2010 was not my best year. I was going through tough times in my
personal life and uncertainty in my job. When a friend called me and asked me
if I wanted to be a volunteer for an Honor
Flight in September, I was thrilled to have an opportunity to do something
that would take my mind off my own worries and give me a chance to experience
something quite special. There was no way I could begin to know how special
that day would be and how it would truly touch my life.
If you don’t know what Honor Flight is all about, I
strongly suggest you look into it and sign up for one. Time is running out.
There aren’t many left from the Greatest Generation, and every year their
numbers dwindle further.
As I am thinking back on that day, I realize that I
am not going to be able to do it justice with this one blog post. There is
simply too much to capture. But there is a reason I am writing this now, almost
three years later. Recently, I found out
that the man I spent that beautiful day with, recently passed away and I want
to honor him once more.
My friend picked me up very early that morning and
we headed out to Dulles to meet the “old guys” we would be assigned to escort
that day.
Waiting to greet the WWII veterans and be paired up.
My friend had already volunteered at a few times and she explained
the whole procedure and what to expect. Depending on the health of my
designated veteran, I should expect to have to speak loudly, walk slowly, and
patiently listen to war stories. No problem!
I was up for it and prepared for the worst. If my assigned veteran is in
a wheel chair, I can push him all day long. I was just grateful to have the
chance to interact and connect with one of these men. Little did I know that
the man I would spend the day with was like no 89 year old I would have
imagined.
They landed! Getting ready to greet them inside the terminal.
Robert B. Kalnitz. That’s the name I had on my
piece of paper. He arrived with his group from Chicago. He was one of the last
ones to disembark the plane. They allow the less mobile veterans off the plane
first- those in wheel chairs and walkers. But Robert, or Bob as he asked me to
call him, stood tall and capable.
Robert Kalnitz taking my photo as I took his.
As he
walked toward me, I got a deep sense of slight shyness and could see he felt a
little uncomfortable with all the attention that was being given to the group.
I would come to learn that he was a modest, humble, sensitive man who was
deeply grateful for the opportunity to come to Washington, D.C. to see the
World War II monument with his fellow Greatest Generation. Bob
also was moved by the idea that all the volunteers had, in his words, “taken
the day off from work and using their vacation time” to spend with strangers
who had fought a war before many of them had even been born.
So we were given a chance to spend time together on
the bus from Dulles to D.C. and Bob was so bright and sharp that I soon began
to realize that he was unlike most of the others in the group. I asked him the
usual “get to know you” questions about his life since the war, what he did in
the service, and his family. He answered and engaged me about my life and
experiences too. It was delightful and I wasn’t bored for a minute. We had
really hit it off, and I felt so fortunate and blessed to have really hit the
jackpot by being given this gentleman to spend the day with.
Friends already! Enjoying our time at the WWII Memorial
As I write these words, tears well up as I remember
the sweetness of that day. It was perfection from start to finish. The weather
in D.C. was simply amazing. Blue skies and lovely sunshine, with a light
breeze. Once we got to the monument, we walked around and I took photos. Bob
had a camera too and he took snaps of his state monument- Illinois. Seeing all
of those old veterans, I couldn’t help but imagine them in their youth and what
they had been through during the war. It was especially poignant, and a bit
ironic, that Bob had been a flyer who flew missions from England to Germany. I
shared with him that my mother had been there, a small child, living in Köln, Germany.
Perhaps Bob had flown over her town. You might imagine that fact may have been
something that put some awkwardness between us, but it didn’t in the least.
Bob showing pride for his home state of Illinois.
There are no accidents. I could have easily been paired with a veteran of the
South Pacific or France, but the universe has an interesting way of teaching us lessons and in those difficult
days of 2010, I needed to feel like life had a deeper meaning and that this
experience was a gift I had been looking for.
So we spent that beautiful day together, enjoying an
outdoor lunch and talking for hours. We saw the sights and walked the steps of
Mr. Lincoln’s memorial. Not all the veterans were able, but Bob was so strong
and in such great shape, he was able to keep up very well. As the day wound
down, we headed back to Dulles on the bus, and it started to get dark. I shared
some of my personal woes with Bob, who was kind and thoughtful with his advice.
He talked about his marriage and his daughters and grandchildren. That day we shared truly wonderful conversations and we really bonded.
Bob even mentioned me when he spoke to his wife, Shirlie, on the telephone. I felt special and appreciated. How did Bob know how much I needed that feeling? He just did; that’s the kind of man Bob Kalnitz was.
When it was getting close to the time to say
goodbye, I started to get a really big knot in my stomach. I didn’t want to
cry, but I had a feeling I was going to do just that. So when they called the
veterans to line up to board their plane, Bob and I exchanged contact
information and we hugged goodbye. And we both had tears in our eyes. Just like
I do right now remembering it.
We are very fortunate to have things like Facebook
and email to keep us connected. Imagine how thrilled I was a few weeks later to
receive an email from Bob’s daughter, Leah.
Hi Diana,
I wanted to thank you for your kindness and sensitive attention to my Dad, Bob Kalnitz, during his time in Washington Tuesday. He got off the plane raving about you nonstop. His conversations with you and your interest in and sharing with him were more of an honor to him than the WWII Memorial. He was amazed that you would take a vacation day to spend with an elderly veteran. We are so touched by the generosity of spirit (not to mention time and thought) of all the Honor Flight volunteers. You made a great day even more special, and our family can't thank you enough.
All the best,
Leah
So Leah and I would touch base from time to time. I wrote to wish Bob a happy birthday when he turned 90. Life took off for me and I was distracted by my own issues, family, health concerns, and relationship. I changed jobs, got married, and just did all the things we do in our day to day lives.
I thought of that day, and Bob, often. I
encouraged my family and friends to sign up for Honor Flight and I told my
mother about the day I spent with the lovely, kind, intelligent, Jewish man
from Chicago; who just happened to be an Air Force pilot who flew a bomber over
Germany during the war. She also appreciated the rich coincidence and how
interesting it was for me to share a day with someone who had lived through a
dangerous experience and time. She said I was fortunate to have had such a
chance to hear firsthand what that must have been like. And I knew I was.
A few weeks ago, I got an email from Leah. It may
seem hard to believe, but her words brought me to tears that would resurface
many times since. This is what she wrote:
Dear Diana,
It has been a long
time since I've written to you, but it is not because I don't think of you
often. I especially have been thinking of you every day recently and every day
put off writing this particular e-mail.
I am very, very sad to
tell you that my dad passed away on January 15th. He got the flu towards the
end of December and then developed pneumonia and was hospitalized. It was a
rampant infection and the doctors couldn't get rid of it and Dad couldn't fight
it off. Despite the fact that he was 91.5 years old and we knew we wouldn't
have him forever, we simply were not prepared to part with him quite yet. He
was engaged, vital, independent, and wonderful--not at all like a man of his
years. We all thought he was going to conquer the illness--and he especially
did.
I sit at my Dad's
small writing desk just about every day, going through paperwork and helping my
Mom. A note in his handwriting with your name and contact information is right
there on the desk, sometimes covered in piles of bills and letters. It is a
testament to the special place you had in my dad's heart and the impact you had
on him that your name and address remained on his desk where he would always
see it. I am so grateful for the day you shared together, and I want you to
know how meaningful it was to him and to us.
I hope the New Year
has begun well for you and that life will be very good to you always.
Sending warm hugs,
Leah
I wrote her back and let her know that I was so
deeply and sincerely sorry to hear that Bob had died and how I understood the
depth of their loss. You might think it presumptuous of me to think that I knew
someone I had only known for a single day, but I believe I got to know the very
best of him in those hours and I fully understood what his family meant to him,
and what he meant to them. I have no doubt in my mind that his spirit will
always be with them, as I feel it is still with me. Certain people in this
world have that gift and Bob Kalnitz had it more than most. He was the most
decent and righteous kind of man, who had the perfect combination of strength
and tenderness, self-dignity and respect for others, and most of all, gratitude
and humility for his blessings large and small.
If you ever find yourself losing faith in life or
humanity, as I had in 2010, I hope you have the opportunity to reach outside of
yourself and do something for someone else. In doing so, you may find- as I
did, that in the end you will receive a lesson, a gift, an opportunity that
changes you and your perspective on life.
I challenge you to go out and find
that person, or thing, that restores your faith in humanity and lets you see
firsthand that good people, really, really, good people, exist and are among
us. We just have to open our hearts and minds and invite them in. I did such a
thing in September of 2010, and now I am one of the fortunate ones who can say
that their life was deeply and profoundly changed by the most unlikely of
people, in a completely random encounter.
Many, loving thanks to Bob Kalnitz for the wisdom and advice, and example, he gave me that day. I feel the bond and connection to him even now. I’ll never forget him and I honored to have had the chance to meet him and share a day with him. And thanks to Leah and Bob’s family for allowing me to share this remembrance with all of you.
In his daughter Leah’s
own words:
Dad was a First
Lieutenant in the Air Force, 305th Bomb Group. He was a B-17 pilot, and his plane
was a Triangle G. He was an instructor in Ft. Myers for a year and then was
sent to England, stationed at a base about an hour outside London, in Feb.
1945. He flew missions over Germany and perhaps other countries. After the war,
he was kept overseas to help photograph Europe to create a map--and also to
survey damage, I believe (can check on that). His love of planes preceded his
service--he was determined to be a pilot--and continued until his death. Our
childhood and even adulthood included going to air shows with him. His
grandchildren went, too. He wore his Air Force ring proudly every day.
He and my mom (Shirlie) were married in Columbus, Ohio on Feb. 20, 1944. Next week would have been their 69th anniversary. When they got married, he hadn't yet received his orders and didn't know if he was shipping out overseas. But they heard either that day or right after that he was being sent to Ft. Myers to be an instructor, so Mom went with him and they were there together for a year. I think he left the U.S. right around their anniversary and came home a year later, right around their anniversary.
