Again this year I was blessed to be able to attend this ceremony, a commemoration and remembrance of the five airman who lost their lives in a training mission 70 years ago to the day, May 18th, 1944. I felt it was significant and poignant that the ceremony which is always observed on the Sunday nearest the May 18th date fell on the exact date this year. I am sincerely grateful to those who keep this annual remembrance alive by leading us here in prayer and a twenty-one gun salute, followed by taps. In recent years the Civil Air Patrol has joined us and performed a "Laying of the Caps" ceremony along with a flag unfurling. This year was different in that the flag unfurling was performed by a veteran's group with no less honor than before.

I am sincerely grateful to all those that come out not only to remember or to learn about, but also to give thanks to these brave men, and to celebrate their lives. I am also sincerely grateful to Walt Webb who sought me out and got me to attend for the first time four years ago, and to Don Letourneau who leads the ceremony and gives all, myself included, time to speak and share with the gathering what they remember, and what the day means to them. I am also grateful that we had a perfect spring day for this event, not unlike the morning two planes collided over Uxbridge and two parachutes billowed to the ground safely bringing my father and one other back to earth.

Over the years I have listened to a good number of towns people who came to the event and shared their memories of the day. At the time all were children or teens. Folks who could tell you with vivid recollection what their mind's eye recorded on that day when the reality of war and the danger our troops put themselves in for their country became engraved on their hearts forever. They stared with children's eyes at the sky over Uxbridge, now streaked with black smoke and filled with the roar of propellor driven bombers. As the crippled plane crashed into the hillside far away they heard the muffled explosion and soon saw more thick, black smoke. Many ran towards the explosion, the whole hillside was burning and many stayed to fight the fires all day and into the next. Army Air Corp vehicles came through the town and then on to the crash scene. Folks were told to keep away.

Shortly after the crash two airman floated down on the outskirts of town, their lives saved by the silk parachutes they had never before used. Local fireman restrained my father as he approached the crash scene in shock. There was no one to save, nothing he could do. Two others had also jumped, but jumped too late, their chutes didn't open in time, one was impaled in a tree top. The pilot flew the plane into the ground to be sure to miss the town. Many of the people who went to the scene took small pieces, much of it has been given to me. Each year I go I see fewer of the faces that I first saw. Many who had come to tell their stories have not returned. Seventy years ago on a beautiful May morning they were children, zoom ahead to this day and many are gone or going. What is encouraging is I see new faces every year, they need to take up the torch lest the history of this day be lost.