by Jay Heavner
They saw at least forty Canadian geese swimming by one at a time and several bald eagles in different trees watched them and waiting to make a meal of an unsuspecting fish. The deer they saw were curious but ran for cover in the thick brush as they passed. It was so quiet and still. You could almost feel the presence of men like George Washington or the Indian Chief Killbuck who had traveled this area many times. A crashing on the hillside startled the men, but they could not see what caused a tree to fall. Was it gravity pulling down a rotten old, dead tree, or maybe a bear scratching at it for grubs to eat? Tom’s dad had joked it may be a yayhoo, but Tom had never heard of a beast named this. His dad explained that the Rockies had Big Foot, Florida had its swamp ape and in West Virginia, the creature was called a yayhoo. He knew of men who claimed to see them in remote areas of the state, and they usually had a degree of fear in their voice as the story unfolded. Whatever it was that day, it did not hang around for inspection, which was okay with them. They had a great and memorable day.
Tom had taken all his sons on this canoe trip when they were growing up, and he hoped to do the same with Joann and his stepdaughter Miriah. Tom told numerous people about the fun on the river. Some took the river ride, and all had liked it except for one couple who were caught in a driving summer thunderstorm. Life happens.
Tom could not remember his father’s parents. They passed when he was young. His dad had been a veteran of WW II, serving with General Patton in Europe. Only years later did certain things he had heard his dad say and do make sense.
His dad always had an interest in flying. They’d go to the nearby Cumberland Airport in Wiley Ford and watch the planes take off. He knew some of the pilots of the small aircraft and would occasionally when he had a few extra bucks, which wasn’t often, talk the pilots into letting Tom and him ride along on the local flights. He’d help out when they had the auto races at the airport. Tom figured this was why he knew so many of the people. At one of the events, his dad won a raffle for a glider flight sponsored by the Cumberland Soaring Club, and Saturday’s weather made it perfect conditions to soar. They arrived at the airport early in the morning and parked near the hangar as instructed. The planes and gliders were out on the runways and ready to go.
He remembered his father talking to the officials and them pointing to their glider, and it was a big one, a Schweitzer 2-32. They walked to the plane, and his father introduced them to a strikingly handsome man a little over 6 feet tall. He had piercing eyes and wavy hair with streaks of gray and said his name was Werner von Braun. Only years later did Tom understood the tense conversation in the glider between the two men.
The three of them climbed into the glider, and in a few minutes, the tow plane pulled them high up in the air over the airport and set them free. Air dropped off Allegheny Front from the nearly 3,000 foot high Big Savage Mountain into the much lower Potomac River Valley and ran into Knobley Mountain. This created an uplift in the atmosphere and made it a perfect place for soaring.
The two adults chatted about the weather as the glider gained altitude over the Cumberland area. For Tom, it was exciting and somewhat frightening, too. He felt like a god looking down on the earth from on high but was also scary, this being his first time aloft. From this altitude, he could see the whole of Cumberland and much of the surrounding area, including the old farm he called home. What happened next was something he’d not understand until years later. His dad struck up a conversation with the pilot.
“So Mr. von Braun, I saw you on the news and know you are now working for NASA, but what brings you to the Cumberland, Maryland area?”
He replied in his excellent English that still had a mild German accent, “Oh, a number of things. NASA wants me to pound the flesh, you know, shake a lot of hands and do some much-needed PR work. I’m speaking at Keyser High School and various other places in the area. NASA wants me to drum up support for the space program. Congress has a way of being stingy with funding and the more calls the representatives get from the people back home, the better our budget will be in space exploration.”
He went on, “Just between you and me; I’m hedging my bets, too. If we don’t receive the funding, I may need another job. Various companies have contacted me, and I’m looking at options. And there is this too, soaring. I discovered this place while job hunting and speaking. I loved to do this when I was in Germany. Up here, it’s so relaxing. You can forget your problems and all the evil things that can happen down on the ground. It’s so peaceful in a glider with just the wind currents to hold you.”
Tom’s dad asked, “Do you spend much time on Cape Canaveral?”
“I go there regularly. It’s a beautiful area, but the mosquitoes can carry you away at times.”
“Do you know of a place down there called Canaveral Flats? It’s between Titusville and Cocoa.”
Von Braun turned around and spoke, “I can’t say the name Canaveral Flats rings a bell, but Titusville and Cocoa do. We often fly into the Tico Airport in Titusville or other times use the skid strip at the Cape Canaveral facility. I must have flown over it at one time.”
“My cousin married a guy whose brother came into some money somehow, and he bought a big chunk of raw land in the area they call Canaveral Flats. He’s been cutting roads through the palmettos and selling lots, mainly to people from up here in the mountains. A goodly number have moved down there, and some are using it as an escape from the winter cold. I guess with the space race; jobs are available in Brevard County. He’s got no restrictions on the land use, so I hear the place can be kind of tacky with old trailers and such, but that was the way he wanted it; just common salt of the earth people. He’s got no use for people who look down their noses at you and think they’re somehow better because they got more money.”
“Yes,” von Braun said. “I’ve been around people such as that. There should be a place for everyone.”
“He talked one of my cousins, Bill Kenney, who’d been a Mineral County Deputy, into coming down a time ago and he’s now the head of the police department in Canaveral Flats. I heard from him a while back. He said it was mostly peaceful, but occasionally they have some trouble just like anyplace else.”
Von Braun chuckled, “Ah yes, West Virginia. It’s all relative. I would fit right in.”
Tom’s dad laughed at that too, but he became serious. “Mr. von Braun, what did you do in the war? I was a soldier with General Patton.”
Von Braun paused, inhaled, and let out a deep breath. “That is an easy, but yet a hard question. I served my nation in the best way I knew how, but sometimes I’ve wondered if I, we were not all pawns in a bigger game. You have an expression here, ‘Can’t see the forest for the trees,’ I believe it is.”
“I was one of the men who liberated the underground concentration camp at Mittelbau-Dora, where rockets were made.”
Von Braun said nothing for a moment. “One of your greatest soldiers, Robert E. Lee, once said, ‘It is well that war is so terrible - otherwise we would grow too fond of it.’ Horrible things are done in war. People turn on people. I myself was arrested by the Gestapo and feared for my life. Sir Winston Churchill also noted, ‘Never, never, never believe any war will be smooth and easy, or that anyone who embarks on the strange voyage can measure the tides and hurricanes he will encounter. The statesman who yields to war fever must realize that once the signal is given, he is no longer the master of policy but the slave of unforeseeable and uncontrollable events.’ There have been times I wonder if we are not all slaves.”
“I believe you’ve thought much on this matter since the Great War,” said Tom’s dad. Von Braun nodded. “Mr. von Braun, have you ever heard of Operation Paper Clip?”
Tom could see von Braun cringe slightly at the mention of Operation Paper Clip.
Von Braun asked, “How do you know that name? It is supposed to be a secret.”
Tom’s dad said, “I was part of that too. I was only a clerk who read and shuffled papers for the brass, but I saw much I
did not like. Many crimes were swept under the rug. They said it all involved national security, but I wondered at the wisdom of some in charge. I feared it could someday come back to bite us.”
“You are a surprise, Mr. Kenney. Never would I have thought we would talk about this when I first saw you. Mr. Kenney, you are right. Although none of the German scientists brought over here were totally guilt-free, remember what I now say because I will not repeat it again. There were and still are wolves among the sheep. I can say no more.”
No one spoke for a long while in the glider. Each seemed to be lost in his thoughts. Von Braun skillfully flew the airship on the thermals. Even to Tom’s untrained eyes, he could see Von Braun knew what he was doing and was used to being in control. They were high above the airport at Wiley Ford, and Tom could see his home, the mountain behind it with the old field in the cove on top, and much of the area. The small towns of Patterson Creek and Oldtown downriver and Fort Ashby were visible also. Someday again, he hoped to do this. Though you had to depend on the wind, Tom sensed a freedom hard to describe. They flew about another hour with little more than polite conversation before returning to terra firma. It was a day Tom would never forget for several reasons.
***
June 1975 at the Kenney farm at Short Gap, WV.
That Saturday started out like many other weekends at the old farmhouse. Tom and Sarah had their hands full caring for the toddler Bryan and Tom’s dad, whose Parkinson's Disease robbed him of his mobility, but not his mental function. Though he had trouble getting around without assistance and speaking, his mind was still sharp. And to make it more interesting, Sarah was pregnant with their second child. Tom was checking on the steer they raised for beef when the shadow went over him. What was that? He thought. That’s way too big for a buzzard. Sarah came running around the house, and she was excited. “Tom, a small plane just crashed up on the mountain top! You need to get up there and see what happened. Someone may need help. I’ll call the Fire Department, but it may be a while before they can get here and up there. Do what you can to help the people in the plane.”
Tom said he would. He grabbed a backpack, a walkie-talkie, a first aid kit, and his 9mm handgun he may need for some dealing with some coyotes he had seen lately. He headed up the steep mountain road behind the house as swiftly as he could. He saw evidence of wildlife activity. Twice he noted deer droppings and a small tree with bark missing. A buck used it for rubbing the velvet off his antlers.
It took him at least 15 minutes to arrive at the crash site in the field on the mountain top cove. The glider was reasonably intact except for damage to the right-wing, which hit a tree. A grey-haired man sat on a rock with his back to Tom. As Tom walked closer, he could hear him say, “Bose menschen ungestraft bleiden, bose menschen ungestraft bleiden,” over and over. Tom looked at the man who seemed in a daze. A small trickle of blood ran from a goose egg lump on his forehead. “Bose menschen ungestraft bleiden,” he kept repeating.
Tom faced the man and asked, “Are you okay?”
He looked at Tom and repeated, “Bose menschen ungestraft bleiden.”
“What do you mean?” asked Tom. He wondered if the hit to the head had knocked the man silly. “Are you okay?”
The gray-haired man who looked to be mid-60s said, “The wind just died, but I am okay. What do I mean, ‘Bose menschen ungestraft bleiden?’ It means evil men go unpunished. We have done so much evil that even today, it follows us. I am so glad God can forgive all. Man cannot.”
Tom looked at the man carefully and said, “Hey, I know you. We’ve met before. You’re Werner von Braun.”
Surprise came to the man’s eyes. “You look familiar, but I can’t place you. When did we meet?”
“It was about 10- 15 years ago when I was a teen. My dad won a raffle for a glider ride at the Cumberland Airport. We went soaring with you. You crashed on our farm today.” Von Braun studied Tom. “I’m Tom, Tom Kenney. I remember you and my dad discussing WW II and something called Operation Paper Clip.”
“Yes, yes, now I remember that day. Your father is a noble man. I trust he is well.”
“My father’s near here, but he’s crippled up with Parkinson’s disease. How’s your head?”
“My head hurts,” he said as he wiped the blood away from his head and then stood. “I will survive this, but my days on this earth are coming to an end. The doctors told me a month ago I have pancreatic cancer and I should get my affairs in order. I made my peace with God years ago, and I purchased a grave plot in Alexandria last week. You know who I am. I have been engaged in Germany’s and America’s race to get into the skies and space since the beginning, and I want Psalms 19:1 on my grave marker; ‘The heavens declare the Glory of the Lord and the firmaments show His handiwork.’ That will be my testimony when I am gone.”
Tom said nothing for a moment. Von Braun was not seriously hurt, he believed. He was coherent, and his legs were steady. The walkie-talkie Tom had cracked. It was Sarah speaking, “Tom, how are things up there? The Short Gap Fire Department has arrived. Should they hurry up there, or is it too late?”
“It’s okay. I’m with the pilot here. He has a lump on his head, but he’s up, and we’ll walk down to them. The glider’s gonna need some help getting off the mountain, but overall it’s not in bad shape. Got a busted up wing, but it can be fixed. We’ll see you soon. Don’t let the volunteers leave till they’ve taken a look at the pilot.”
“Will do, see you soon. Out.”
Tom looked at von Braun, who spoke, “Thank you for not telling them who I am. I would like to keep this quiet, and I would like to talk to your father privately if that would be possible.”
“I think my father would like to talk with you too, but I don’t know if you’re gonna keep a lid on this. You’re famous, and you’ve been in the news so much. One more story won’t hurt.”
“Perhaps you’re right. There are many things in our lives we cannot control,” and as an afterthought, he added, “and there are many we can.”
The two men walked down the steep mountain road and were greeted by Nacho, the donkey who brayed loudly. “Nacho,” Tom said. “You’ll wake the dead with that noise.”
“Please, Mr. Kenney, after my recent brush with the grim reaper, I am happy to hear his bellowing.” He walked over to the fence and began to stroke the animal’s head. Von Braun produced an apple from his pocket and fed it to Nacho. “You have a very intelligent creature here Mr. Kenney, and one who thinks he is a big watchdog.”
“That he is,” said Tom. “I think we had better get goin’. We can’t keep the emergency responders waiting.”
“Yes, you’re right.” He looked at the donkey and said, “Mr. Nacho, it is a pleasure to have met such as fine ass as you.”
The donkey perked up at the mention of his name, and the two men walked to the house where the EMTs were waiting. They gave von Braun a quick examination, but he assured them he was fine. They wanted to take him to the hospital to have his head x-rayed, but he refused any of their suggestions, so they left.
Von Braun asked to use the house phone. He made a call to the Soaring Club and gave them an update on what happened. They’d send a car to pick him up and made arrangements with the Kenneys to retrieve the aircraft on the mountain later. After the call, Tom took von Braun to see his father on the porch. They recognized each other and asked Tom to leave. They wished to speak in private.
They spoke for twenty minutes, and a car pulled into Tom’s driveway. It was a man from the Soaring Club. Von Braun shouted from the porch for the driver to please wait. He would be along soon. When they were done, von Braun walked back into the house and found Tom at the table.
“Done so soon?” asked Tom.
“Yes, we are done. We are like two old warriors. We no longer want to fight our past demons and wish to be at peace with each other.”
“It’s a good thing when a man can make peace with himself and others,” said Tom. ‘You’re welcome to return here.�
��
“Thank you for your help today, Mr. Tom Kenney. I would like that, but my time grows short, and I know not if I will have many tomorrows. I must leave. Again, thank you for your kindness.” He left the house and walked toward the waiting car. “Oh, one more thing I need to tell someone. Not all the men from Germany who your government brought here are sheep. Some are still wolves dressed in sheep’s skin. Beware.”
He said no more, got in the car, and waved goodbye as they drove off. It would be many years before Tom would understand von Braun’s warning.
Chapter 15
The day started early for Tom. His son Doug called him the night before and told him of a situation. Their young driver whose wife had recently had their first child called in late Sunday to say he wouldn’t be in Monday. The child was sick and needed to be hospitalized. They would be with the doctors and the young child all day Monday, maybe longer.
Tom rose early, leaving his wife Joann in bed still in dreamland. He had a bowl of muesli with blueberries, some Florida’s Natural Brand orange juice, two pieces of kielbasa, a cup of coffee, (Chock Full ‘O Nuts of course), and read a devotional article on hardship in Our Daily Bread. Its underlying theme was given a lemon, make lemonade. He finished his breakfast, cleared the table of dishes, rinsed, and placed them in the dishwasher. Tom grabbed a jacket to protect him from the cold, brisk fall weather. The first rays of the sun were coming up in the east just over Patterson Creek Ridge. Soon Ole Sol would bathe the land with sunlight. It had been dry, and that made conditions perfect for the tourists coming to see the colored leaves. This will make an excellent year for all the festivals. Those people will really have a great turnout if it doesn’t turn too cold and rainy. It meant extra business for him.