I got an email from a young man today whose father must have been in one of Ken's squadrons.  He has written a book, and mentions a Major Jackson.  Which he said was a pseudonym for my Ken.

He says, "In it (the book) I have several references to a major named Ken Jackson, saying that:  In the air and on the range, he could do anything the hot shot lieutenants could do, and unlike the other field grade officers, he was "one of the guys" without trying, while the others tried like hell but never came close to achieving that level of respect."

I thought that was a nice way of saying, "Everyone loved Ken."  And they did.  He was a class act. He was never puffed up about all of the things he had accomplished, or the rank he had made.  He never forgot that he was just a barefoot preacher's kid born in 1929, in the depression.

I remember him telling me that once, that when they lived in Hobart, Oklahoma, in the early thirties, that there was no food.  Not even cornmeal to make corn bread.  It was a Sunday night and the whole family went to church hungry.  When they got home, the people in the church had filled their kitchen cupboards with food.  They called it a "Pounding."  He said that his mom cried.

He said, "I had two pairs of overalls.  One to wear to school, and one to church.  Those were my clothes.  All of them."

When we got married, I was amazed at how little he wanted.  Things held no pleasure for him.  He was generous to a fault.  Anyone in need knew where to go, and he never turned anyone down.

"...the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord."   If it wasn't a free gift, nobody could ever afford it.