Uncle Maynard played high school football at Cedar Falls Iowa before attending Iowa State Teachers College and then into the US Air Force as a bombardier-navigator of Flying Fortresses dispatched from Dover, England
on missions over Germany.
He rode the nose turret at the front of the ship where he did his part in defeating the Wehrmacht. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wehrmacht (for those too young to remember) On his final 25th mission, the plane was hit severely by attacking German Messerschmitt fighters. The pilot and co-pilot were killed and other crew members badly injured.
So Uncle Maynard got down into the pilot's seat and safely flew the plane back to the base across the English Channel managing to land the damaged plane after passing over the white cliffs of Dover, saving himself and the remaining airmen. He was be-medaled for that.
SRN readers will recall that Maynard Dix then returned to Iowa after the war and was a Maytag engineer in Newton, Iowa. He lived quietly for the rest of his life. Did not brag or talk about his war experiences. That part of his life was over and done with, he said.
PLAY THIS:
Uncle Maynard delivered the goods
from here.
.....................................
Other birds:
A Romance for the Wild Turkey
They are so cowardly and stupid
Indians would not eat them
For fear of assuming their qualities.
The wild turkey always stays close
To home, flapping up into trees
If alarmed, then falling out again.
When shot it explodes like a balloon
Full of blood. It bathes by grinding
Itself in coarse dirt, is incapable
Of passion or anger, knows only
Vague innocence and extreme caution,
Walking around in underbrush
Like a cantilevered question mark,
Retreating at least hint of danger.
I hope when the wild turkey
Dreams at night it flies high up
In gladness under vast islands
Of mute starlight, its silhouette
Vivid in the full moon, guided always
By radiant configurations, high
Over chittering fields of corn
And the trivial fires of men,
Never to land again nor be regarded
As fearful, stupid, and unsure.
Indians would not eat them
For fear of assuming their qualities.
The wild turkey always stays close
To home, flapping up into trees
If alarmed, then falling out again.
When shot it explodes like a balloon
Full of blood. It bathes by grinding
Itself in coarse dirt, is incapable
Of passion or anger, knows only
Vague innocence and extreme caution,
Walking around in underbrush
Like a cantilevered question mark,
Retreating at least hint of danger.
I hope when the wild turkey
Dreams at night it flies high up
In gladness under vast islands
Of mute starlight, its silhouette
Vivid in the full moon, guided always
By radiant configurations, high
Over chittering fields of corn
And the trivial fires of men,
Never to land again nor be regarded
As fearful, stupid, and unsure.
© The University of Georgia
Press
.........................
This morning at dawn
the 15 W light signals we are open
as is Dave's across the street,
their sign with more juice used
Goldfinches feed at our
Odd Fellows window ledge
and a duck flies to the Fox
past our window
........................
Another bird:
Kerry McKay of the Steaming Cup
shows up later in the morning
manning a Farmers Market booth
along the Fox
With a can of whipped cream
he sprays my finger with a lick-able dab,
informs me I've been whipped.
Presents sticker to prove it:
