"Air Corps Reunion," by Rachel Firth

Autumn leaves, rustling together to the appointed place, the old warriors come. Pilgrims, drifting across the land they fought to preserve. Where they meet is not so important any more. They meet, and that's enough for now.

Greetings echo across a lobby. Hands reach out and arms draw buddies close. Embraces, that as young men they were too uncomfortable to give, too shy to accept so lovingly. But, deep within these Indian Summer days, they have reached a greater understanding of life and love.

The shells holding their souls are weaker now, but hearts and minds grow vigorous remembering. On a table, someone spreads old photographs; a test of recollection. And friendly laughter echoes at shocks of hair gone gray, or white, or merely gone. The rugged, slender bodies lost forever. Yet, they no longer need to prove their strength.

Some are now sustained by one of "medicine's miracles," and even in this fact they manage to find humor. The women, all those that waited, all those who love them, have watched the changes take place. Now, they observe and listen, and smile at each other, as glad to be together as the men.

Talk turns to war and planes and foreign lands. Stories are told again and again, re-weaving the threadbare fabric of the past. Mending one more time the banner of their youth. They hear the vibrations, feel the shudder of metal as propellers whine and whirl, and planes come to life. These birds with fractured wings can see beyond the mist of clouds, and they are in the air again, chasing the wind, feeling the exhilaration of flight, close to the heavens, this wild blue yonder of their anthem.

Dead comrades, hearing their names spoken, wanting to share in this time, if only in spirit, move silently among them. Their presence is felt and smiles appear beneath misty eyes. Each, in his own way, may wonder who will be absent another year, and the room goes quiet for a time. Suddenly, an ember flames to life. Another memory burns. The talk may turn to other wars and other men, and of futility.

So, this is how it goes. The past is so much the present. In their ceremonies, the allegiances, the speeches and the prayers, one cannot help but hear the deep eternal love of country they will forever share. Finally, it is time to leave. Much too soon to set aside this little piece of yesterday, but the past cannot be held too long, for it is fragile. They say, "Farewell, see you next year, God willing." Each keeping a little of the others with him forever.

I sent emails to other crew families but, so far, no replies. I would love to hear from any family members of men who flew with the Monahan crew - including those who did not usually fly with them but were part of their (last) 31 Aug 1943 mission.

What I am putting together is primarily for crew family use. I am not planning 'real' publication (mainly because I am using details from many sources and am not going to track down 'rights and permissions'). At this point, it's approx 180 pages of text, photos, maps, etc. I am adding footnotes and attributing sources throughout.

Thanks to Gary for this site and continued thanks to all who serve and have served our country.

Please send to my email address above what I need to include my father's name on your list. Finally, to whomever put this website together - it is superb!