Monthly Archives: July 2019

Childhood Memories: Fuselage -By Karla

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The WASPS Museum

When Donna asked if she could have her picture taken on the wing of the aircraft like her grandmother, the director of the WASP museum enthusiastically obliged. “Stay on the fuselage,” I heard her say.

What an incredible memory we made at the WASP Museum learning about Donna’s grandmother Marion and about the WASPS. Donna’s blog WASPS

To my knowledge, I had never heard that word before, but I immediately knew what the word must have meant. In my childhood, I heard the phrase, “don’t get off the black strip” every time I climbed up on the wing of daddy’s plane.

Transported back to my Childhood Memories

That one word uncovered such treasured moments. Being only eleven when Daddy died, I don’t have many memories of him. Of the remembrances I do have, his plane and the airport are present. Daddy had acquired his pilot license during his short stay in the US Air Force, while Mom earned hers as a means of taking care of her girls “in case there was ever an emergency while in the air”.

Many of my Sunday afternoons were spent at the airport. Sometimes, we would go up and “fly a pattern”, but other times we simply hung out at the hanger. The adults sat in the lounge sharing stories of the week while my three sisters, two of our best friends (Sarah and Martha), and I would play house, tag, or hide-and-seek around the planes parked outside. With the airport nestled in Copperhill, Tennessee, we often ventured out into the copper-colored gullies, just beyond the tarmac, where each of us claimed a ravine as a pretend home. 

Personal Search Party

One afternoon my older sisters went beyond the gullies because they apparently heard some kids having a birthday party and wanted to check it out. Since Mom’s voice was a little too far out of reach, she sent Daddy in the air for a private search party using the bird’s eye view. He did, they were recovered, and knowing Mom—they probably received a spanking for venturing too far.

Eating What?

Another day while playing hide and seek, I got hungry. I walked inside to grab the Pepperidge Farms snacks Mom ALWAYS brought. As I closed the heavy metal door coming back out, Martha was spotted beside the tire of her daddy’s plane. Everyone came running to base, and my oldest sister Lynn asked what I was eating. Looking at her like she was crazy, I said, “The snacks Mom brought.” 

In the way a big sister corrects, she replied, “Mom did not bring any today.” 

Proving her wrong, I marched over to the door and pointed to the square card table where Mom always set up snacks.. 

Lynn panicked! “That’s not Mom’s snacks; she didn’t bring any. That’s Shultz’s dog food!” (One of the adults had his dog with him.) 

The six of us stood there silently, wondering how much I had just eaten and how sick I would be. Lynn nudged me inside the door as the five of them glued themselves to the window, anticipating my outcome. Slowly, I walked over to Mom, waiting for her to finish talking. I shared the story and waited to see if I would be going to the hospital. I remembered they all laughed. Mom swooped me up and sat me down on the couch with Mrs. Sandy, Sarah and Martha’s mom, assuring me, I would live. 

Flying to Vacations

Being a pharmacist at Talent Drugs provided long hours with few days. However, every summer we flew to Myrtle Beach for a Wednesday through Sunday vacation.

In 1976, while riding in the brown and tan station wagon one evening, Dad proposed a spontaneous trip to Disney World in Florida. Sure enough, the next day much to our delight, by eleven Mom was picking us up at school, and we were walking up the plane wing—staying off the fuselage of course—and buckling up.  

Flying with His Best Friend

Sarah and Martha’s dad and Daddy were the best of friends. He and Daddy often flew together. Mr. Buddy was the local mortician at Finch’s Funeral Home. Mr. Buddy’s personality was definitely not the grim, stone-faced men that are often portrayed at funeral homes in movies. He was one of the joyous men I ever met. He and Daddy had many adventures of their own. Perhaps my favorite stories was their flight to retrieve a body that needed preparation for a funeral.  

On short flights when they had a body, Buddy would sit in the back seat, and they would lie the body in a stretcher that extended from the back seat to the folded front seat. However, this particular trip was a longer flight, and they decided having Buddy co-pilot was a good idea. Their next good idea was to strap the body in an upright position and buckle her in the back seat! 

When nature called and the plane needed a fill up, they landed. Daddy asked the attendant to fill-her-up, and they walked inside. Returning with their usual little glass Coke bottle and a pack of peanut butter crackers, the attendant had an alarming expression. 

“Uh, the lady in the back seat—she hasn’t moved since you’ve been gone! Not a muscle!” 

Buddy paid for the gas and added, “Well, if she had, then there would be some real trouble!” 

Daddy just shook his head. They latched the doors and took off. 

Tribute to a Friend

If I had a dime for every time Mr. Buddy flew his airplane over our house after Daddy passed, I would be a millionaire. I can still hear Mom’s call, “Girls, I hear Buddy.” All five of us, Mom, my three sisters, and me would run out of the house, throw our heads in the air, and begin waving. I think Buddy’s flights helped us know Daddy was a part of him and a part of us too.

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WASPS: Priceless -by Donna

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When I was in junior high and high school I wanted to be a social worker. People who knew me well, quickly pointed out that I was “too tenderhearted” for that particular job. I know they were correct. When I was nearing graduation, my mama suggested I look into being a flight attendant, to which I laughed. At the time I had never flown and had no desire. Dangling in mid-air is scary to me. 

Women Airforce Service Pilot

My grandmother, on the other hand, was a WASP, Women Airforce Service Pilot, during WW2. (See former blog, Almost Forgotten). Growing up, I heard about her, and I even have some of her things: her silver wings, flight school yearbook, photo album, WASP diploma and a few other items. However I never knew her because she died in a plane crash in 1945 when Mama was only five. I decided to learn more about her if possible and what she did as a WASP. 

So in June, Karla and I flew to Sweetwater, Texas where the WASP Museum is located. When we walked in the hanger/museum, I was brought to tears. I was not expecting that reaction. Those who know me are aware that I am not a very emotional person. But something about standing where she would have stood and looking at the same kind of plane she flew was overwhelming. I looked up to my left and on the wall were plaques from each state with the names of the WASPs who resided there. Above my head was North Carolina, and I quickly spotted Marion G. Mann, my grandmother. 

The WASP were brave women. Carol, the museum’s vice president, commented that she often wondered if it was genetic. I laughed and said, “Maybe. My mother was very feisty and come to think of it, so is my daughter. It just skipped me.”

Zoot Suit

Zoot Suit

Karla and I spent two days at the museum. The staff who worked there were informative and made me feel so special for being the granddaughter of a WASP. The facts I learned were incredible. My favorite picture of my grandmother is one of her on the wing of a plane. I got the courage to ask if I could recreate the picture. To my surprise they said yes. They even went and got a zoot suit for me to wear, complete with head gear and saddle oxfords. (To begin with, the women pilots had no uniforms. So they were given men’s coveralls to wear. They were so big, they had to roll up the sleeves and the arms. They were referred to as zoot suits).

Class 47-W-7

Before Karla and I left, I was looking at a picture of two WASPs in their late 90s, who had been to a recent homecoming. When I saw the class 47-W-7 under one of the names I screeched! “Look! This lady is still living and she was in the same class as Marion!” I went to Carol, and asked if I could possibly get her address. Not only did she give it to me, but a phone number too. It took me a while to get the nerve, but about a week later, I called Nell. I explained that I got her number from the museum and my grandmother was a WASP in her class. When I said “Marion”, she replied, “I knew Marion well.” Tears welled in my eyes. Besides one family member, she was the first person I had ever talked to that told me about my grandmother. We talked for thirty minutes. “Marion was a great gal. And an awesome pilot. I flew with her once.” 

Happy Birthday

Before hanging up, I learned that Nell’s birthday was in two days, and she would be turning 98. I wished her a Happy Birthday. It might have been her birthday, but I was the one who received a gift that was priceless. 

**If ever in SweetWater, Texas, visit the WASP Museum https://www.waspmuseum.org/

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Doers of the Word: What Did He Say? -Donna

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In the South we tend to have lazy tongues. We omit our ending sounds: going becomes goin’ and  kept becomes kep’. Recently while in Texas, Karla and I decided to stop at a local restaurant. When we walked in, It had a small down-home feeling. Besides us, there were only about eight other patrons in the place. We quickly noticed the man who was making rounds from table to table. Clearly, everyone knew him. He reminded us of Uncle Jesse from the TV show The Dukes of Hazzard (‘79-’85). He wore faded blue overalls and a button up shirt. Snow white hair graced his head and face. 

After table-hopping to visit the other locals, he approached our table with a huge smile that could only be detected because his beard widened. “Hey ladies. I’ve spoke to ever’body else, so I had to come tell y’all hello too. That way you can say the crazy pastor talked to you too.” We smiled, laughed, and said hello. But as soon as he walked away, we looked at each other with unsure, large eyes. “Did he say pastor or bastard?” I questioned in a whisper voice, half laughing and half alarmed. Immediately, Karla replied, “I was gonna ask you the same thing! I think he said pastor. I mean ever’one in here knows him, and he’s so nice and friendly.”  I said, “True, but it sure sounded more like bastard, just with the d dropped.”

Confusion

Now if you were a teen in the late 80’s or early 90’s, you probably watched Saturday Night Live at some point. This situation reminded me of the “Pat” character. Pat was an individual in skits, and it was never clear if Pat was a male or female. After our brief remembrance of Pat, we felt we were in a similar boat. 

In five minutes or so another local came in the door. They immediately recognized each other. The man walked over to “Uncle Jesse” and said, “Hey man, how are ya?”  Jesse replied, “I have my wife and my Bible; I am great! ” Karla and I smiled, shook our heads up and down, whispering, “He said pastor.” 

As we ate our salads, we heard him loudly talking. He remarked about all the “s–t” that has been going on lately. We made eye contact and silently mouthed, “he said bastard.” While we waited for our steak and chicken to arrive, we were pretty sure he was bowing his head, saying the blessing. Maybe we were wrong, maybe we didn’t hear the s word earlier.  He probably said pastor.  

Ketchup on a Steak

Being that we were in Texas, I ordered a nice, big steak. I asked the waitress for ketchup. She brought it back and placed it on the table. As I squirted it onto my plate, Uncle Jesse yelled across the room. “You best not be puttin’ ketchup on a steak!” I looked up and Uncle Jesse was glaring at me! Now I do eat ketchup on a steak, but I sure wasn’t going to tell him that. But instead of lying, I smiled and held up a fry, leading him to believe the ketchup was for them. Karla became tickled as she pointed out that before dipping my steak each time, I made sure he wasn’t looking. I felt as if I was doing something I would have gotten in trouble for when I was a kid. 

After his wife was paying for their meal, he came over and apologized for the ketchup comment. He said he was just kidding and talked so sweetly about his wife and his local friends. Karla and I nodded at each other and smiled, signaling “pastor”, but the conversation took a quick turn. He began talking about when he was a kid. Every sentence contained a curse word. We raised our eyebrows signaling “bastard”. When He bid us farewell, he took his wife by the hand and left. 

Deceiving Ourselves

The irony of the situation was the wall Karla’s seat faced was covered with crosses. So many sizes and shapes. There must have been 50, but the wall I faced was decorated with shot glasses. 

When we got in the car, Karla remarked that so many Christians are like that. One minute we are a shining light for Christ and the next we are doing something that makes people wonder if we are a Christian at all. Surely, our sinful nature confuses the unsaved leaving them to wonder how our lives as Christian are any different than theirs. 

I’m not saying that if we say a curse word, tell a lie, or take a little something from our workplace that we are not Christian. Most believers have done one or even all of these, but it may cause a non-Christian to take a double take. 

Though Christians are human and still sin daily, we should be striving to be different! In James 1:22, the Bible says, “But be doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves.”  

Uncle Jessie: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_TaWtUFmtNE

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