So the death of a 103 year old person shouldn't come as a surprise, but this somehow came as a surprise. Last night my family lost our leader. Anyone who knows me knows about my fighter pilot grandfather. I kinda never shut up about him. He flew combat in WWII, Korea and was an

advisor the the Joint Chiefs of Staff. He was was hilarious, charming, and the best story teller I ever met. So, I want to tell you a story. One of his stories. I’m tempted to tell you about how at 103 he still had German shrapnel in his chest and it occasionally worked its way

to the surface… most recently a few years ago when he had a big zit on the top of his head and the doctor discovered it was a sliver of metal from an enemy ME109 cannon that worked its way through his body over the course of 70-plus years and popped out of his scalp like some

kind of macabre toaster pastry. I also thought about telling you how when he was in combat in North Africa doing high altitude bomber escort and he took a bunch of hits from an enemy fighter, he suddenly smelled beer. He thought he must have died and gone to heaven because they

hadn’t had beer for months… only to discover, when he landed, that his crew chief had been hiding 2 cases of beer in his plane every mission so it’d be icy cold from the altitude when he got back. He said “I wondered why the mechanics were so happy to see me come home alive.”

But the story I really want to tell you is something that showed his character more clearly than anything else I ever heard. 10 years ago I’d seen something in a back-and-forth on a message board for one of the squadrons he’d been in, and it troubled me.

Someone mentioned being tossed out of a leadership position on the website (these message boards can get INTENSE) just like Kirtley had been tossed out as squadron commander of the 95th. Why was he tossed? What happened? He’d never mentioned anything about it.

But I never wanted to ask in case it was something he didn’t want me to know, or something I didn’t want to know. I finally got the story. But a tiny bit of background first so you can understand what the hell I’m talking about… My grandfather was in charge of

the 95 Fighter Squadron at the beginning of the war and they were sent to fight in North Africa against a much more seasoned Luftwaffe. He flew dozens of combat missions, had air to air victories, did bomber escort, no blemishes on his record… But then was suddenly moved to an

entirely different fighter group, and the 27th Fighter Squadron. He’d been transferred from his squadron. Why? Yes, he went on to finish out the war with the 27th fighting through the invasion of Sicily and into Italy. But I never knew what caused him to leave the 95th.

Then one night at his place in Virginia after a few martinis, he told me and my wife what happened. It came out because we were asking about his commanding officer at the time, a guy who was in charge of the whole Fighter Group (the 95th, 96th and 97th squadrons) and who my

grandfather’s disdain for was so clear even in the way he said his name. It sounded like how someone says a name before they curse and spit on the ground. This man was the same commander who, at the start of the war, when the fighter group was flying from England to North Africa

told the pilots that intelligence said there would be no enemy aircraft so they shouldn’t fill their ammo bays with bullets but instead fill them with items they wanted to bring. My grandfather disobeyed orders, by the way, and told his flight to put in 15 seconds of ammo…

and you can guess what happened. They were jumped by a bunch of German Ju88s over the Bay of Biscay and the only reason anyone survived is that my grandfather had disobeyed the commander’s order. So, flash forward to later in the war. The fighter group is

being picked apart by the Luftwaffe. They’re starting to hold their own, but they’re suffering huge causalities. This commander had decided not to go on any of the missions with his men, and the pilots were beginning to feel they were being sent to the slaughter. Morale was low

and that alone was becoming dangerous. So my grandfather and the other squadron commanders begged the commander to go along on missions to increase morale and show the pilots they weren’t just fodder. This commander agreed, but on every mission he would suddenly develop

“mechanical problems” just as they hit the “do line”… the place where either you commit to battle or turn back. He always turned back. After this happened several times, my grandfather had enough. On the next mission he told the chief mechanic “when the commander turns back

with mechanical problems, park his plane and don’t let anyone touch it.” As expected, when they went on their next mission, the commander turned back with mechanical problems. My grandfather and the other pilots fought on and from what he told us, it was a particularly violent

battle, and they lost several planes. But he made it back to base and, I will quote this exactly, my grandfather said “I didn’t even take off my parachute” and he jumped into the commanders “faulty” P-38, untouched by the mechanics, and did a 20 minute airshow over the field,

doing turns, loops, dives, low passes, put that plane through its paces to show it was completely functional. So, here’s why I’m telling you this. He didn’t do that for his own credit. He didn’t do it thinking he’d get away with what was clearly massive insubordination.

He did it because his fellow pilots were getting killed and he felt this commander was contributing to it. He knew that he would likely lose his command, but he wanted to protect as many of his men as he could. And it worked… sort of. He was relieved of his command and was sent

sent to a rest camp in Casablanca. But—it was ultimately a success. His commander was quietly re-assigned. And the 95th got a new commander and went on to great success through the rest of the war. But my grandfather lost his squadron. A group of guys he swore he’d never desert.

I think he kept from telling that story for a long time because it felt like a failure… like he’d let those guys down. But to me, and I’m willing to bet a lot of those pilots, it wasn’t a failure at all. So that's the story I'm thinking about today. It's got all the things...

... I love in his stories: drama, heroics, scandal, humor -- I mean he put on a fucking AIR SHOW to make his point -- and most of all his total belief that if it needs to be done, YOU do it. You, not someone else. You.

Clear skies and tail winds my friend. You are missed.