My dad wasn’t one to reminisce, but I do recall some funny stories he told. One such story was about the time a Japanese soldier snuck on base to surrender, but had the good sense to wait until a G.I. in a latrine had his pants down around his ankles before the enemy soldier felt it was safe enough to confront him. And another story about the time a B-29 with locked landing gear was forced to make a belly landing… with a bomb bay full of scotch … flooding the field. And how, to break the boredom, they used to hold rat-throwing contests, hurling dead rats by the tail to see who could toss the farthest.

On the serious side, I recall my dad telling me how surprised and incredulous he and his buddies were when they heard about the dropping of the atomic bomb. Security had been so tight that neither he nor anyone he knew with the B-29s had suspected such a weapon existed.

Ted enlisted with dreams of flying, but a peripheral vision problem disqualified him. He was assigned to a Central Fire Control ground crew. He told me that he spent most of his time helping to load bombs because the B-29 turrets needed minimal maintenance. The Zero, it seems, had neither the ceiling nor speed to make more than a single pass at the Superfortress.

He did have one opportunity to fly. The pilot of his first plane promised some informal, unofficial lessons following his next mission. Tragically, the plane never returned.

Participation in the VFW became a lifelong activity. He served several times as Commander of the Mohr-Christie Post #158 in Hoboken, N.J. Rain or shine, he never missed decorating graves on Memorial Day.