They called him Sonny. He was their bright ray of sunshine. Smart, sensitive, talented, destined to go far. When Grandma and Pop-Pop got the telegram that their Sonny was gone, part of them died in that moment as well. People said they were never the same. I wouldn’t know what they were like before. I was not yet two when Sonny’s plane went down.

Sometimes I think I remember him. But then I realize it’s his pictures and the loving stories told about him that made my Uncle Sonny alive for me. I was told he loved me. He told my mom he wanted a picture of me on a bearskin rug in my “all-together”…in other words, a chubby baby with a hundred fat rolls, buns up on a blanket. This was back in the days when something like that could be done without thinking the person admiring the photo is a pedophile.

Mom complied and I was told he kept that photo in the cockpit of the plane. But, mom told me a lot of things that turned out to be untrue. For instance, she said he was shot down by Russians. In 1955. Over Landstuhl Air Base in Germany. She said grandma was comforted when she received his personal effects and his wallet didn’t smell like smoke. She was comforted that her boy didn’t burn.

Many years later, when the internet was new and I was helping my mom with her beloved genealogy, I started digging into the crash that took Uncle Sonny’s life. I think the only thing I had to work with at the time was a dial up modem and CompuServe. After meticulously searching, I came up with an aviation archaeologist. He specialized in finding reports on old plane crashes. I believe I paid him $40 and a few weeks later, I received a thick packet in the mail. 

The archaeologist came up with the official Air Force report of the crash and in the process of reading it and asking questions, I got a lot of answers. First, he definitely was not shot down by the Russians. Secondly, pilots do not fly with personal effects, meaning…neither his wallet nor my picture accompanied him in the cockpit that fateful day. That was information I didn’t share with the rest of the family. I don’t remember if my Grandma was still living at this time or not. There’s just some things you don’t need to discuss after some sense of resolution has been met.

There was information that I found disturbing. Sonny needed to log some flight hours. The only plane available that day was an old fighter jet that was on it’s way to become a static display. In other words, it was past its usefulness. In the three days leading up to the crash, four separate engines had been installed. 

The morning of the crash dawned gray and foggy. Uncle Sonny went through the usual preflight check. The ground crew walked around the plane and somehow, someone failed to notice the intake baffles were in the wrong position for the weather conditions. When he took off, he flew around the base a couple of times without incident. Then someone noticed a shift in the engine sound and looked up. The plane had slowed down considerably and was losing altitude.

No one can know for certain what went on in the cockpit that day. The witness on the ground said he couldn’t understand why my uncle didn’t eject and let the plane go down. It wasn’t until the full investigation that it was determined the trajectory of the plane would have sent it into the barracks where countless airmen would still be preparing for their day. Instead, Uncle Sonny steered the plane toward an open potato field that had recently been plowed. I’m sure, with his farming experience, he knew that would be a fairly soft place to land.

As he struggled to keep the engine going and the plane aloft, he noticed a gap between the trees surrounding the potato field. It was narrow, but if he tipped his right wing at the right moment, he could just squeak through. Unfortunately, the sudden dip in the right wing caused the engine to stall even further and the tip of the wing hit the ground. This caused the plane to cartwheel.

Uncle Sonny was found still strapped in his ejector seat in an upright position…as though he were waiting for someone to come by and have a chat. His helmet was cracked from the impact and he died from blunt force trauma. And, even though his wallet wasn’t with him and neither was my bare butt photo…he didn’t burn. It was over quickly.

In my opinion, my Uncle Sonny was a hero. I’m sure he saved countless lives that day. But there was no award, no medal, no call from a grateful President. Maybe that was best. Grandma was not one for making a fuss. “Fools names, like their faces, always seen in public places.” She was a private, unassuming woman with great dignity.

Sonny was laid to rest on a hilltop cemetery fifteen or so miles from the farm. One by one, our loved ones joined him. First Pop-Pop, then Grandma, then my mom, then Uncle Bob. I go twice a year to see them and I always hang around him a little longer. I wish I could have known him. I am comforted knowing there was such a beautiful homecoming when the Lord came to take the others to join my Uncle Sonny and Jesus.

This day is so much more than another day off, another reason for a party. This is the day when we honor the fallen…all who gave their lives in the line of duty. Not just military. We remember all who have gone before us and we decorate their graves. Thank you…for giving your all. My heart is with those who had to go on without you.

❤️

“For the greatest love of all is a love that sacrifices all. And this great love is demonstrated when a person sacrifices his life for his friends.”

John 15:13 TPT