Been there Dudley... I know what you mean...

BT

"Dudley Henriques" wrote in message
nk.net...
Thought you folks might enjoy reading this. I touched on it in another
thread.
It's in the introduction of the official history book of the
Thunderbirds
"We Rode The Thunder", written by my good friend Bob Gore of the
Thunderbirds and is a first person account of an event witnessed by a
spectator named Earl Watkins.
I've pasted it in below for you. It represents an alternate window from
which to view airshows and the people who make up the airshow community.

From We Rode the Thunder ; A personal letter to Bob Gore from Earl
Watkins;

"Look, Mom! There Are Four of Them!"

I have been a Thunderbird fan for over 40 years. I heard that you are
working on
a 50th Anniversary memory book. It's a great idea.
Years ago, when the Thunderbirds were here, I heard your commander say
that the
mission of the Thunderbirds was not to fly air shows. That surprised
me, but he
went on to explain that the purpose of the air show was to attract
people so you
could tell the Air Force story; so you could show the positive effect
the Air
Force has on their lives. I lived one of those stories.
I had a Thunderbird model display in a hanger at the Rickenbacker Air
Force Base
open house. About two hours before the Thunderbirds flew, I saw a woman
struggle to push her teenage son into the hangar in his wheel chair.
The boy
was bent over, drool on his shirt. I think he had cerebral palsy. The
woman's
face was gaunt with creases that only a hopeless struggle leaves behind.
She pointed around the hangar in an unrewarded attempt to spark a
response from
him. "Here! Look here! Look over there. A real airplane." The boy
didn't
move from his slump.
After a while, she pushed him outside, her hip against the wheelchair to
get it
over the hangar door tracks. Several times I'd leave my display and
look out to
see the sun beat down on the concrete and the people mill around the
static
displays. I would see her in the distance, wheeling her son around the
airplanes while she pointed.
Sometime later she pushed him back into the hangar to escape the heat,
her face
beaded with perspiration and her son lifeless. She closed her eyes and
smiled
in the cool air. Her life was one of simple pleasures.
Other folks filled the hangar to escape the heat, and I grew anxious as
I heard
the jets start. As much as I loved this hangar and everything in it, I
was here
to watch the Thunderbirds. I was torn by my growing apprehension at
missing
your show and not wanting to leave the woman alone with her son. I
heard the
jets move down the taxiway, then go to full afterburner for takeoff.
I helped her roll the wheelchair over the hangar door tracks after the
solos had
taken off. We were about 25 feet in front of the hangar when the
Diamond flew
right over our heads for the opening pass.
The boy looked up. He pointed with his wrist, "Look, Mom. There are
four of
them."
The woman stood, eyes wide and jaw dropped. Tears streamed down her
cheeks.
"He hasn't spoken in years." Their eyes met, the first time in a long
while I
think. She dropped to her knees and hugged him. I patted her back as
she
sobbed. I had just seen a miracle.
I held my hand on her back and watched the beautiful red, white, and
blue
airplanes describe graceful trails through the sky. I knew that each
pilot
worked at his craft, not knowing that down here, among the hundreds of
thousands
of people, they had caused a young man's world to glow for just a
moment. They
could not know that the person who loved him more than any other now
knelt by
his side in emotional exhaustion.
I had come to see an air show, but you showed me a matter of the heart.
You had
just told me a story.your story. What the commander said was right.
After the team landed, I went to get autographs for the woman and her
son, but
when I returned to the hangar, they were gone. I have not seen them
again.
Somewhere out here, somewhere in this vast great land, there is a woman
who
cleans, feeds, and clothes her helpless son. Maybe, just maybe, he
still sees
the four red, white, and blue jets streak through his memory, gives her
an
uneven smile and says "Look, Mom. There are four of them."
As you write your book, remember, your story is not only about you, but
also
about how important you are to us.-Earl Watkins

I sincerely hope, in light of all the crash video discussion going on
these days, that reading this story has given some of you at least, an
alternate window from which to view the airshow community and it's
people.
Thank you
Dudley Henriques
International Fighter Pilots Fellowship
Flight Instructor/Aerobatics/Retired