Exclusive Audio Version
As I approach my eighth decade, I think of him as my Sergeant Pilot. I know he neither is nor was any more mine than the moon or stars, yet there is something so profoundly personal in the fact that he wished the best for me. And all things considered, my life has been one that I would not exchange for any other. If that is not the best, what is?
In 1942, World War II was in its third year and Quebec City was alive with a variety of young men in uniform. They would come to the city on leave from army, navy or air force bases and would crowd into YMCA dances, stroll on downtown streets, attend churches and be invited into homes. My friend Audrey and I were two Quebec high school seniors about the graduate.
Doug Simmons and Bill Heaton were air force, Roy...