Archive
08/15/09 - (3)
Historical Marker
During my first few summers at Camp Nebagamon for Boys (When I was ten, eleven, twelve — Not all that many years after World War II),
On Cruiser Days or other occasional breaks in the daily routine, My cabin and village mates and I Would be bused to Poplar, a mere nine miles away, on Highway 2,
To see a strange-looking vintage fighter plane (Stranded in a patch of scratchy weeds, just off the highway) Designated "Historical Marker."
I can still recall climbing all over that dilapidated aircraft's wings, Grasping its props, crawling into the canopyless cockpit, Its dashboard lacking most of the knobs, toggles, instruments —
A vandalized relic from the war before the Korean Conflict, A derelict monument to some guy with the weird name of "Bong," A pilot, from the local area, who died.
And that was the extent of the significance my incurious mind Brought to that symbol rotting in the middle of nowhere, The monumentality of that scrap-metal junk,
Until yesterday afternoon, when I drove from Lake Nebagamon, Up P, to 2, then west, past Poplar, in seconds, Toward the Perkins restaurant in Superior,
Located next to a sleek museum dedicated in 2002 — The Richard I. Bong Veterans Historical Center, In which, after finishing lunch, I decided to idle away an hour.
Once inside, I stood in awe of a twin-engine fighter plane Identical to the one that had been "stationed" in Poplar — A completely restored Lockheed P-38 Lightning,
Sporting a color portrait of Bong's gal, Marge, on its nose, Just beside twenty-five painted Japanese flags, designating kills... Stood eye to eye, with that intimidating machine...
Stood in the aura of that Congressional Medal of Honor recipient, Who'd grown up on his parents' farm, in Poplar, With eight siblings and a passionate childhood dream of flying,
Who enlisted, at twenty-one, in the Army Air Corps, Survived to boast forty kills — more than any other pilot, ever — Only to die testing Lockheed's experimental P-80 jet, in 1945.
During the short drive back to my cabin, on Lake Nebagamon, All I could think of was how heroic Major Bong had been And how fortunate I was, as a camper, to have "flown" his plane.
08/15/09 - (3)
|
|||
|
|||
