le" flying our aircraft with precision and cunning like the World War I volunteer pilots, scarves around our necks, looking for a chance to even the score for that day's fighting. Known as the "Purple Gang." those we supported knew that when the Purple Gang were on call, they would be protected and had the best chance to come back from their mission alive. Later in life, as we gathered as old pilots, at my home near Charlotte comparing our lives; we realized that we had more in common than we could ever have known. The hand of God was evident as we told our war stories and life stories. We laughed, we cried, and the love for each other was so evident that we vowed to repeat our reunion again within the next year or so. Little did we know that one of our own present that weekend would die that December, the first in our band of brothers to fall after all this time. All of us will miss you, John Houston; we called him "Howdy."