The Power of Testimony

’TIL WE MEET AGAIN
Once the action shots had been taken, the photographer
had us change into our uniforms and line up on the steps
at the front of the college.
“You sure this is going to be in the papers?” I whispered
to a colleague as we shuffled into position.
“That’s what the man said. Why?”
“I want my parents to know which one’s me.” I pulled
off my peaked cap and tucked it under my belt in the back
of my trousers. When the photo came out, I discovered
I wasn’t the only cadet with this plan. Three of us were
without hats, eight were wearing the wrong color tie, and
most of our uniforms were wrinkled and creased. On
top of that, the majority of us were smiling and looking
relaxed, making the V-5 program seem more like a collection
of college grads at a theme party than a bunch of
future fighter pilots.
If the atmosphere back at Ohio Wesleyan had been
relaxed, then Gonzaga was even more so. The university
was run by Jesuit priests, and along with permission to
rent the buildings, the Navy Air Corps had also been given
the services of Father Duseau, one of the priests. He led
us in morning calisthenics, and I loved every minute of
those sessions. Father Duseau often picked me to lead the
men out as we went for a run. Whenever we approached
the edge of Bing Crosby’s property, we strained to catch a
glimpse of him, but we never did.
And when Father Duseau, whose second-​ floor room was
just above the cadets’ quarters, was frequently awakened
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