Talking to my Dad about the war.

As time moved on through the 50s, I reached an age where I could have some meaningful conversations with my father about the war. I'm quite sure that I filled him full of questions about the stories I'd heard from all my Uncles because, at one point, he put us in the car and took us to the Downtown Airport in Shreveport.

It was still the early 50s then and I clearly remember Delta Airlines operating DC3 service from there to Dallas. One day, he took us to the south end of the field and introduced us to a pilot friend of his named Joe Messina. Joe flew C 46s "Over The Hump" from India into China and that mission became legend among cargo pilots because it was very hazardous flying and many planes were lost.

After a bit of conversation, Joe put me and my sister Linda in the back seat of a Piper Cub for our first flight. Many of you might recall that a Piper Cub only had one back seat and therefore, room enough for a pilot in the front and only one passenger in the rear. We were so young, Linda and I fit in there like a glove. It was around that time that I recall hearing "narrow ass kids" and figuring out that we were still very little and would easily fit in one seat.

I remember daddy telling us that Joe had done that millions of times and that we would have a lot of fun on our first flight. He was right. Joe flew us around the field so we could wave at Daddy below and then he flew us over Cross Lake. That was one of the prettiest spots around Shreveport and I remember the scene to this day. In any event, I consider that day as the beginning of my life of being an airport bum. I would do anything to go.

The next trip to the airport resulted in a flight where Joe used a Piper Tri-Pacer. It had a radio in it and I could hear all the traffic between the pilots and the tower. It was bigger than the Cub but I think it was just me and Joe on that one.

During that flight, while we were preparing to change course over Cross Lake and return to land, the radio sounded off with : "Shreveport Traffic, this is Herman Hesslinger, coming in from the west to land Downtown". With that call, I heard Joe say: "Shit, I hate Germans".

I had heard that saying before and I guess it came from Uncle Earl, Uncle Wayne and Uncle Joe. It really didn't make any difference because, by that time I was hooked on flying. I knew, at the ripe old age of 6 or 7, that one day I would become a military pilot.

Unfortunately for me, my dad died of a heart attack on December 4th, 1958. Since my birthday was on November 4th, I was only ten years old by 30 days. That ended a lot of things in my life and I always wished he had known that his trips to the airport opened the door to my life as a military aviator. I'm sure he would have been very proud to see me stand among the ranks of all my family members who did the right thing when called upon.

His death brought on some things that Leland taught me. I remember him telling me that we had to be the men of the house and protect our mother. To say I became a bit intense is an understatement. One of the nuns at school made mention of my father's  untimely death but finished it with something like this " With kids like YOU, I understand how that happened".

Before I knew it, I went into the attack mode, picked up a chalk filled eraser and threw it at her as hard as I could. I waited until she had her back turned before I delivered the pitch and when the eraser hit the back of her head, a mushroom cloud erupted and the entire class started laughing. From that day forward, I started referring to the nuns and their outfits as "Zorro".  With an attitude like that, I guess it wasn't much of a surprise when the announcement came that I would go to Subiaco Academy in Subiaco, Arkansas, to spend the summer in a preparatory course to begin boarding schools. I thought it was CAMP. ...................I'll continue a little later but wanted to make sure you face book followers can gain access to this post. Please leave a comment here are on face book.