Originally Posted by Seahawk
When I was the Chief Government Pilot at Sikorsky, I commuted back and forth during the week from Maryland.
I rented a room from Yong Lee, a former USMC pilot now working for Sikorsky as a test pilot. His house was about a mile and a half from the factory in Bridgeport, CT. You would look the rest of your life to find a better man than Yong. He was a no kidding master black belt in something hard but the nicest, most gentle soul. We spent a lot of time together riding mountain bikes and playing sports. I didn't have children at the time but he was more than welcoming of my nephew and his friends coming to stay when I had to be in Bridgeport for the weekend. A gentleman.
Yong's family was from Korea. His father had been a slave during WWII working in mines outside of either Hiroshima of Nagasaki.
The story is long and, in my mind, the elegance of legal immigration and the story starts with Mr. Lee's salvation. Mr. Lee told me that he knew he was saved after the atom bomb was dropped. Everyone knew.
He and his wife raised four children, worked and separated as a couple for years as Mr. Lee came legally to America and built up the equity to get his family to the promised land. All four children earned masters degrees and two flew for the military, Yong's brother was a Navy pilot.
I always think of the Lee's on this day.
May 11th, 1996, I had the unfortunate responsibility, because I knew the family, to call both Mr. Lee, who was at work, and Mrs. Lee who was at home, when their son, Yong, died in a crash at the Sikorsky Factory.
Mr. Lee, a man who worked as a slave for Japan, survived because of America's commitment and willingness; a man who sacrificed after his slavery to get here, to prosper, to make a better life for his family, cried to me, with me, that day when his son died.
That is Hiroshima to me: The salvation of a man, his family, their greatness and my small part in their unique American story.
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