Flight Path Corrected- A Visit To The Warhawk Air Museum

I never had a thing for planes. My father did; he dragged the four of us to the airport to sit and watch them take off and land, take off and land over and over again on a regular basis. We weren’t allowed to fuss or make any noise while he was revering the winged craft. Thus, I never had a thing for planes.

Perhaps that was how I could live in Nampa for the better part of my life without ever once visiting the Warhawk Air Museum. What would I want with airplanes? I’d had more than enough of them while growing up, or so I thought.

Curiosity eventually overruled my aversion. I found myself stepping through the Warhawk’s doors on a bright Saturday afternoon in October. We entered and walked into a non-imposing gift shop, where I came face to face with my idol; Rosie the Riveter. This could be something after all.

Dallas, who’s been with the museum for years, immediately welcomed us. He said that he’s been able to get to know many veterans that frequent the place, and how once they know you, they treat you like family. He talked about how hard it is to lose some of them as they get older. Dallas’ family is military and so he’d been involved in that life for ages and understood it well.

Dallas led us through the door into the actual museum and showed us the system. The Warhawk is a self-guided tour; you grab a pamphlet from the front table and since each item is numbered, there are explanations for almost every piece.

Twenty-thousand square feet of history was before me. Planes and cars and era music and Bob Hope telling jokes in the background. All of that, and all I could think about was what was right in front of me; the journals. Long tables full of the journals of servicemen that had lived, loved and sometimes lost. It was as if they were all speaking to me at once.

I instantly knew that this was a place where I could spend days reading. The men and women of World War II seemed to be trying to speak to me, and I wished mightily that I had time to read what they’d taken the time to write in their heartfelt, young language. That would sadly have to wait for another day.

I’d never been in the same space with planes like I was in the museum, yet while the planes loomed I was drawn to the smaller things. A nurse’s uniform. An ad for a tailor for those men who’d left home skinny and returned home with ‘huskier’ frames. Posters everywhere that encouraged any good citizen to support the war, honor rations and donate their metal, even if that metal came in the shape of a toy car. It was their American duty, and everyone those days did their duty. They were, after all, a team and indivisible at that. I had to wonder what that might feel like. The closest thing I’d ever experienced to unity was probably on and after September 11th, 2001.

While my husband looked at the machinery and artillery, I was looking still at the photographs of fresh-faced soldiers, some who’d probably never left their hometowns before the war. Some had Hawaiian ladies posing in the pictures with them. Some looked hardly old enough to shave.

Of the many binders, one caught my eye. It was off to itself at the end of a cabinet and had a poem inscribed on the outside, which was what had attracted me. It read:

“Through the years we have watched ships head to sea
with no more hazards to encounter than storms and raging seas.

But today, for those who sail towards the setting sun
Danger lurks in a form more ruthless and sinister than nature ever conjured.

Death and destruction at the hands of human wolves may be theirs.”

Those sobering words stopped me in my tracks. I had to know who this soldier was. Looking beyond the poem’s page I found the intended cover with a boy’s face on it; that of a Mr. Homer Dellinger, who by all accounts was quite the poet. I found pages and pages in his book, “People and Thoughts”, dated 12-7-41 through 8/45. If I’d only had the time to read them all.

I couldn’t resist jotting down just one more of Homer’s gems:

“If all be true that I do think
There are five reasons we should drink:

Good wine, a friend, or being dry,
---or lest we should be, by and by

Or any other reason why.”

Classic.

Surrounded by the items of the time, it was brought home to me so clearly:

The had lives.
They had wives.

They’ve had reunions and adventures well beyond the Armed Forces by now.

At one time, these men meant everything to each other. They had dreams, girls they were sweet on, hopes for their future.

How appropriate to hear a plane flying overhead at that exact moment, as Bob Hope played on the TV in the corner and cooing music played out of the surround sound. Bob Hope’s, performing in front of countless soldiers said, “What an island. No women anywhere. I say we just let ‘em take it.”

This followed by good-natured laughter.

Then his co-host lady friend spoke, “I was practicing shooting targets for a half hour today with one of the guys. He had his arm around me, showing me how. We’re gonna try it again tomorrow with a rifle!”

Bob Hope mentioned their many accomplishments and quipped, “Isn’t it wonderful what you can do on Spam, huh?”

He said sincerely in closing, “We tried to entertain as many guys and gals as we could.”

More to see. Stars on the planes that equaled the number of confirmed kills. Themes of how a man’s girl was everything to them. Their girl equaled hope and home. The music seemed to back up that sentiment.

“Hot-diggity, dog-diggity, what you do to me…when you’re holding me tight.”

Freedom, family, and protecting the homefront was what it was all about in that day. I was glad I’d had the chance to touch history if only for an hour or two. Even though World War II was a mighty tough time for our country, it was also a time where its population pulled together, worked together and whole-heartedly supported each other.

It’s awfully good to re-visit that every once in a while, and hopefully bring some of that back out the door with us to spread far and wide.

When you understand fully where you’ve come from, you better understand who you are.