The following story is based on the actual experiences of Air Force Captain Robert Georgia Gillespie, an instructor pilot during World War Two. Mr. Gillespie served from 1941 to 1945, traveling in the United States to destinations such as Colorado and Westover, Massachusetts, where he spent the bulk of his time. When called into the service, Mr. Gillespie was living in neighboring Unionville; he married during the war and, upon his return, moved to Canton, the town his wife Ruth had grown up in. Having completed a career as a lawyer, Mr. Gillespie, now the father of five, spends quiet days with his wife in their home in Canton.

Flying in Honor: an Interview with Robert Georgia Gillespie

The American flag did not wave in the wind on April 15, 1942. Instead, the soldiers spread it out, draping the wooden box, reverently folding it at the edges to mask what lay beneath. Captain Robert G. Gillespie caught a glimpse of the heavily- guarded flag as he led his formation of twenty planes down Constitution Avenue, past the train station and on to the Capital. The image swirled through his eyes, and then disappeared as the B-29s sped past, his fellow pilots blocking his view. Gillespie kept a careful eye on their tight formation, keeping his plane in check; but every few seconds, his eyes would stray to the procession below. Constitution Avenue was decked out for the day's event; crowds lined the road ten rows deep. Though he couldn't see the procession, Gillespie imagined the neatly-dressed men and women silently honoring their hero as the casket rode past. The horses, white as doves, trotted slowly through the street below as Gillespie made a large arc and turned his plane around, heading down the Avenue once again. He saw the horses, their pure coats gleaming in the mid-April sun, marching down the road, each hoof exploding as it barely touched the cold pavement. With each step, the wagon's huge wheels rotated smoothly. Soldiers marched alongside the wagon, and Gillespie could picture their immaculate uniforms and polished, shining boots. He saw the crowd, little children, adults, and grandparents, motionlessly waving goodbye as the flag-draped wagon passed. Gillespie made another loop, the planes turning in unison, displaying the perfect precision they'd been trained to execute in war, ironically now being used for mourning and death.

Instead of waving majestically in the pure American light, the American flag gravely covered America's pride and honor. Instead of being raised in joyous victory, it lay flat in sorrow.

Gillespie made preparations for his last pass. As he turned his plane, the flag came in full view, a blinding streak of red, white and blue, the colors of the independence they were fighting for. Ever the professional, Gillespie nodded at the casket, and murmured, "So long, President Roosevelt," and saluted his President for the final time.