Breakfast with the Colonel

I am in Columbia, spending the weekend with the Colonel. My sister Kathy, who lives here, is in Washington DC for her daughter’s graduation from GWU.

This morning I woke up early and turned on my laptop. Papers are spread all over the dining room table, and I’m working on Herman’s 12th and final mission. After a couple hours, I was definitely “in the zone.” Articles, maps, reports, 1944, Thurleigh to Berlin, sifting through, sorting out. Suddenly I realized it was 8:15, and I had to pick up Daddy for breakfast. Herman wanted to go to The Pancake House.

He was sitting in the rocking chair in front of The Atria when I drove up. He didn’t recognize my car right away, although he’s ridden in it a hundred times. Slowly he got up, opened the door and climbed in, cane first. 

“How was your night?” he asked.  “It was great, Daddy.  I slept well.”

After a minute had passed, “Aren’t you going to ask me?” he said.

“I’m sorry, Daddy.  How was your night?”

“Terrible.  I don’t know.  I just don’t know.”

When we arrived at The Pancake House and were being led to our table, Herman walked slowly and with difficulty, holding on to the back of each (occupied) chair for support. 

Herman Allen in 1944

Oh, if only you could have seen him then. He would grab the edges of the hatch door of that B-17 bomber and thrust himself up and over. As if it were nothing.

When we sat down, he handed me the menu and said, “I can’t read it, Patti. You order for me.” Just diagnosed with macular degeneration, on top of the healing detached retina.

Oh, if only you could remember, Daddy … you studied such detailed maps and identified the exact targets through the Norden bombsight.

He looked at me and said, “I need to take off my glasses. It’s too noisy in here. He reached to take off one of his hearing aids and laughed at his mistake. “I meant this.”  

Oh, Daddy … it was the deafening noise of the bomber. So many of our veterans cannot hear today because of it.

We both enjoyed breakfast and had some conversation. I hollered across the table, repeating myself until he understood. When we were finished, we walked to the front again, very slowly, with others patiently waiting behind us.

          Oh, if only you could have seen him then … he was the life of every party, the leader of every crowd.

On the way back to his apartment, Herman said, “Oh, Patti. It’s so different. It’s so different.”