Tinian the island where the Enola Gay landed and practiced runs before the bombing of Hiroshima. It is a place that I never knew existed until 1988. My father in law one day was speaking of being in World War II, and as he spoke, he related the stories he had seen on that small tiny island. My father in law is a humble man, big in stature and I would say a true German patriarch. His kids to this day still call him Daddy, what he says goes although he listens to what he considers wise counsel. So for him to relate this amazing tale of painting bombs for the Germans where he signed his name with Love, was fascinating. Every time I think fiction is good someone I know relates a story that rivets me for years.

Back in World War II there was no Air Force, it was called the Army Air Corp. I know this because my dad served in the Army Air Corp. So did my father in law, back then they had no telephones, no emails, letters could take up to two months. As my father in law put it, the American Army could do anything on these islands because it would take months for anyone to found out about it. So he and his fellow corpsmen saw a plane that instead of them loading bombs into it had curtains around it. It did not take long for these young men from all over the United States to figure out the bomb the plane was getting was special. They of course had no idea of plans for an atomic bomb. However, they did know what type of bombs they painted cared for and loaded each day. This plane was not the same. It was the Enola Gay. Yes, we have snapshots of my father in law in front of it. According to him, the group all took snapshots in front of it. Along with the pictures of bombs signed to Germany with Love, I have seen pictures of him on the island near a statue.

To tell the whole story of my father in law in World War II would be a novel, someday I might write it. He came from a town of less than 100, sailed the ocean to go to Pearl Harbor before Hawaii was a tourist location. He has spoken of sailing on the ocean with many men sick from the length of the journey. I found his sharpshooter button; he acknowledged he did it during basic training. For him sharp shooting was not hard, he had hunted since he could walk. He thought everyone could shoot that well.

I have a link to the history of this tiny island on my title.

I tell this shortened tale, to remember the men and women today that did not come home as he did, and yet with every way possible they all served to the best of us. I am very grateful to know such a man, and know he is one of thousands. Thanks Servicemen and Servicewomen!!

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