A person only has so many stories.  Things that happened to them or to the people around them.  When I finish writing every day, I usually call Carolyn and read it to her so she can "evaluate."  She is an English major who taught drama for a million years.  She is brilliant on top of that.  Lately, she hasn't suggested anything.  I must be getting better.  Usually the only thing wrong is a misspelled word.  And Carolyn always catches that.

She told me a story that Ken told us that I had forgotten.  Ken adopted Carolyn after Wayne died.  If Ken took me to breakfast he would always say, "Call Carolyn.  Ask her to go with us."  Ken would say, "Janie, you have great taste in friends."  I do.

The story she remembered was when Ken told us about teaching cadets to land on the carrier.  First he would teach them to hit a designated spot on land--on a runway.  They had to hook wire on the runway a zillion times, and do it right, before he would take them to a pitching deck on water.  They had to watch the Landing Signal Officer (which was one of Ken's designations) who was standing on the runway and obey every signal--which at that time was done with flags.  (Now they do it with a light--which they call the meatball.)

He had a student in the primary stage that was not doing very well.  He kept coming in too low and finally hit the gates in the fence at the end of the runway.  Ken chewed him out royally--not because he almost killed himself, but because he tore up a plane, and hadn't done what Ken had told him to do.  "What were you thinking!!  You were too low coming out of the 180 again.  I gave you an "add power" signal.  You must have concrete between your ears.  Etc.  Etc."  And then Ken said, "You did the exact same thing yesterday and didn't hit the fence."  To which the student replied,  "Yes sir.  But yesterday the gates were open."

Some cadets didn't get their wings.  We should be thankful.