Memorial Day

Julia Lauria-Blum

On an overcast day in May, nearly 50 years after the end of World War II, a Memorial Day procession of North American "SNJ-2's" departs the runway at Republic Airport. Upon ascent, they head west toward my home on the eastern fringe of Nassau County, Long Island.

On this day, the planes journey toward lower Manhattan to fly a "missing man" formation around the pier of the U.S.S. Intrepid and the Statue of Liberty, commemorating those who have given their lives in the service of their country.

Within moments of takeoff, the distinctive sound of their engines can be heard approaching my neighborhood. I rush outdoors to view the spectacular airplanes that are like familiar visitors from another remnant of time. They were the Navy version of the United States Army Air Force, AT-6 "Texan", a military plane flown by At6.gif (5211 bytes) nearly every U.S. pilot during World War II, including the very first women to pilot military aircraft in 1942.

From my backyard I watch the lofty parade of aircraft, as their resonance slowly begins to fade away and remind me of the familiar music of another era. I close my eyes and imagine that I hear Glenn Miller or, maybe, Benny Goodman and see my mother dancing with uniformed soldiers, in the USO. She is one of countless American women, allied on the home front during World War II, wome2t.gif (12677 bytes) assisting the war effort in any way she can. As a girl in her early twenties, she is independent, fun, confident, refined and very much alive. These qualities reside within her, as do her memories of this era, for the remainder of her life.

On the first Mother's Day following my mother's death in 1981, I visited the mausoleum at the cemetery that I would return to for many years to come on days such as this. As I walked down a dim hall on the way to the staircase leading to the second floor, I pass hundreds of names and dates inscribed on walls surrounding me from ceiling to floor. I came upon the grave of a young woman interred beside her parents. It was both her youth and a bronze plaque that led me toward the square marble tablet that bore her name. The bronze plate below her name contained the inscription:

ALICE LOVEJOY
(WASP)
WOMAN AIR FORCE SERVICE PILOT
KILLED IN AN AIRPLANE CRASH
IN THE SERVICE
OF HER COUNTRY
SEPTEMBER 13, 1944
AT ST. PORT ISABEL CHANNEL
--TEXAS--

I looked around at the enclosed surroundings that seemed like such an improbable place for a young woman to end up, and a pilot, nonetheless, who had died in the service of her country? From a daughter's perspective, I remember feeling sorry that this daughter never had the opportunity to share another Mother's Day with her mother again. As a recent college graduate, I wondered why I had never learned about the WASP in any history class before this day. I looked around at the enclosed surroundings that seemed like such an improbable place for a young woman to end up, and a pilot, nonetheless, who had died in the service of her country? From a daughter's perspective, I remember feeling sorry that this daughter never had the opportunity to share another Mother's Day with her mother again. As a recent college graduate, I wondered why I had never learned about the WASP in any history class before this day.

It seemed ironic that only through Alice Lovejoy's sacrifice, I would come to know and appreciate the largely unrecognized story and extraordinary contribution of the Women Airforce Service Pilots. In the years to come, I would discover how these young women offered their skills as pilots to the U.S. Army Air Forces, on civilian status, in order to ease the shortage of male pilots during WWII. I would learn how they became the very first American women to fly military aircraft in every capacity, except combat, logging 60 million miles for their country in the course of only 2 years. Sadly, I would learn that 38 of these young women gave their lives in the service of their country and were sent home in plain pine boxes with no military escort or honors, no American flag and no Gold Star for their grieving families. 16 years after my initial knowledge of the WASP, I discovered how Alice Lovejoy died while flying formation in an AT-6. I learn, most importantly, that the outstanding achievements of the WASP were instrumental in assisting the United States to victory in WWII. I learn, happily, that the Women Airforce Service Pilots were finally awarded veteran status from the United States Air Force by Congress in 1977.

"On Mother's Day of 1998, I returned with my family to a place that I will continue to visit for many years to come, on days such as this. My two little daughters place a small flag in front of Alice Lovejoy's headstone. Now, from a mother's perspective, I feel regret for Alice's mother, who, for the rest of her life, never again shared another Mother's Day with her alice.jpg (5376 bytes) young daughter. I close my eyes for just a moment and visualize the airplanes that I have seen fly over my home each Memorial Day to commemorate the sacrifices of many. I think about the many lessons that I have learned about dedication, perseverance, courage and living through women such as Alice Lovejoy and the WASP. It is the example of their lives that have inspired and continue to inspire me in ways they could never imagine. As we turn to continue our way down the hall of the mausoleum, I look up at the large stained glass window facing the corridor where Alice's grave is. On the top panel, I notice for the first time, a golden eagle with outstretched wings, flying above a beautiful green valley.

If you would like send an email for author and tell her what you think of her article, PLEASE DO! We'll be happy to pass it on.
webmaster@wasp-wwii.org

___________________________________