TO DAD

"Not for them are the honors. No Virtuti Militari or Cross of Valor for them.

"These decorations are expressly granted for 'valor in the presence of the enemy.' But the air force stations must be situated as far as possible from the enemy postions if they are to carry out their task."

"So the mechanic runs to the airplane with all the passion of devotion and gives it a thorough overhaul. He listens to its heart, fingers it, smells and penetrates its vitals. He is no longer an  ordinary soldier, a private or corporal, but a specialist of metal diseases, who knows that on his skill and thoroughness depends not only the pilot's life, but his victory in the next encounter. A squadron's victories are brought to birth on the ground, through the services of the mechanics."

Squadron 303: The Polish Fighter Squadron With The R.A.F.
Arkady Fiedler
Roy Publishers   1943
p. 127, 123

How I wish my dad were alive so that I could share this with him. Though Dad wasn't a part of this squadron, he was an airplane mechanic during WWII.

Someone once made a comment to Dad, in my presence, "Well, you weren't in the fighting," as though he were never in danger, or as though his job weren't important. It sounds as though that were a prevalent thought during war times, as well.

I wish I could copy about four pages of this incredible book which honors many many men without the exclusion of airplane mechanics.

I was already proud, Dad; I'm even more so now. Hugs.

Your Daughter,
Lonnie