Letter From La Vernia
by Tommy Terry


Editor: Tommy Terry's Sentimental Journey begins with his step-daughter, Vicki, who wanted a really big-time airplane ride. But, let Tommy tell it from his perch in La Vernia, Texas:


Latest Meets Greatest.
5/2008


For several weeks now, I've been writing and re-writing, mostly in my head, the story of my ride in a B24, but it just wouldn't work. Then I finally realized; this story isn't about me, or my love of airplanes or aviation in general; its much bigger than that.

April 2, 2008, Victoria Regional Airport, Victoria Texas: The Latest Generation, represented by my beautiful 13 year old step-daughter, Vicki, met The Greatest Generation, represented by Major Silas Grider. The Major was a B24 instructor pilot and later assigned to flying anti-submarine missions out of Iceland. Like so many of the bomber pilots, he had his plane shot up pretty bad at times. One plane didn't make it home and he spent four days floating around in the English Channel. As with most things that work out wonderfully, this was brought about by chance. A couple of years back while the Collings Foundation's Bombers were in San Antonio, Vicki and I went to see them. For a small fee we were able to walk through, feel and touch history. Thinking that I could never justify the price of a ride in one these flying history books, we consoled ourselves with a photo of Vicki pointing at the sign and making a face that said, "hint, hint."


As a bonus, I was able to eaves drop on some older gentlemen telling their children and grandchildren about their perilous life when they manned these aircraft.


After that visit with the Collings bombers, I signed up for their e-newsletter. (www.collingsfoundation.org) On January 21st, the first one for this year popped up in my 'in' box. All of the regular stuff; descriptions of repairs and improvements had been made to the aircraft, a tour schedule, and at the end of the tour schedule was a call for volunteers. Keeping in mind that a mediocre day at the airport (we'll stay away from bad days) is far superior to even the best day at work, I shot off an email and asked what kind of help was needed. Turned out they needed some good old fashioned labor and a little P.R. work. Let's see now: spend some time helping out around airplanes and do a little talking about airplanes...well, I guess I could force myself!

About a week before the aircraft were scheduled to be in San Antonio, the folks at the Collings Foundation offered two seats for a ride from Victoria to San Antonio. Chance, fate, coincidence; whatever name you want to give it, jumps in again. Connie, my very understanding wife, surrenders her seat to Vicki. I sent a note naming myself and Vicki as the passengers and requested seats on the B17. Two hours later the seats are confirmed.


The day of the flight dawned ugly: the ceiling was at about 400' and the B17 had a flat tire. That was OK though, the flat would be repaired before the ceiling came up enough to fly. Everything will be alright!

Noon comes and the ceiling is still too low to fly and the B17 has two local rides to give before it departs for San Antonio.

12:30 and we are just now getting ready to start engines.


Things have gotten real tight schedule wise. We should be off the ground headed towards San Antonio by now.

The local schools had been alerted that there would be a fly over of antique aircraft, with a local student onboard, and communication plans were made so the schools could be notified about ten minutes before the aircraft were overhead. They were expecting a B17, B24, and B25. After a chat with Jim, the tour coordinator, it was decided to send the B24 alone to keep the San Antonio arrival schedule and the flyover schedule for the schools.

Well the best laid plans; right? Not quite, here's where our old friend fate jumps in once again.

Q: What happens to a young boy of the 60's who watches dozens of WWII movies and episode after episode of "12 o'clock High"?
A: Eventually he becomes an old guy who is still addicted to the fantastic aircraft of that era and has a special affinity for the B-17.

However, for a few days before the flight, I had seriously thought about changing to the B24. After all, it's the last one flying and I might somehow manage to catch a B17 in the future. Turns out I didn't have to make the choice, good old fate made it for me. We'll ride in the B24.

As the B24 was being prepared for departure, I was asked to help an older gentleman into the aircraft and up to the radio operator position. Vicki and I went forward and that's when we met Maj. Grider. It was a bit of a chore to get the Major up to the flight deck level, a place he had spent so many hours in a time so long ago. He's not as limber as he was sixty-some-few years ago. As I fumbled around trying to help him with the 1940's vintage seatbelt, he said; "let me show you how." Surely and quickly as if it had been just yesterday, instead of 60 years, he secured the belt. With the Major safely in his seat, we returned to ours for takeoff.


During the flight, I had a chance to talk to the Major but the only thing I can remember of our conversations was when he told me, "I feel like I'm 22 again." The vibration of those four radial engines no doubt revived memories. I watched as he looked around with the eyes of that 22 year old in a familiar place from so long ago.

About 10 minutes from La Vernia, the radio call was made. Cathy Mac, faithful secretary of our Elementary school, had agreed to pass the word to the other campuses, IF I could make contact with her. One try and contact was made. Interestingly enough all campuses held a "fire drill" at the same time! There were kids everywhere, jumping up and down, pointing and waving. From the right waist gun position Vicki was waving back as the plane circled our small town three times.







After treating the kids and the town to such a rare treat, it was on to San Antonio. We flew right over the downtown area. I wondered if anyone even noticed.

After landing at Stinson Field we helped Major Grider out of the plane and sent him off towards a waiting throng of microphones and cameras. Standing back and eavesdropping, I was astounded almost angered at the ignorance displayed by some of the questions being asked. Didn't these people have a clue? I was tempted to tell some of the reporters to go back and learn some 5th grade history. Find out what these great machines and even greater men did for all of us!


After the frenzy had subsided, Major Grider made his way to the lady who once again, like so many years ago, had been patiently waiting for him to get out of a B24.


My father was in the United Sates Navy and served in the Pacific during World War II and almost all of his friends served in some capacity. I rubbed shoulders with greatness for so many years and never realized it. Vicki's paternal grandfather served in the United States Marine Corps during that time and I'm not sure she fully appreciated his service, until one magic moment on the ramp at Stinson Field when a 92 year old hero of our nation took time to hold the hand of a 13 year old. In a matter of seconds it was obvious that the sacrifices made by so many during a time when the world had gone crazy really had been worthwhile. So much more was said by their short muffled conversation and the sight of their hands together than could ever be written in any history book. Too bad the reporters missed the real story.




I don't usually agree with a lot that the representatives of the mainstream media have to say, but a few years back, Tom Brokaw dubbed those of my parent's time, THE GREATEST GENERATION. This I agree with; and I thank God that the chores that fell on their shoulders did not fall on mine. I also thank God that there are some kids around now that appreciate them.

My ride? I think not. That ride belonged to The Greatest and The Latest.




Tommy (and Connie) Terry
La Vernia, TX
May, 2008





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