I cannot think of anyone I've known who was as positive and sweet as Bill. It was such a joy when when Bob and I got together with BIll and Jan, though it wasn't as often as we would have liked. He had this wonderful quality of wanting to learn new things. And what he did create was so beautiful! We will all miss him so much! Irene Lynch

Megan mentioned to me that folks might like to see a piece of writing that I did for a freshman English class (at Kansas City Junior College) when I was 18. I remember that I was a little embarrassed to hand it in because it was so personal, but it was one of the better things I wrote becasue I didn't have to make anything up. In typing it into Word, I was tempted to do a bit of editing, but didn't do anything but use the few tred-pencil changes that the English teacher made (mostly spelling). In those days we didn't have the help of electronic "spell check". Bob Lynch see below... I Remember I remember that it was in the middle of the summer of 1944. My eldest brother Paul was home on furlough. Because of the weather I was sleeping outside and was not in the habit of getting up until about nine or nine thirty. However, this particular morning I was awakened suddenly at about six-thirty by my mother. “Come on, get up” she said, “Bill’s been reported missing in action.” I remember that she wasn’t crying, although she might have been before she woke me up. I remember that when I went upstairs to dress I kept wondering if I really had heard what I thought I had heard. I was very sleepy and I could hardly keep my eyes open; I was very confused. I remember that after breakfast (and after my fears had been confirmed) I went to a bicycle shop to get a part for my bike. I wasn’t crying, but I thought that I might at any minute. All the way there whenever I saw anybody, whether I knew them or not, I kept saying to myself, :Look at me, I bet you don’t know my brother is missing in action. But I couldn’t believe that he was dead: Bill who was so alive; Bill, who was so full of personality; Bill who was so deserving of life. I know Bill, and Bill couldn’t be dead. I remember Paul who just lay on the swing most of the day and said nothing. About four-thirty he borrowed a car and went to pick up my father who was at work. Father didn’t know anything about it yet. I was very glad I wasn’t Paul. I remember that when my father got home I was in the kitchen. He came in crying very bitterly. I never want to see a man cry like that again. I remember that a day or so later a few friends of mine asked me to go to a ball game with them. I felt that I had to do something to relieve the tension; so I decided to go. I remember that I couldn’t tell them about it. It was the strangest feeling but I just couldn’t tell them. I remember that before the game started they played “The Star Spangled Banner”. I just couldn’t keep a few tears from rolling down my cheeks, but no one saw. But through all of this I could not believe that Bill was really dead. I guess that this is a natural reaction when someone who is close to you dies but when the person is not there lying in front of you the feeling is much stronger. I remember that when a few weeks later I learned that he was safe in a neutral country I was down playing with a friend of mine in a yard back of ours. My mother called down to me from our back porch. I was not the least bit surprised - as if I had always expected it. At first, because of this, I did not show any sign of joy but after a moment I thought that I had better do so or it might seem strange. There were undoubtedly many people who had a brother, husband, or father reported missing in action who felt the same way as I did but who didn’t yet get that second telegram. But for me it had to come because I know Bill, and Bill wasn’t dead. R. Lynch, summer, 1949

Going to a bar with Bill and Jan, Paul and Margaret in 1970 and drinking too much. I almost got in a fight and Bill was the peacemaker. Bill flying the biplane up to Edmonton in 1988. Chinup contests. Spending a week helping us work on our house. Taking son Michael and friend Edgar up in the plane. He and my brother Bill installed wiring on the whole second floor. Family walks down McKinnon Ravine. Doing it again on the return trip from back from Alaska. Phoning Bill in 1991 on the first day of the air war in Iraq and asking him what it was like, flying into the anti-aircraft fire. Summer 1995 visit of Viv and I with Hota, our 130 pound puppy. 105F temperatures. Going to the Steamboat Arabia exhibit. Listening to stories of his 3rd mission, B-17 being shot up on June 21, 1944 and restarting one engine and limping across Germany to Sweden. "It ruined me for life". Lots more memories and too many to write down.