My father’s looked straight ahead as he gripped the steering wheel of our 1951 Chevy Bel Aire. In a matter-of-fact voice he said that he had been scheduled out on a military transport during World War II, but he was late and had to cancel. It was unusual for him to miss a flight, but life has a way of being unpredictable. The transport took off without him and exploded in mid-air. He didn’t say anything more about it. But, he turned to me, smiled, and turned onto the long road to Waianae.
A fellow programmer at Saga Foods in the 1970’s, Ken Gideons, once told me that while his bomber was dropping propaganda from its hold in North Vietnam, he heard a loud thud. He looked out the window and a mortar had wedged itself in the wing. Aviation fuel was leaking out of a gaping hole in the wing. It was an agonizing flight back to base followed by a nervous landing. I looked in Ken’s eyes. I had seen that look before on the road to Waianae. It was a faraway look. Then he looked down for a moment and a smile slowly crossed his face as he strode to his office to finish another COBOL program.
There but for fortune.