Chaitanya Jyothi Museum Opening, 2000
RAMANAM
In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.
Countrymen,
ORBIS NON SUFFICIT
SOLUS DEUS SUFFICIT
Warmest Thanks to Michael Quine/Las Vegas Review-Journal for this video!
A Veteran Writes:
As to Memorial Day, when I look back at all our beautiful Ronnie endured when, at her age of 29 and my age of 32, which would have been an old-timer in World War II, I left for war in Vietnam, leaving her with three children ages 9, 5, and 3 – and our squadron had already lost one pilot who went ahead of us four months on temporary duty, and was shot down in a helicopter while performing airborne Forward Air Controller duties. His name was John Musgrove, and John had left his wife, Nancy, and two children to go ahead of us into the war – and never came back.
Even before that happened another officer and I flew back to Bryan, TX, in a T-33 to attend a funeral for another young officer with whom we had all been closely associated at Reese AFB just outside Lubbock. Charlie Allen left his wife, Pat, and two children, too. He too had been shot down, flying an A1-H, propeller driven close support aircraft. (Charlie and Pat had been in our quarters at Reese more than once for parties Ronnie prepared for our small unit, called the Group Standardization Board. We were part of the 3500th Pilot Training Group.)
With a one month warning order about our Wing’s upcoming departure for Vietnam from MacDill AFB, we were scrambling to buy a small, new home because all our wing’s and squadron’s families had to move off base. Our family into the new modest home in north Tampa before our squadron’s November 14 departure. We managed to move into the house with ten days to spare, then scrambled to obtain a small rat terrier dog from the local SPCA. We named him “Skipper,” and he would become a wonderful, friendly pet for our children – and Ronnie, the young woman who had grown up in a family of six girls in a row house in southwest Philadelphia, where her parents would allow no pets of any kind.
When that day of departure came, I drove to base operations, preparatory to boarding a C-135. Ronnie and the children of course came with me. When I parked, getting ready to open the door, Ronnie burst out crying, and everyone of us quickly followed suit. It was a day none of us would ever forget as long as we lived, I suppose a fairly typical “going off to war scene.”
On approximately November 23, I flew my first combat mission, and ironically, on December 7, 1965, we lost our first crew from the 557th Tactical Fighter Squadron. Two fathers, one a former U-2 pilot, Jimmy Sala, with a wife and two children, the other a navigator, Wayne Wranowski, with a wife and four children. They wouldn’t be the last in the seven months I was flying out of Cam Rahn Bay. Ronnie never complained or let her fears gain control of her life and outlook on life. She was like a rock in caring for our family. So my Memorial Day is her Memorial Day – every bit of it.
And by the time all who survived came home, many of us would learn that we were often not welcome, no victory parades or bands, naturally, and some of us were subjected to recriminations of one kind or another. Fortunately, neither Ronnie nor I ever had to endure what many others did.
So just remember this. Your [Memorial Day] call was a very big lift for me, Barbara, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
AUM NAMA SHIVAYA
