I'm the tearful lady who attended the showing of the B-24 and B-17 with her 80 year old mom at Orange
County Airport in NY yesterday, Sunday, August 26th. My name is (Mrs.) Jean Minuta and my heroic
father was 2nd. Lt. William Stewart McHenry, Jr., A.S.N. 0 797 159. He was with the 9th Bombardment
Squadron in the India-Burma Theater. He was KIA one month before my birth, so I never knew him
personally. He remained alive for me through his  letters to my mother that she saved and gave to
me, through photographs, and through stories about him told to me by those who knew him well. At
only 3, I attended a ceremony at which I was presented with my father's posthumously awarded Purple
Heart, Distinquished Service Cross, and his pilot wings. They are my proudest and most coveted
possessions. I've read over and over and over the citation that accompanied the Distinquished Service
Cross and each time I am more in awe of my father's courage and sense of humanity.

"Mac" was flying the B-24 on a mission near Heho Airfield in Burma on 18 October, 1943, when his plane
was attacked by enemy fighters. It was machine gunned and set afire. According to an eye witness and
good friend of my father's, the bomb bays were afire and smoke was seen coming from the waist
windows (where are they located?). Yet, he kept his burning aircraft aloft long enough for 5 crew
members to bail out and be recovered. Then the plane was seen to have lost a wing, just before
disappearing into the clouds. Mac was never seen again, until his body was recovered in 1946 and
brought home for burial at Arlington.

Somehow, I hadn't expected to react so emotionally yesterday, but I've waited 57 years to actually see
close up the aircraft my father flew over Burma in WWII and so much flooded my mind that it became
overwhelming. I have always felt spiritually connected to Bill McHenry, but I needed to actually see the
B-24, touch it, and sit in the pilot's seat in the cockpit-- the last place my father was alive. I was
astounded by how small the bomber is and to visualize myself in his place in 1943 made me know that he
couldn't possibly have escaped from that plane, given the conditions, to save himself...and he had to
have known he was going to die. This touched a cord deep down in my soul that brings tears to my eyes
even now. I am SO proud to be the daughter of such a man.

Ironically, my love of airplanes caused me to go to work for Delta Airlines at 21 and I remained a flight
attendant with Delta for 5 years. Maybe I inherited some of his courage or maybe my father became my
guardian angel, but with only 3 months flying time under my belt, I was the senior flight attendant during
two serious emergencies. During the most serious one I recall that everyone around me was frantic, but I
remember feeling no fear. When we landed on a short, foamed runway in New Orleans with no landing
gear, one outboard engine on fire and its sister engine on the other wing shut down, black smoke
pouring out the galley on the inside of the Convair 880 and a man in the first class cabin having a heart
attack, passengers all came over to tell me that the calmness and serenity that came from my eyes and
face and demeanor throughout crash landing preparation had brought immediate calm to them. I barely
remembered any of the procedures I had gone through, let alone knowing I had been calm. The flight
crew each hugged me when we reached operations and told me I had handled situations better than more
seasoned flight attendants. Yesterday, these remembrances too came flooding back. I realized that, in my
own way, I am my father's daughter, even tho' I didn't make the ultimate sacrifice he made. His legend
made me have courage when I needed it.

However, were it not for you and your wonderful B-24 crew, I may never have been able to come to terms within myself over a loss I didn't experience first hand. I guess I always felt a little guilty in my child's mind that I had been born, when he died for me to be born and be able to live in a free nation. I grew up under the shadow of a ghost I never knew and I was sorry that I had not been a son instead of a
daughter. I never believed that I had lived or ever would live up to expectations I thought my father
would have of me. All the questions of my childhood years got answered yesterday and now allow me to
feel some inner peace. I don't even know the name of the quiet, respectful, kind man who took me aboard the B-24 and allowed me to sit in the pilot seat in the cockpit. Please tell me who he is and please inform him of the small miracle he helped perform yesterday. I can't thank any of you enough. God bless you all.

With deepest affection,
Jean

PS- Do you have any contacts that might help me learn what the name of my father's B-24 was? I know
that pilots named a/o painted their war-time aircraft like your B-24, "The Dragon and His Tail." Just a
curiosity.