It was 1955. I was a twenty-year-old kid in an Army uniform, on a flight from Denver to San Diego, on my way to my home-base, Schofield Barracks, Hawaii. My assigned seat was next to an older gentleman, who introduced himself as “Jack” and immediately commented on my Army service and asked about my deployment. When I explained that my Division had just rotated from Korea to Hawaii, that started a longer conversation which lasted almost throughout the entire flight.
He talked about his service in the Canadian military during WW II, and the fact that he was a medical engineer of some kind. I shared that I was looking forward to returning to college upon my discharge, to study geophysical engineering. Throughout most of the flight we talked about all manner of things, most of which has now slipped right out of my mind. But something happened midway through our time together that I recall today. Continue reading