Last week I received a phone call from someone I don’t know at all that has greatly affected how I’ve been seeing, thinking and feeling this week.
My grandmother once had an uncle named Robert. He was seventeen years younger than her father and, like other eligible guys his age, went off to World War II to fight the good fight. As she recalls, on 4-4-44 (actually, I’ve come to learn, 4-4-45), she arrived home from school to learn that her father’s baby brother was missing in action. His plane was shot down somewhere in enemy territory and never recovered.
Eventually, he, along with the rest of the crew, was deemed dead.
A few years ago, a diary and some photos were discovered. The diary belonged to a military photographer who also snapped the photo below. His diary noted the location of the town and, apparently, the US Government had been searching for the plane in the wrong location. His photo is believed to be the first photograph of a war plane going down.
It’s strange looking at that photo knowing that I’m looking at the moment of death for one of my relatives.
The plane would have landed in what was then Russian territory. GPS not being what it is now, they simply had no idea.
Years later, thanks to some descendants who pushed the government to reopen the case and discover what happened to these boys, the plane’s location is believed to be known. Excavation for the plane and, hopefully, the recovery of bodies begin this spring.
It turns out that my great-great uncle was a lieutenant in the air force and actually a replacement pilot for this particular mission. None of his living descendants knew that. In some of what I’ve read since the phone call, Robert’s disappearance greatly affected the father of one of the descendants who got the case reopened. The caller found me in his search for next of kin and relayed the above.
I wonder what those boys realized as they saluted death. Robert had a wife and young daughter waiting for his return. Was there time to ponder them? Did he make his peace the last time they were in his gaze? Did he carry those goodbyes?
As I’ve written before, I don’t understand what humans do to each other. I don’t understand how we can let our minds go and treat others in the horrible fashion we do. It blows my mind that those boys needed to be where they were. I can’t believe that, for decades, their bodies have been silently fading. Yet, life goes on. Perhaps later this year this boy, my great-great uncle Lt. Robert L. Mains, will be laid to rest.
Soundtrack: still on Florence + the Machine…so good
Lessons from Icarus 
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