaining my commercial pilot's license for years in which I did piloting required a physical checkup and certification of my piloting ability by some designated flight instructor. The physical exams were usually brief and perfunctory, done by a doctor who didn't have much time to spare (and probably wasn't paid too well for such government work). And the flight instructor's certification was very routine, usually consisting of whether the pilot was up to date on flying rules and regulations, and very rarely having the pilot perform a short demonstration flight. These data were presumably filed with a local office of the Federal Aviation Administration's Department of Transportation, and I never received any feedback nor expected to. But in 1991,--disaster! The doctor found I had developed a leaky heart valve (in medical terms called a "mitral valve prolapse").He was apologetic, but told me he had no option but to recommend my disqualification for license approval for medical reasons. That of course meant the end of my flying (as pilot) with the CAF. I stayed with them through one more Houston air show, where I served as usual as a tour guide through the B-17, but then in 1992 with much regret I submitted my resignation. And I haven't attended any more of Houston's annual air shows since I feel it would be a somewhat unpleasant experience to have to watch others performing my previous functions. * * * * Carol
Comes now the time and need to recount the tribulations and sorrows of some of the most recent years. Many of you who have stamina enough to have read this far know that Carol was plagued for much of her late life with Parkinson's Disease. And for any of you who don't know about Parkinson's, I should briefly explain it. It is estimated that somewhere between 1,000,000 and 1,250,000 people suffer from it in the U.S. It's an incurable, long lasting, and ultimately fatal neurological malfunction resulting from the gradual diminishing of production of an enzyme called dopamine. It is one of several enzymes the brain produces, and its specific function is to supply a force enabling brain cells to communicate with each other (like an electric current). When the thought process cells in the brain decide to move a muscle they must pass the message (using dopamine) to cells in the brain that activate thatt muscle. If there is a shortage, or absence, of dopamine, the muscle cannot obey the brains's instruction to it. Thus, the person with Parkinsonism problems cannot properly control many of the muscles in his/her body, and is plagued with shaky arms, inability to walk steadily, facial muscles which won't work as desired, etc. This syndrome is mild in the early stages of the disease, but steadily increases as the brain's supply of dopamine decreases. Eventually some vital bodily function will be affected and cease working, causing death. In the past 30 years many experimental medications have been researched and tried. None have been found to cure the dopamine deficiency (which can not be chemically created and injected directly into the brain). The most useful one to date, which at best simply slows up the body's deterioration, is a chemical called levodopa (which with an anti-nausea additive is marketed as sinemet). Carol was first diagnosed as having P.D. in 1979. For about the first 10 years it did not unduly affect her abilities except for the nuisance of having to take a daily pill ration. We maintained the usual social activities and, as described in previous pages, managed quite a fair amount of traveling. Along about 1986 her doctor mentioned that she might like to get acquainted with the Parkinson Foundation of Harris County, a non-profit organization that distributes P.D. information, provides free group physical exercise therapy facilities, support meetings for patients and care givers, and sponsors free monthly lectures by P.D.doctors and medical experts (including free noon lunches prepared by PFHC wives). So we attended a meeting or two, and I was impressed enough with that organization that I decided to help. The officers and workers were glad to get any warm bodies that might help with their duties, and I began spending a half day or more about 3 or 4 days a week in the PFHC office. Initially I did clerical work, then progressed to treasurer, then board member and one of several vice presidents. I began contributing articles for the monthy newsletter, and finally, lo and behold, PFHC had a new newsletter editor--me! The downside of that was that there was a dearth of contributed articles or items, which meant that the editor was obliged to compose most of that stuff. So another facet of that job was that I had to begin studying medical literature so I could create meaningful material that would enlighten and appeal to readers. The work became a bit burdensome, but I liked it and was glad of the opportunity to be of some use to PFHC and P.D.-ers. Carol was admired by many (and especially me!) for her efforts and perseverance in coping with the increasing ravages of P.D. Regular exercise is known to slow the onset of physical deterioration, and in addition to the PFHC-sponsored exercise therapy sessions which she attended faithfully, she did much at home. In addition to calisthenics she took daily walks. Initially they were 10 or 12 blocks in length, but as time wore on so did she, and she finally reached the point at which it was a considerable effort to get a half block to the corner and back. At this point she was needing much attention and care from me, so I had to give up most of my PFHC office visits and try to do the newsletter work at home. Finally I had to begin having a hired caretaker come a half day six days a week to help me attend to Carol, and I eventually found it necessary to resign my editor's job at the end of 1994. By 1996 I began using a caretaker all day from 8:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m., for a couple more years. Then, when I had to begin assisting with her frequent nighttime bathroom visits, which kept me awake more than I could handle, I had to get a fulltime 24-hour caretaker for most of 1998. She was wheelchair bound most of that period. But one day in April 1999 when she was seated in her recliner chair in the club room and her caretaker left to go to the bathroom, Carol decided to get up and go into the kitchen (for some purpose she could never later remember). She slipped on the kitchen tile floor and broke a hip. That required an operation, of course, and a longer than usually necessary stay in the hospital, since the therapists were unable to get her to stand unassisted. So she was sent home where she remained bedridden most of the time, except when helped to and from the bathroom and meals by the caretaker. Carol finally lost her well-fought battle with Parkinson's, and reached the end of her life's journey of 80 1/2 years on April 13, 1999. I was numbed with grief , but somehow managed to handle the necessary post-mortem procedures. These included arranging publication of an obituary, authorizing cremation procedures, scheduling a memorial service at the church and making arrangements with choir members for some appropriate music, selecting ministers and discussing with them high lights of Carol's life to be mentioned in their funeral service, making housing arrangements for some relatives, etc. Reverend Frank Schulman, a long time friend of ours who had been minister at Emerson Unitarian Church until his retirement a few years earlier, was glad to sermonize part of the service, but he thought it fitting that the regular minister, David Parke, also participate. I agreed, and that worked out well. Jerry Mike, Kappy, and granddaughter Kelley each gave fine talks from the pulpit, reminiscing about memorable experiences with, and love for, Carol. It was a good service, well attended by a large number of our friends and Exxon personnel with whom I'd worked closely. And the volume of the subsequent "in memory of" financial contributions to the church were impressive, and set an alltime record in the case of those to PFHC.
My brief comments ending the ceremony concluded with this quotation from Angelo Patri (American educator, prominent for his writings in the 1920's and 1930's), slightly altered to include Carol's name: "In one sense there is no death. The life of Carol's on earth will last beyond her departure. We will always feel her life touching ours, her voice speaking to us, her spirit looking out of other eyes, talking to us in the familiar things that she touched, worked with, and loved. She lives on in our lives, and in the lives of all others that knew her." How true that's been for me. * * * * Download 0.54 Mb. Share with your friends:
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