There are things that Ken did that were out of the ordinary.  When he was Commanding Officer of Squadron 331 in Beaufort, there was a man that Ken thought so much of that he wrote a recommendation that he be promoted from the enlisted or warrant ranks to Lieutenant.   Those things have to go through channels, which wasn't good enough for Ken.  He hand carried the recommendation to Washington and waited there until it was approved.

I don't know who pinned the bars on Chris, but I do know that their friendship lasted through the years.  Chris called me the other day and we exchanged stories about Ken.  It was good to talk to an old friend.  He and his wife live in Calico Rock, Arkansas on the White River.

The anesthesiologist that put me to sleep Monday was a retired helicopter pilot.  I love military people.  Probably because I understand them.  It is nice when you can connect with people on common ground.  "What are you doing in medicine," I asked him.  "You were a pilot, why did you switch?

"Well, you can't afford to fly when you get out unless you are independently wealthy," he told me.

"That's why Ken quit flying when he got out.  He used to tell me that if you didn't fly every day or two that you were an accident waiting to happen."

"It's not the flying that kills you," Ken said.  "It's the thing that goes wrong that you haven't practiced recovering from over and over again.   That takes time in the aircraft."

"And that takes gasoline."

"And that takes a lot of money."