Editors note: Jerry Robinson' first met Clay Abraham in high school in Portland, Oregon in 1936. They became fast friends, double dating, hanging out at Jantzen Beach. WWII interrupted their lives. Clay became a pilot; he lost his life over Germany in 1944. Jerry helped build the planes he flew. Here is a letter to Clay about things Jerry wished he could have shared with his best friend.
Dear Clay,
Well buddy, it's been quite some time since we spoke to each other. When you left Boeing in '41 for the Army-Air Corp, I was jealous. But I've always been jealous of you. That tousled blonde hair, the steel-grey eyes and that courage. Man you had courage. I would never have tried to climb Rooster Rock on the Columbia River in '38 if you hadn't shamed me into it. I was a born chicken until I met you.
I know you liked my sense of humor; you said I was skinny and called me "blackie" like many of my friends because I had that shock of black hair. I still got it but the gray has crept in mostly. You know those trips I took back to Portland after we both landed jobs at Boeing? You knew it was to see my girlfriend, Lee. You might have guessed. I married the girl.
Gawd things changed for us didn't they? You married that beauty (Gladys?) and took off for air flight training in Texas. I plugged away underneath the wings of those B-17's but hey!.. I got promoted to the wiring dept. They called me Arky... my partner (wing man, no joke) was Sparky. We knocked out a lot of aircraft in those years.
I gotta tell ya. I miss the hell out of you. When we got the news that your plane had been shot to smithereens over Frankfurt; and you were the last one out, saving time for your crew for as long as you could, we knew it had to be true. You had more guts than a slaughterhouse. I tell my kids..Oh, I have five sons. Sorry..I should have said something earlier. Wonderful kids. I am blessed. I tell them how you saved my life.
Leading the way up Mt. Hood in 1940 when a volley-ball sized boulder came bounding down right for us. At the last instant, you stuck your right leg out, deflecting it from bouncing off my noggin. I would have been a goner. That wound in your leg was terrible . I don't know to this day how that tourniquet we fashioned from my shirt allowed you to continue to climb to the top. That you went back down the way we came up while we headed over to the day lodge was a miracle of determination. You said you would bring the car around to the lodge and you did. You were tough!
After the war I stayed in Seattle. Boeing workers were being laid off. I took a job digging ditches, cleaning oil stoves. You know, anything to feed the family. I was lucky, Clay. I got a tip from a neighbor who said the local newspaper was hiring. I applied for a job and got hired. Twenty bucks a week to sell ads and write a sports column. You know I never could swing a bat or pitch a ball but writing wasn't that hard. Okay..., I know what you're thinking. I was an ad copy boy at Meier & Frank after high school. It's funny how things turned out. I discovered I liked selling and writing better than mucking around in the dirt or coming home with oily clothes.
I think you remember Clyde Renner. He told me in the 9th grade that he wanted to own a weekly newspaper. I never gave it another thought until I landed this job.
I told you I was lucky. A banker in a neighboring town owned a small paper and needed an editor. With four years of writing under my belt, I applied for the job. Of course, I told him I wanted to own the place. He said okay! My first act of courage. You would have been proud of me.
It's been 60 years since that day Clay. With the same luck since the day on Mt. Hood, we managed to build the business intro a string of weekly newspapers. I couldn't be more proud of how my family has been involved.
I should get going...gotta put the next edition to bed. I know none of what I been able to accomplish would have been possible if not for you. Your "take a chance" style. You gave it all, inspiring me to do the same. I miss you still.
Your pal,
"Blackie"
