Silicon Investor (SI) -- The First Internet Community

STOCKTALK

We've detected that you're using an ad content blocking browser plug-in or feature. Ads provide a critical source of revenue to the continued operation of Silicon Investor. We ask that you disable ad blocking while on Silicon Investor in the best interests of our community. If you are not using an ad blocker but are still receiving this message, make sure your browser's tracking protection is set to the 'standard' level.

Pastimes : Where the GIT's are going -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: Neeka who wrote (107548)	10/20/2005 10:14:43 PM
From: ManyMoose	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 225578

I'll dream about it all the way over to Montana on Saturday. I'm heading up to my brother's hunting camp on the East Fork of the Bitterroot. I'll keep the fire going while he hunts. Thanks so much for the encouragement. I'm a lot like my Dad. Here's a story about him: Dad was in the Marine Corps stationed at Pearl Harbor before the war. He yearned to fly, but as an enlisted man the best he could do would be to take lessons privately. Then he got shipped stateside where he ultimately became a navigator/bombardier on a Marine Corps PBJ (=B-25, medium bomber, the Mitchell). The war was over before he got into combat, which surely would have been the invasion of Japan (hence, I am here typing this). Dad always put his own dreams on the back burner but after living the retired life between Montana and Florida, Mom realized he was bored. She bought him flying lessons at age 78 or so. He never wore glasses, and passed all the FAA physicals. He passed the ground school. He flew. He soloed. A pilot's license required a 300 mile cross country trip, which could be done in three segments. He flew one segment, then two. His last letter to me describes drifting over the Canadian border on that second segment. He went dancing with Mom. When they played The Marine's Hymn he said "Stand up everybody, that's the national anthem!" Three days later he got up. He made the coffee. He went back into the bedroom. Mom heard a loud thump. A scrape on his forehead from hitting his dresser told the doctors he was dead before he hit the floor. Dad was 83. A more graceful passing I could never hope for myself. I wish he could have finished that third leg and got his pilot's license. I guess maybe I should build that trapper cabin, huh!