The Memorial Day Mission

“Is that the last one, Poppy?” asked Boomer. His great-grandfather nodded. Every Memorial Day, they placed little flags by the headstones of a dozen pilots. Boomer and Poppy walked out the gates of the cemetery toward home.

Boomer smiled. Poppy was coming to school tomorrow to tell all about his years as a real Tuskegee Airman — one of the first African-American pilots in the world. Who wouldn’t want to hear how he escaped the swarms of enemy airplanes that chased him through the skies above Europe over sixty years ago? Boomer never wanted to speak in front of his class, but there wasn’t a shy bone in Poppy’s body.

They climbed the steps to Boomer’s house. Suddenly, Poppy’s foot slipped. Down he went, right off the porch. “Poppy!” yelled Boomer. Mom and Dad burst through the front door. Mom knelt beside Poppy.

“Don’t move! I’m calling the paramedics,” said Dad.

Before Boomer could blink, Poppy was on a stretcher in the ambulance with Mom holding his hand.

“I’ll call from the hospital,” said Mom as the ambulance doors closed.

Boomer picked up the box of small flags and squeezed it against his chest. While they waited, he and Dad rubbed grease off the barbecue grill without talking. An hour later the phone rang, and Dad snatched it up.

“A sprained ankle? OK. See you then.”

Dad hung up the phone. “Well, Poppy is fine, but he needs to stay in the hospital overnight for some tests. He wants that old suitcase from under his bed.”

Boomer raced to get Poppy’s suitcase. He was quiet during the ride to the hospital.

Poppy sat in bed stirring something green. Mom fretted the way she did when Boomer forgot to wear his hat on a cold day.

“Now, Grandpop, you’ve got to eat,” she said.

“But I need some real food, like spareribs, baked beans, and pie, not these green jiggly-wigglies.”

He grinned when he saw Boomer and Dad. Dad shook Poppy’s hand, but Boomer threw his arms around his great-grandfather’s neck. Dad placed the suitcase on a table. “We’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said. “Mom and I’ll go try to find some snacks.”

“Don’t worry, Boomer,” said Poppy. “I’ll be home soon. But I’m sorry I can’t visit your school tomorrow.”

“Oh, I forgot!” said Boomer.

“Well, we promised to tell about the Tuskegee Airmen. Now you’ll have to speak for both of us.”

“How?” asked Boomer. “Poppy, you know I don’t like talking in class. Last week at Show and Tell my voice cracked, and I dropped my model car. I’m too scared.”

“Scared!” said Poppy. “The first time I climbed in a P-51, my hands shook. But nobody was better trained to intercept enemy planes and protect our pilots than the Tuskegee Airmen. So I took a deep breath and buckled up.”

Boomer shook his head. “But I just can’t.”

“Well, hold on now. Let’s see what’s in my suitcase.” Poppy lifted out an aviator helmet and a leather jacket.

“See this?” asked Poppy. Boomer traced a jagged scar with his finger. “A piece of shrapnel tore through the floor of the cockpit and scratched that sleeve.”

Boomer slipped on the helmet, then squinted through the goggles. “These kept the bugs out of your eyes?”

“Not many bugs flew into the cockpit,” said Poppy. “But I sure was grateful for those goggles the night my whole canopy tore off in mid-air. Between the freezing rain and winds beating against my face, I couldn’t see a thing, but the goggles protected my eyes. Luckily, two other pilots guided me back to base.”

He patted Boomer’s shoulder. “Could you show your classmates that jacket and helmet? And there’s more in this suitcase.”

“I don’t know, Poppy,” said Boomer.

“Visiting hours are over,” said a nurse.

Boomer hugged Poppy. “You decide,” Poppy whispered.

At home, Boomer slipped on the leather jacket. He pulled on the helmet and faced the mirror. “I am… a Tuskegee Airman!” he croaked. “Aww, my head looks like a buckeye.” He stuffed his hands into the jacket pockets.

Something soft as a cat’s tail touched his fingers.

“What’s this?” Boomer pulled out a velvet pouch.

He opened the pouch and drew out a red-tailed model airplane. “The P-51!” He spun the propeller. Then he set the plane on his nightstand.

The next morning, Boomer trudged to school. Poppy’s suitcase felt heavier with each step.

In the classroom, Boomer’s teacher, Mrs. Kane, announced, “Unfortunately, Mr. Harris won’t be joining us, but his great-grandson, Boomer, will tell us about the Tuskegee pilots who served our country so bravely.”

Boomer walked to the front of the room. Most of his classmates looked only half-awake. One of them even yawned.

Suddenly, the suitcase snapped open and slipped from Boomer’s hands. The helmet slid across the floor.

“Uh-oh, I can’t do this,” he whispered as he scrambled to pick up the helmet. Then he thought of Poppy’s proud face. He swallowed and took a deep breath.

First, he held up the leather jacket. “My great-grandfather wore this jacket in the 301st Squadron. Poppy and his friends were the first Black Air Force pilots.”

Then, he untangled the strap on the goggles. “He was really glad he had these when the cover over the cockpit fell right off the plane in midair!”

Boomer’s classmates leaned forward.

Finally, Boomer pulled out the pouch. “This is a model of his P-51.” The other kids craned their necks to see the little airplane.

“This plane,” Boomer said in a strong, clear voice, “flew as fast as lightning!”

Poppy came home the next day. Boomer told him all about the presentation. Then they tucked the jacket and helmet back into the suitcase. But Poppy left the model plane out.

“Boomer, you keep this someplace where you can see it. Maybe on your dresser,” said Poppy.

Boomer smiled. The P-51 gleamed next to his plate all through their dinner of spareribs, baked beans, and strawberry pie.

Before 1940, African Americans were not allowed to pilot airplanes in the United States Air Force. Then in 1941, during World War II, President Franklin D. Roosevelt broke that restriction by commanding that African Americans be trained as pilots at an Army airfield in Tuskegee, Alabama, home of the Tuskegee Institute, a college for Black students. Despite having to eat and sleep in separate barracks and train apart from white pilots, nearly 1,000 men completed the training from 1941-1945, learning to fly red-tailed airplanes and protect other planes from enemy fire. Of these, 450 served overseas. Notably, these dedicated heroes never lost a single plane they escorted!