Keith
Kirchner lived on the next block down from ours. He must have been five years older than me
because he finished school in 1940. He
was drafted in the spring ‘41. After
basic he went into the Army Air Corps.
Knowing the army like I do, I’d say he was pushed into the Air
Corps–bombers, a machine gunner. My
mother and his used to talk on the phone several times a week. This way we kept
in touch with him and his training.
Kirchner lived on the next block down from ours. He must have been five years older than me
because he finished school in 1940. He
was drafted in the spring ‘41. After
basic he went into the Army Air Corps.
Knowing the army like I do, I’d say he was pushed into the Air
Corps–bombers, a machine gunner. My
mother and his used to talk on the phone several times a week. This way we kept
in touch with him and his training.
First
the telegram came telling that he was wounded, for anybody with a star hanging
in the window, any telegram was almost as bad as a death notice. Not knowing
anything except he was alive and wounded must have been mighty bad. Slowly the news slipped across the ocean that
he was badly burnt and couldn’t write. I
wondered if his arms had been burnt off,
A month or two later we found out that he’d been awarded a Medal of
Honor. Talk about a splash! The paper printed on the front page the whole
citation about how an incendiary bomb had exploded in his plane. He’d picked it up and thrown it out the
window saving the other men but burning himself just about to a crisp. I was taking chemistry then and had just
learned what a bitch phosphorus is. Now
I know he was wearing one of those heavy leather flight suits which would have
protected him somewhat. I see how he
picked the bomb up in the first place.
What I can’t understand is how he continued to hold on to the thing.
the telegram came telling that he was wounded, for anybody with a star hanging
in the window, any telegram was almost as bad as a death notice. Not knowing
anything except he was alive and wounded must have been mighty bad. Slowly the news slipped across the ocean that
he was badly burnt and couldn’t write. I
wondered if his arms had been burnt off,
A month or two later we found out that he’d been awarded a Medal of
Honor. Talk about a splash! The paper printed on the front page the whole
citation about how an incendiary bomb had exploded in his plane. He’d picked it up and thrown it out the
window saving the other men but burning himself just about to a crisp. I was taking chemistry then and had just
learned what a bitch phosphorus is. Now
I know he was wearing one of those heavy leather flight suits which would have
protected him somewhat. I see how he
picked the bomb up in the first place.
What I can’t understand is how he continued to hold on to the thing.
When
he finally came home, we didn’t see him without his long-sleeved shirt buttoned
all the way up. Of course most of the
time he had a tie on. His face and neck
were scared something awful and his hands too.
Couldn’t hide those parts. I’d
wonder what his body looked like naked especially down there, you know
he finally came home, we didn’t see him without his long-sleeved shirt buttoned
all the way up. Of course most of the
time he had a tie on. His face and neck
were scared something awful and his hands too.
Couldn’t hide those parts. I’d
wonder what his body looked like naked especially down there, you know
I have
been cogitating about this ever since. I
did my time in Korea, All I got was a Purple Heart for being stupid and a Good
Conduct Badge for not getting caught.
Keith and I’d have a beer ever so often.
While we were talking and drinking I noticed that his hands weren’t the
color of mother-of pearl but more like unpolished opal. Another time I remember regretting to him not
doing something brave and famous like him.
He just said, “You didn’t have the chance.”
been cogitating about this ever since. I
did my time in Korea, All I got was a Purple Heart for being stupid and a Good
Conduct Badge for not getting caught.
Keith and I’d have a beer ever so often.
While we were talking and drinking I noticed that his hands weren’t the
color of mother-of pearl but more like unpolished opal. Another time I remember regretting to him not
doing something brave and famous like him.
He just said, “You didn’t have the chance.”
© 3 Sep 2008
About
the Author
the Author
Although
I have done other things, my fame now rests upon the durability of my
partnership with Carl Shepherd; we have been together for forty-two years and
nine months as of today, August 18th, 2012.
I have done other things, my fame now rests upon the durability of my
partnership with Carl Shepherd; we have been together for forty-two years and
nine months as of today, August 18th, 2012.
Although
I was born in Macon, Georgia in 1928, I was raised in Birmingham during the
Great Depression. No doubt I still carry
invisible scars caused by that era. No
matter we survived. I am talking about
my sister, brother, and I. There are two
things that set me apart from people.
From about the third grade I was a voracious reader of books on almost
any subject. Had I concentrated, I would
have been an authority by now; but I didn’t with no regrets.
I was born in Macon, Georgia in 1928, I was raised in Birmingham during the
Great Depression. No doubt I still carry
invisible scars caused by that era. No
matter we survived. I am talking about
my sister, brother, and I. There are two
things that set me apart from people.
From about the third grade I was a voracious reader of books on almost
any subject. Had I concentrated, I would
have been an authority by now; but I didn’t with no regrets.
After
the University of Alabama and the Air Force, I came to Denver. Here I met Carl, who picked me up in Mary’s
Bar. Through our early life, we traveled
extensively in the mountain West. Carl
is from Helena, Montana, and is a Blackfoot Indian. Our being from nearly opposite ends of the
country made “going to see the folks” a broadening experience. We went so many times that we finally had
“must see” places on each route like the Quilt Museum in Paducah, Kentucky and
the polo games in Sheridan, Wyoming. Now
those happy travels are only memories.
the University of Alabama and the Air Force, I came to Denver. Here I met Carl, who picked me up in Mary’s
Bar. Through our early life, we traveled
extensively in the mountain West. Carl
is from Helena, Montana, and is a Blackfoot Indian. Our being from nearly opposite ends of the
country made “going to see the folks” a broadening experience. We went so many times that we finally had
“must see” places on each route like the Quilt Museum in Paducah, Kentucky and
the polo games in Sheridan, Wyoming. Now
those happy travels are only memories.
I was
amongst the first members of the memory writing class. While it doesn’t offer criticism, it does
offer feedback. Also, just trying to
improve your writing helps no end.
amongst the first members of the memory writing class. While it doesn’t offer criticism, it does
offer feedback. Also, just trying to
improve your writing helps no end.
Carl
is now in a nursing home; I don’t drive any more. We totter on.
is now in a nursing home; I don’t drive any more. We totter on.
