War and Remembrance

In December he was shipped off to Santa Ana, California, to begin his pre-flight instruction (which did not include going up in an airplane). His airsickness didn't get any better when he was transferred to a Texas airbase to qualify as a bomber navigator. He was required to report every humiliating incident to the instructor assigned to his group. He tried not eating before flights; he tried taking a banana along and eating it when he started feeling woozy. Nothing worked.

On June 5, 1944, he went up again -- and so did the contents of his stomach. The flight instructor told him that he could tune the radio to a commercial station in an attempt to take his mind off his stomach. A popular song was playing: Bésame, bésame mucho... Sheila wouldn't want to kiss me right now, he thought ruefully.

Jim's difficulties were so well known that when he and the flight instructor got back to base, a friend took a picture of him heading across the tarmac, still in his flight jacket, carrying a bucket of soapy water and a washrag. Not longer after, he was called into the flight instructor's office and told that he'd "washed out" of the Air Corps.

Although he was a little embarrassed to get the boot, Jim wasn't all that gung-ho about serving on a bomber, having seen his fill of G.I. films showing shot-up B-17s returning from raids over Europe. The flight instructor told him that he'd be transferred to a regular Army outfit. He called his parents with the news. "James, it is God's will," his mother said.

He and another young man who'd also washed out were sent to San Antonio, where they planned to catch a bus to their next posting the following day. Jim and his new friend spent the night painting the town red.

When they got up about nine the next morning, the hotel lobby was empty.

"What's up?" they asked the desk clerk. "Where is everybody?"

"We invaded France this morning," the clerk replied. "Everybody's in church."

Early that morning, while most Americans were asleep in their beds, U.S. and Allied troops had stormed the beaches of Normandy. Although no one used the term yet, it was D-Day, June 6, 1944.

Jim and his drinking buddy stepped outside. San Antonio was like a ghost town. Its residents now knew the whereabouts of the two divisions that had left wives and children and girlfriends behind. Details were few, but everyone knew it would be bad for those boys. Jim walked down the street until he found a Catholic church. The pews were packed. He found a place to stand and bowed his head to pray.

---

In the fall of 1944, Sunderland was transferred to Jefferson Barracks, an Army post outside of St. Louis. He wasn't there more than a few days when he spotted a notice on the company bulletin board inviting applications for the military academy at West Point. The Army was losing junior officers at an alarming rate in Europe and the Pacific and needed replacements.

Sunderland applied and was sent to Cornell University to study for the admissions test. He was delighted, for several reasons. He'd helped Sheila choose a college near New York City; they were now only a few hours apart. Although they didn't talk about marriage, it seemed that their lives were meant to be connected.

First, though, there was a war to win. Sunderland was reminded of that as he headed west on Christmas Eve to join his family the next day. Just a week earlier, when it seemed that the Germans were on their last legs, they'd staged a counteroffensive through Belgium's Ardennes forest. American troops were taking a horrible beating in what would later be called the Battle of the Bulge. Thousands of young men were dying, and the whole country was stunned -- and worried.

It was the day before Christmas, yet the mood on the train was somber. The realization that the war could drag on much longer, maybe even years, was all too evident on the passengers' faces. There were already too many gold stars in the windows of their homes for fallen sons, brothers, husbands and fathers. Now it appeared there would be many, many more.

Sunderland thought it looked like everybody could use a friend. Someone to talk to, someone to keep their spirits up. He found himself wishing that he could be that someone, that there was something he could do to alleviate their fears. He didn't know what that something might be. But by the time he got off the train in Denver, he knew that somehow, some way, he wanted to spend his life helping people in need.