Source: Des Moines Register Nov. 11 2008 by Carol Hunter
Note: Paul Hunter trained at the Pratt Army Air Field in WW II
More than 60 years ago, when they were young, my father and Ed Adamson of West Des Moines spent hour upon hour a few feet from each other as they flew combat missions on B-29s.
My dad, Paul Hunter of Parsons, Kan., was a flight engineer. His job was to keep the plane running, conserving precious fuel and making adjustments if the plane suffered damage. Adamson, who grew up on a farm outside Ankeny, was the navigator. His job was to chart the course to get the crew to the bombing target and back.
As a flight engineer, my father sat right behind the co-pilot, facing the back of the plane. Adamson was stationed on the other side of the plane, just a few feet farther back. So on 15- and 20-hour flights from India to Burma, China or Japan, he was almost always in Dad's sight.
Last month, after not seeing each other for several years, they met again in St. Louis at a reunion of the 40th Bomb Group Association. I asked Dad at the time about his most vivid memory from the war. It wasn't about the crash landing he survived or the casualties he'd witnessed. He talked about the admiration he felt for Adamson and the others with whom he flew regularly.
"I trusted them with my life," he said, "and I hope they placed the same trust in me."
Sent by their nation into harm's way, they relied on their faith in their own abilities, in God and in one another to collectively do their duty and sustain their hopes.
After the war, the years flew by. Adamson returned to duty, called back for service in Korea. Both married farm girls; Adamson's wife, Donna, grew up near Adel. Dad farmed; Adamson farmed for a while, then sold feed for Continental Grain. Babies came, later grandchildren, and, for my dad, great-grandchildren.
They and their buddies stayed in touch through Christmas cards and later the bomb-group reunions. But death and frailty have thinned their ranks. Members decided last year that this reunion would be their last.
Dad is 87, and Adamson is 90. I'll carry with me a memory of seeing the two old airmen reunited, Adamson in a wheelchair, my dad sitting on the flip-down seat of his walker, leaning toward each other, their white-haired heads almost touching as they smiled and talked.
I'm glad they got to see each other again. And I'm glad a banquet audience of family and friends got another chance to say to a group of veterans: "Thank you."
Today is Veterans Day, set aside to honor all veterans for their sacrifice. Thank them today, of course, whatever their era of service, from World War II to Vietnam to Iraq. Even better, thank them every day. After their service, their life's journey may be long or short. Thank them while we can.
- Carol Hunter