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The clipping this text was read from
The clipping this text was read from

soon alter mis saa event, i was cauea into the office of the Squadron C.O. He told me that I was assigned to escort young Spurlin’s body back for burial in his little home town in Texas. I was taken aback by this most unwelcome and unexpected development because I knew that there was another ensign in our Air Group 3 from the same Texas town and I assumed that this young man would be designated naval escort for his friend Spurlin. The commander mentioned him but said that he was, “too broken up over his friend’s death to carry out such duties.” (More explanation about this came later.)

Exactly how and why I drew this lugubrious duty remains unknown to me to this day. For one thing, I barely knew Spurlin personally and we had not been thrown together much since we joined the squadron shortly before. Perhaps it was felt that my soft and slow Virginia drawl might be more appropriate for expressing the Navy’s sympathy to the grieving Texas family. It was true that I was the same age and rank as the deceased, but so were a number of other pilots in VF-3. Maybe the C.O. just “let his fingers do the shopping” down the muster roll.

Commander Schrader, who was an Annapolis graduate, briefed me on the formalities of my forthcoming duties, my routing with the casket on the trains (“Be sure you don’t get separated from it when you change trains in Denver”), instructions on such details as how one folds the flag from the casket before presenting it to the pilot’s mother and, finally, told me that my orders were to stay with the family as long as they required •ne, that I was to be “at their disposal.”

I left Seattle with the body of this young flyer back in the baggage car — at rest and at peace. Up front, with me, there was no peace; just exasperation enough to nourish mutiny!

I began to feel very sorry for myself, as I remembered the big squadron Christmas party

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