We ventured to Houston last week to attend our nephew’s graduation, enjoy some family time, and to put our antiperspirants to the ultimate test (they failed miserably). “Swelterland”, as I referred to Houston many moons ago in a Ramblings column of the same name, did not disappoint.

Like last year, when we attended our niece’s graduation in Houston, my wife flew and I dusted off my chauffer hat and hemorrhoid pillow and drove her dad, Bernie, and his brother, Tony, from their homes in Grenville, South Dakota, to Houston. How far is it from Grenville to Houston you ask? 1,200 miles…so it goes.

Tony ditched us for the return trip, as he and his daughter had an anniversary to attend in Chicago, so it was just Bernie and I for the other 1,200 miles.

Being the youngest of the trio by over three decades, and desiring to be three decades older one day, I gladly lashed myself to the helm for the journey. Hell, highwater, delirium or truck stop hotdog induced intestinal distress, our fate would be in my hands for the duration as I deftly thwarted any and all attempts of mutiny from the crew.

Bernie (“Bernardo” as his older brother Tony refers to him) performed admirably as co-pilot on the return trip, and relying on his 30 years as a track inspector, proffered an interesting masterclass on all things railroad related as we ventured north. He also served in the Vietnam War and spent 35 years in the Army Reserves, where he served in Iraq during the Gulf War, so I had the privilege of learning bits and pieces about his time in the military as well.

In 1960, Bernie was about 2-weeks from being drafted, so he decided to enlist so that he would have more of a choice as to what he would be assigned to do during his service in Vietnam. He wanted to be a helicopter pilot, but he contracted a bad ear infection during basic training that burst an eardrum and negatively impacted his hearing, so he was shifted from helicopter pilot training to helicopter crew chief training.

In his usual easygoing nature that he often expresses with, “That’s the way it goes”, he took the new assignment in stride. He utters the same phrase in explaining that his 90-day tour in Vietnam, turned into 10-months.

As he explained, he trained his replacement, but his replacement was shot and killed on his first mission, so Bernie had to stay and train another replacement, who was also killed on his first mission when the helicopter was shot down. When the third replacement arrived, Bernie trained him, but refused to let him go on a mission, understandably, Bernie wanted to go home.

As crew chief he was tasked with getting helicopters ready for missions and helping to get them patched up, cleaned, and repaired upon their return to base. Due to a shortage of helicopter pilot helmets, one such cleanup required Bernie to clean the helmet of helicopter pilot that had been shot and killed so that another pilot could use it.

The pilot had been shot in the forehead, just below the helmet, and 65 years later, Bernie said that occasionally the sights and smells he encountered during that cleanup will make their way back to him as clear as the day it happened. One never knows the things that people carry with them. Sometimes you just need to take them for a little ride…and listen.

As Socrates once said, “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”