For Memorial Day

As a special treat for Memorial Day I give you parts of the story of my Dad in the U.S. Navy. My favorite story from this period in his life was how he figured out a way to make ice cream.

My Dad, George, wanted to fly planes. So when he joined the Navy he signed up for the Naval Aviator Program. He and my mom, Nancy, eloped partially because Navy Pilots weren’t allowed to be married. Unfortunately, or fortunately, as the case may be, the program ended before he got to train to fly. Instead of learning to fly he was shipped off to an island in the Pacific where he was a supply clerk (think Radar O’Reilly here) at an air strip. (I think this may have been Guam, but I am not sure.)

While he was away, Nancy lived on the family dairy farm in upstate New York, and worked as a soda jerk at the local drug store. She wrote George every day, and regaled him with details of her life – including explicit descriptions of the ice cream sundaes, milk shakes and other frozen treats she created behind the counter in downtown Horseheads, New York.

In the primitive conditions on an island in the South Pacific, they had very limited resources for refrigeration, and a treat like ice cream was unheard of. George would get Nancy’s letters, and read aloud to his comrades about the ice cream treats she had created. In the sweltering South Pacific heat they all longed for ice cream.

 Each day the pilots were required to get in so many hours of flying, and they would take off, fly around for a while, and then return. When they returned from their little trips, they would complain about how hot it was on the ground. It was then that George realized it just might be cold enough at those altitudes for cream to freeze. So he hatched a plan and set it into motion. He put the ingredients into a metal container and promised the pilots that they could have the first spoonfuls if they took it up with them during their flights.

George, and as much of the company as possible, would line up and be waiting on the runway when the plane landed. George would have two spoons, and would hand one to the pilot as soon as the container, which was almost too cold to hold in his hands, was removed from the plane. Then each of the men in the company would get a spoonful of the frozen treat.

For this Memorial Day, if you are lucky enough to have ice cream as part of your day, really taste that first spoonful, and think about those men on an island in the South Pacific, how my Dad managed to make ice cream, and smile. As I will.