Pretty amazing guy, actually. Born in the deep South, had a pony as a kid, got his pilot’s license as a teenager in the 1930s, cadet colonel at Clemson (when it was still an A and M military school), B-24 bomber pilot in WW II, married to his high school sweetheart (both of whom had the same birthday on August 12, one year apart).
He was an architect and later a banker, amateur hobbyist, boatman (power boats, mostly in the Inter-Coastal Waterway in Florida), retired now for more years than he actually was in the work force — because he’s 94.
Nowadays, he lives in a retirement community (but independently), still drives a car (only around town and in the daytime, tested every year), in church at St. Mary’s Episcopal every Sunday at 8:30 am, plays bingo on Saturday nights, does a little stretch and flex exercise once or twice a week, goes out with the guys in the “lunch bunch” every week too.
Desperately misses his beloved Maggie, married for more than 70 years…but he gets on with life every day. Demonstrating the same courage with which he led his flight crew four decades ago.
“The Greatest Generation.” How we throw that phrase around so easily.
They really were/are “great.”
What a debt we owe them.
I love you, Dad.