Proud to Bear the Title

[phuloi]

Proud to bear the title

They're having a simple, grateful ceremony at Russellville, Ark., today. Because, on August 8, 1943, exactly 59 years ago, somewhere over the Coral Sea, an American pilot disappeared.

Navy Lt. G.D. Taylor of Russellville, Ark., was flying his Dauntless dive bomber back to Guadalcanal from Segi Field on New Georgia Island when it and he vanished. His was Plane No. 15 flying in Position No. 2 of his Marine squadron, and he was already having engine problems on his way to the target -- a Japanese seaplane base on New Georgia. He had to fall out of formation, then catch up to reach his objective, but he made it. He dropped his thousand-pound Daisy Cutter bomb before going on to Segi for repairs. Then he took off. But he never completed the 20-minute, 90-mile hop back to Henderson Field on Guadalcanal.

He was never seen again. On his eighth day at Guadalcanal, Gilford Dudley Taylor Jr., of Russellville, Ark., 015370, had joined the 32,682 Americans recorded as Missing in Action in the Pacific Theater. He would be promoted to captain posthumously. One more casualty of a war that claimed millions.

Yes, just one more casualty, but the world to his mother. She never gave up hope. Even if, a year later, the War Department would write to inform Mrs. Taylor that her son's death must be presumed. She presumed no such thing. Never.

To quote one her grandsons: "To the day of her own death, 34 years later, at age 96, she clung to the hope that G.D. would step out of the next car that pulled into her driveway." She would not hear of a memorial service. He lived in her.

But now it is time. The captain's widow, retired schoolteacher Frances Taylor of Little Rock, will be at this service with the rest of the family. A United States Marine Corps unit will fire a volley, play Taps, present a flag. There'll be a eulogy and they'll all sing the Marine Hymn. Every phrase will echo, full of meaning. Proud to claim the title/Of United States Marine.

It will not be a sad occasion but one for gratitude, remembrance, reunion, celebration. Following the service there'll be a dinner on Mount Nebo. And, 59 years after he went down with his ship, the farewell will be complete. The world has turned over many times since Aug. 8, 1943, and the grief has become something to live with, as grief will. The pride remains, and has become something more, a family legacy. It will be renewed, and passed on to another generation.

And memory will be refreshed. The flier's nephew, in a memoir written half a century after that August day in 1943, would note:

"I still see G.D. through the eyes of an eight-year-old as I was when I last saw him on his final liberty March 28, 1943; as he was when he and Frances visited us in Gould, 70 days before shipping out, 133 days before he was declared 'missing in action.' I clearly remember G.D.'s direct, positive manner that was straightforward and honest, and his clean-cut, boyishly handsome features: hazel-brown eyes, light brown hair bleached blond by the sun; almost ramrod straight posture and carriage; a lean muscular body, dashing in a spotless and crisply starched white naval aviator uniform, with epaulets, the awesome wings of gold on his chest, ensign bands of gold on his sleeves, a killer angel, an avenging force who would crush the enemies who sneak-attacked and killed so many of our boys at Pearl Harbor."

On that last, magical night, the kids could stay up as late as they wished. Everybody kidded around, said their goodbyes, gathered 'round to sing the songs of the day as G.D. played the guitar. The sounds still echo in the mind of that little boy who's now a middle-aged man.

Another of the young lieutenant's nephews says his very first memory is that of "coming into the house from play to find my mother, surrounded by friends, sobbing uncontrollably. I was far too young to comprehend a telegram she had just received telling her that her youngest brother -- twenty-four-year-old U.S. Marine Captain Gilford Dudley Taylor Jr. -- was missing in action."

Fifty-nine years later, an Arkansas family will say goodbye to a flier forever young. And we will all add: Thank you. Well done. We breathe free because of young men like you in every generation.

Who knows, today they might even sing some of the ballads they were singing that night in 1943. (ITALICS) I'll be seeing you/in every lovely summer's day/In everything that's light and gay/I'll always think of you that way/I'll find you in the morning sun,/ and when the night is new/I'll be looking at the moon, but I'll be seeing you