Saturday, July 1, 2017

How She Won The War





Barbara moved with a purpose that seemed like urgency to those who didn’t know her. It took me some time to realize this about my friend who had flown for the military during World War II.

Many, who describe Barbara, use words such as, all business, to the point, curt, black and white, focused. What I can say about her is that she lived her life with a sense of urgency, but only because, in her opinion, it was the more efficient way to live. There was no fear attached to it. It was always about getting the job done right, striving to accomplish a goal, not letting opportunity pass you by … and why in the hell would you want to dawdle or ponder anyway? Just do it!

These beliefs stuck with her all throughout her life and reveled themselves in so many endearing ways.

In 1992, the first time I flew down to California to visit Barbara, she was 72 years old. I found out that if you were a pilot for most of your life - time will always play a major role in your daily life. I’ve actually found that to be true with every pilot I’ve ever known. Time matters.  How long will it take to fly to my destination with an 8 knot headwind? What will my ground speed be? How much longer will it take if it’s a 15 knot headwind? What does that do to my fuel consumption? My ETA? Time matters. Not paying attention to it can cost you your life.

During that first visit with Barbara we went grocery shopping at the local Ralph’s - not too far from her house, but far enough to wonder if we were going to make to back home alive. She drove like a bat outta hell. She tailgated, constantly changed lanes with practically zero clearance – all the while exceeding the speed limit. I was white knuckling it the entire way. Who was this pint-sized, daredevil Greatest Generation grandma I was riding with? I didn’t know her well enough yet to tell her to “SLOW DOWN!” So, I just hung on, for the duration.

As we got closer to Ralph’s my death grip on the armrest began to loosen. I suddenly realized, “Hey, this woman actually has it under control.” She was maneuvering and navigating with impressive precision. She knew exactly what she was doing and she’s doing it with a ferocious sense of purpose. Time and efficiency. Time and efficiency. We made it to Ralph’s without me making one peep….or fearful gasp.

Dragging me in her wake, I watched her beeline into the store in her just-below-the-knee straight black skirt, tailored black and white striped blouse, black blazer with a B-17 Bomber pin adorning her lapel. Purse in one hand - shopping list in the other.   She was a force. She moved with the same sense of urgency she had moved 50 years earlier as she strode out onto the flight line to get into the cockpit of a P-51 Mustang fighter. Parachute in one hand - checklist in the other. Her purpose … win the war.

I caught up with her as she was selecting a cart. She pulled one out from the line and almost without notice she did a pre-flight on it. She rolled it forward a couple feet and jiggled it to see if there were any issues with the wheels. Everything checked out so, once again, off she went – charging down the aisle like a shopping spree winner. I followed, imaging this 72 year old woman as a 22 year old pilot. A pilot that was awarded the Army Air Medal for flying a record breaking 8,000 miles in only 5 days, delivering four different planes to destinations across the country - because - that’s what it took to win a war.

When the shopping was over, the bill paid and groceries bagged, Barbara relinquished the rest of the mission to me. A true commander, she let her lieutenant do the grunt work. I pushed the cart across the parking lot. I don’t know why, maybe out of politeness or maybe a little twinge of white-knuckle syndrome, I asked, “Do you want me to drive?” The words just slipped out. I cringed inside because I know that pilots, even 72 year old pilots, never want to relinquish that pilot-in-command seat. Barbara paused, gave me a glance and said, “Have at it, kiddo.”

I climbed in the driver’s seat and quickly tried to acquaint myself with her 1980 Chrysler LeBaron. I backed out and drove to the exit. In front of me was a busy six-lane street. Cars coming, going, slowing down, speeding up and here I am in this boat-of-a-car I’ve never driven. I sat, waiting for that safe, sure moment to enter traffic. Is that enough room?  I don’t think so. Wait a minute, is it!? Oh damn it, it was enough room. I just couldn’t pull the trigger. And there we still sat, Barbara not saying a word.

Finally, I saw my window, a big window, a REALLY big window. I looked both ways three times and cautiously pulled out into traffic. Whew! I made it! Out of the corner of my eye I could see Barbara staring at me. I finally said, “What?” She stopped staring, looked straight ahead and said, “If you were driving, we never would of won the war.”




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