We used to write letters. From 1956 to 1969 (When Ken came home from Viet Nam) I wrote every week to my Mom, and to Ken.  For the last few months I have been reading those letters, and throwing away the “Blah-blah” ones and putting the ones with information in a folder for Pat or Becky.  They can throw them away if they want to.

Today, I am going through 1960.  I have at least separated all of them into the date stamp on the envelopes.  1960 was the year Ken came home from Japan and Okinawa--flying F4-Ds.  A plane that was actually a rocket. It killed a bunch of pilots.  They called it the Sky-Ray--and called the water outside El Tora “Sky-Ray Bay” because so many of the planes ended up in the water off the end of the runway.  It could climb to altitude faster than anything the Navy and Marines had ever had, but when something went wrong, the plane ended up in the water.  Luckily most of the pilots knew their chances and were ready to hit the eject button.  I went out to the squadron one day, and one of the pilots came through the door soaking wet carrying his helmet.  I asked him where he had been?  He said, “In the bay.”

Anyway, I’m trying to keep the letters that have something interesting in them, but almost all of them do so it’s hard to throw them away.  But you can’t keep everything.