As I write this on May 24, 2020, the country is certainly in a time of sacrifice, so I have been thinking a lot about how each generation experiences the defining event of theirs differently.

I have been considering separation, and how hundreds of thousands of men and women in the first part of the 1940’s were miles and miles away from the ones they loved.  And when those boys were in their final moments they probably longed for one last loving gaze from a family member.  The stories that have gutted me the most over the past two months were those of families who only longed to be with their loved ones as they succumbed to this virus.  Separation is a sacrifice.

Then we can also consider the sacrifice of comfort.  When I was in high school I borrowed a big desk from Anna’s house for a high school production.  As I cleaned out the drawers I found the family ration booklets.  Little stamps for items such as butter, flour, sugar…who tells an Irish family they can’t have butter?  But they did without, and knowing my grandmother, they still ate well.  I’m sure as they read Bud’s letters describing the good food that they Army was providing, they felt relief that their sacrifice was benefiting him.  Today I stood in line at the grocery store for twenty minutes.  Lack of comfort is a sacrifice.

After Bud died, the immense loss never healed.  The Byrnes family never recovered.  I keep hearing the term, “the new normal” thrown around during this pandemic, and for those who suffer the loss of life, property, permanent income, there is no normal.  For my family, the “new normal” was private pain and moving on.  They chose not to share the good things about my uncle, so as not to relive the pain of his absence.  Moving on is a sacrifice.

On August 31, 2018, Lauren Byrnes (Greg’s wife) and I had the honor of attending the funeral service for Robert Violet, a member of Bud’s crew in Wilton, Maine.  The Violet family had chosen the 75th anniversary of the crash for the event, and I knew that I had to be there if I was welcome.  Lynn Violet, Robert’s niece, and I had corresponded the summer that the crew was identified (2017), but then our emails stopped.  I found out in the summer of 2018 that she had been sending me emails throughout the previous year that kept getting returned to her.  I reached out to her in early August to inquire about the funeral, and we were welcomed graciously.

The Violet family had arranged for a graveside ceremony, and there sat the picture you see at the top of this page.  (I still can’t believe how many homes that picture hung in all over the US, and all of the families who grieved over the boys that were pictured in it.) Robert Violet is not in the picture – his family explained that he was probably the one taking it.  It was a brief, but beautiful ceremony and we were invited back to Lynn’s sister’s house for lunch.  We learned that Robert’s parents struggled much like our grandparents did.  Lynn and her siblings knew very little about her uncle.  I shared the binder of letters that Bud had written home, and the class ring that was found at the crash site.  We shared stories and wonderings, and marveled that our families were able to experience this incredible reunion with these family members that we had never met.

We hopefully will never experience the kind of sacrifice that the Violet, Byrnes and so many others have had to endure.  On this very unique Memorial Day, in the year 2020, I am thinking about the fact that yes, we are enduring separation, lack of comfort, and we are being forced to move on in an unknown future.

What we don’t have to sacrifice is connection, or empathy, or awareness of others, or most importantly, our stories.  God Bless those who sacrificed their lives so that we can have those things today.

Happy Veteran’s Day, and thank you to all those who have served!  I am looking forward to our program at school tomorrow, and sharing the meaning of this holiday with the students.

When we think of the crew of the Little Beaver who crashed on August 31, 1943, it’s hard not to think of loss and the great sadness that the Byrnes’ and other families felt in the days, months and years that followed.  I have often thought about what it would have been like for me and my brother and cousins to have known Bud.  From everything that I’ve read, our lives would only have been better for knowing him.  It is that thought that helps me recognize the great sacrifice that is made by all of the men and women in uniform – current and former.

So when I received an email in early September from the daughter of one of Bud’s crew mates in Papua New Guinea, needless to say, I was shocked.  Marcia Fette explained that she was the daughter of Elmer Sturm, who was a member of Bud’s crew that was injured by a gun shot prior to the plane crash.

He was not on the plane.  He had survived and went on to marry and have six children.

As soon as I read the email from Marcia, I knew that I had already heard this story…from Bud’s journal.  Here was his entry:

Elmer Sturm had been injured and would not be on that plane on August 31.  Bud mentions him on two other occasions.

Marcia explained to me that this injury left her father disabled, but if not for that mishap, Marcia and her siblings would not be here.

Speaking with her over the phone in late September was such a gift, for several reasons.  I loved the idea of speaking with someone whose father was my uncle’s friend.  It was also such an honor to share with her what Bud had written about her father.  Like my own family, Marcia shared with me that her father did not speak freely about his service, so I was able to give her some details that she was unaware of.  Finally, Marcia shared a labeled photo of the crew that you will see below.  It is the mirror image of the one I used at the top of the blog.  She grew up with it in her household, as I did, but she knew all of those boy’s names.  I had always assumed that all of them were lost, but of the 10 in the photo, 2 were not on the plane: Elmer Sturm and Shorty Recker.  I hope to research Recker more and find out what his fate was in the war.

I always think of Bud on Veteran’s Day, and I always will.  Now I will also think with happiness about Elmer Sturm, the veteran on Bud’s crew.

It struck me recently that I never posted video of the many moving moments of August 2017.  Maybe it was that watching them was too emotional, intertwined with the great loss that the month created.  This was the month that Tom first used the words, “signal grace” to me.  It’s a phrase that he had read about that means subtle coincidences that we are offered to remind us of God’s presence right beside us as we walk through this life.  August 2017 could not have been any more of a signal grace.  In my view, Anna’s life had graced so many of us for so long, but it’s as though her life was solely intended for care of her family and siblings, then for Bud’s return and then she could let go.  However you see it, as a pure coincidence or a signal grace, Bud received the tribute that his family never got in 1943.

Bud arrives at LaGuardia

Thank you to Scott Arvoy (Lauren’s brother) for capturing all of these moments that we were too distracted to catch!  This video starts at my mom and dad’s house as we prepare to head down to the airport.  It was the first day that we got to see Bud’s ring, one of the pieces of evidence that was used to identify him.  It continues at the Port Authority headquarters where we waited for the arrival of the plane.  Everything was timed with precision and when it was time to move, we moved!  One item that is not caught in the video is that as we drove to the tarmac we saw a plane approaching its landing and then it quickly pulled up – a change of plans one would assume.  Later we found out that it was Bud’s plane.  Perhaps a signal grace that he wanted one last time in the air – a place he was so proud to be.

You’ll then see the proceedings at the tarmac.  I was astounded at how many people there were – all of the baggage claim staff, the terminal security, and of course, no one who was a passenger on the plane was allowed to move until the ceremony was completed.

Finally we met Abby, Bud’s Army escort from Hawaii, through Dallas and finally at LaGuardia.  We all hugged her for being his final caretaker on his final flight.

I will post the funeral next, but this being Memorial Day, I felt that this video captured the spirit of this day.  We honor those who have sacrificed so that we can be here, free and so privileged.  It’s a signal grace and we’re called to honor it and be worthy of it every day.  God Bless you!

I can’t really say that Memorial Day has been much to me other than a nice three-day weekend, a chance to catch up on yard work, have a nice BBQ with family, and post the obligatory picture of Bud on Facebook.  Sure, I have felt that swell of patriotism, and encouraged my kids to think about the sacrifice that was made by the Byrnes family, but I never really understood that sacrifice.  I probably don’t fully understand it now.

Bud was really just a kind of ghost to me.  Not any more.  Not since last June.  Through the letters he wrote home I can now really think about the person he was, and the immense loss that must have been felt.  I now feel the loss of never meeting him, but those letters just bring me right back to the hard working, friendly, faithful guy he was.   I’ve been thinking a lot about this with the students in my school.  I want them to know that writing can give you the opportunity to be seen and known, just like Bud’s letters have done for him.  When you want to tell a great story – write.  When you want to share your struggles – write.  When you want to explain something – write.  Be seen and be known.

I’m grateful that all of those letter were kept safe and sound by Anna.  And now there’s a place to go to remember him and to honor him.  And each year, we’ll place the flag for him on Memorial Day – a day that will never quite be the same!

This week, 75 years ago, Bud graduated with high honors from The US Army’s flight school in Hondo, Texas as a Navigator. In addition to his family’s pride, I was touched to read all of the notes he got from his friends at American Cyanamid.

Bill Harding was the head of his division and writes, “You have certainly done yourself and Cyanamid proud. The record you’ve made is one for the boys to shoot at.”

Here are a few more…

And then a poem (people just don’t write poems to one another like they used to!)

To our Birdman

Wings for the man we hear,

All we at work do cheer

Our fine Aviator

The illustrious Navigator

Patrick Byrnes!

Clear from the South he flies,

From us all praises rise,

For our good Aviator,

The daring Navigator

Patrick Byrnes!

First in his class stands he,

Pride fills our hearts cheer we,

Our fast Aviator,

The brave Navigator,

Patrick Byrnes!

9 March 1943

Nellie Payne

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

We all spent Veteran’s Day thinking of those in our lives who have been brave enough to protect our country and serve others. This year was certainly more significant than others, for obvious reasons. Our family went to the Stamford Veteran’s Day parade and called out, “Thank you,” to as many vets as we could. We shook the hand of a WW2 vet who was there – he must have been a baby when he fought.

Bud’s letters certainly portray a man who was making the best out of his task – he studied hard, enjoyed his friends, and became accustomed to the routines of military life. His letters frequently reassure all at home that he was well fed, well rested, and happy.

And yet…he was still preparing for war. There must have been plenty of stories by summer of ‘43 of the casualties. He was too smart to be naive. He was sending money home out of every paycheck, and even remarked how he would be able to send more once he was in combat. I’m sure there isn’t a mother out there who wouldn’t gladly give back every cent of combat pay in return for a son or daughter’s safety.

There’s a bit of a difference in tone in Bud’s diary vs. the letters. I hesitate to share too much of the diary publicly on this blog, as it was a place for his private thoughts. But on July 1, Bud wrote a poem, his only one, that may be representative of his own feelings, or maybe those around him. Here are a few stanzas:

Out on the wind swept desert

Old Hondo Field is the spot.

Battling the terrible dust storms

In the land that God forgot. 

At night the wind keeps blowing

Its more than a man can stand

No – we’re not convicts

Just defenders of the land.

We are the men of the Army Air Corps

Earning our meager pay

We guard the people with millions

For a measly buck a day. 

On this Veteran’s Day I’m reminded of the great sacrifice our soldiers make, but also of our great responsibility to honor them and make sure they feel our gratitude.

I’ve been in touch with our Casualty Assistance Officer, Patrick Montes. A Connecticut National Guard troop was deployed today to Eastern Europe. Our family will be doing what we can to organize some reminders for these men of women of our appreciation for them. As we get information, I’ll share it here so you can do the same if you’d like.

Oh, and Happy Birthday in heaven to Bud tomorrow, November 13.  The whole gang is there this year!

I’ve been suffering from writer’s block.

This blog has been hanging over my head for a solid month now, and other than one quick post on the anniversary of Bud’s crash, I haven’t been able to get anything posted.  I think that maybe I’m trying to be sure that what I write matches the enormity of the event.  Or maybe I just can’t find the correct words to express the gratitude in all of our hearts.  Or maybe I’m just convinced more than ever that Bud’s story is Anna’s story and Anna’s story is his.  And telling this story just makes me miss her even more.  I’m not sure what it is, but I realized that it’s the facts of this story that make it wonderful.  So I will just tell the facts, and not try and interpret them or analyze them.

On Friday, July 21 we met these two wonderful people.

On the left, William “Shorty” Cox, Senior Mortuary Affairs Specialist, and on the right Captain Patrick Montes, Casualty Affairs Officer.  These men became “Team Bud”, assisting us with all of the details of Bud’s return.  On that day at my mom’s house we talked, asked questions, were educated, and marveled at the amazing steadfastness of the US military and their mission of leaving no soldier behind.  When we told them that day that we wanted a swift homecoming so that Anna could see it happen, they shared a glance with one another and then said, “Let’s make it happen.”  When I notified them of Anna’s passing a few weeks later, there was a choked up phone call apologizing that they couldn’t have accomplished their task sooner.  These men are family now.

And there are some pretty amazing connections here as well.

Captain Montes is originally from Nicaragua.  We joked with him that there are probably not too many “Patricks” in Nicaragua and that the coincidence in first name was impressive.  Then he told us his middle name: Joseph.  He shares Bud’s and my grandfather’s name.

In my first conversation with Shorty I told him that Bud was the name that everyone used for Patrick and he said that he liked anyone whose mama give him a nickname (such as himself!).  From that day, I only referred to him as Shorty and he only referred to our uncle as Bud.  But I was reminded of his given name however, when we were going through Anna’s things and we found a postcard from Bud that was signed by his pilot and a few ladies they went out with right before shipping off to New Guinea.  The pilot’s name was Bill Cox.  He writes,

P.S. I’m the pilot.  Don’t worry tho, I’ll see that he gets back!! Bill Cox

And Bill Cox (Shorty), and Patrick Joseph (Montes), well they certainly did just that.

I’ve been delinquent, and there’s so much to share (#lifeofateacherinAugust), but today I just want to post Bud’s final diary entry and thank God for the amazing grace of this past summer. 

More to come this weekend…

Love,

Anmarie

It’s so comforting to have family and friends close by at times like these. The calls, texts and notes are not just expressions of sympathy, but also expressions of support and love. 

I’ve only found a few condolence letters to my grandparents about Bud’s death. I’m sure there were more, but for some reason I can only find two and they are from the same person. 

The Toner family was close with the Byrnes’ in Stamford. Dick Toner was at the seminary in Rochester in late summer 1943. His first letter came upon hearing that Bud was missing in action. His second, when his death was confirmed. They are two of the most beautiful letters I’ve ever read. 

As Catholics, we believe in the Divine Wisdom of God. We believe “everything happens according to His plan”.  But as a parent, I think that would be a bit hard to swallow when facing the death of my child. Dick’s letter to my grandmother is incredibly comforting and I’ve read it twice as we are driving to Anna’s funeral. You can replace “Pat” with “Anna”, or anyone else’s name for that matter. 

God found Pat in his twenty-third year to be a finished product, a completed monument to His own glory and a fitting tribute to your guidance and faithful protection. And so God recalled Pat to Himself. I know that we wish that, if it had to be, it could’ve happened at home, but once again God chose the hard was for us – we won’t question His providence, will we? We will never forget Pat, will we?  We will be even more earnest in our prayers for him, won’t we? And God will rest his soul in that piece which the world cannot give. 

How comforting to think of Bud, and now Anna, as a finished product in God’s sight. It’s perfect.