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Memorial Day confuses me. Confuses others I
believe. I am always thankful for the many who... in their
hearts... feel a sense of pride in those who are no longer
with us. These are those who understand that someone stood
before our country's enemy and died for them so that they can
have a life.
I speak for those who served in World War 2
and I take nothing away from people who served in other wars.
It's just that I served in WW 2.
I was a flyer on my way to Berlin when my
plane was ripped apart. I fell from our B-17 while six of my
friends were getting smashed to pieces.. as they struck the
ground.
One was my best friend, my buddy, my do
anything for... For months we stuck together like you wouldn't
believe.. His name was Bobby Brooks, our Right Waist Gunner.
No more chasing girls in Florida, Virginia and
England. He was 22, and recently married his high school
sweetheart. Both of
us had red hair, were the same size, 150
pounds. So we sometimes wore each other's clothes. We spend
much time laughing at one another and pillow fighting... on and
on and on..
Bobby Brooks had no life after May 24, 1944.
He is now buried in one of those nice cemeteries in France. Not
bad but it could have been so much better. Few days go by that
I don't think of this great human being... especially the last
ten years.
So if you are reading this stop for a minute
or two and say thanks to my friend Bobby Brooks. You would have
liked him.
T/Sgt. Robert L. Black, Radio/gunner, 100th
Bomb Group, England.
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