First-class ways to support our troops
Fourth-class cadet Tim Gaydosh had just folded his lanky 6-foot-4 frame into an aisle seat at the back of the plane when he locked eyes with the civilian headed his way.
Tim, a first-year student at the Air Force Academy, was on his way home to Cleveland for spring break. As always, he was in uniform, and he'd been on the receiving end of enough strangers lately to stiffen just a bit as the man plowed through the busy aisle.
Would this guy be one of those nice folks who shook his hand and thanked him for his service to our country? Or was this going to be like that day in Wal-Mart, when another customer took one look at Tim's uniform and shook his head in disgust?
The middle-aged man headed his way wore bluejeans, a sweat shirt and a few extra pounds on his tall frame. He came to a stop at Tim's outstretched knee and extended his hand.
"I really appreciate what you're doing for our country," he said.
Then he handed Tim his ticket.
"I want you to sit in first class," he said. "I want you to take my seat."
The soft-spoken Tim politely protested. "You paid for it, sir," he said. "I can't sit in your seat."
The man would not be deterred.
"I said I want you to have it, and I mean it. You go up there now, and take my seat."
After a little more wrangling, Tim finally agreed. He heard other passengers thanking the man and praising his generosity as he walked up the aisle.
"It gave me such a good feeling," Tim said later. "And it's quite an experience up there in first class. They come up to you every five minutes asking if you need anything."
He sighed ever so slightly. "I had to say no to the wine, being only 18."
I first learned about Tim's flight upgrade from his father, Joe, an electrician at the Ford plant in Avon Lake.
"I just want to thank all the people who've been so nice to my son since he put on a uniform," he said in a phone message. "You hear so much evil about people, but there are so many nice people out there, and many of them are coming up to my son."
Joe is especially grateful to that man named David who gave up his first-class seat for Tim. "I wish I could tell him, Sir, I appreciate that you saw what you saw and did what you did for my son.' "
Tim insists that "the real soldiers" -- the ones coming home from active duty in Iraq -- are the ones most deserving of Americans' kindness.
"They shouldn't have to come home to a Vietnam," he said, referring to the ridicule and hostility many soldiers of that era experienced upon their return to American soil.
Long after that war ended, Vietnam veterans finally found the courage to speak out about the torture they endured, not in Asia, but at the hands of an angry and condemning public in their own hometowns. Their honesty about that unspeakable pain forced us to face our own ugly past, and they are the reason that, this time, most of us know the difference between the men who plan the war and the soldiers who fight it.
Recent polls show that most Americans now oppose the war in Iraq. Our support, though, for the men and women risking their lives in that guerrilla warfare remains strong.
Earlier this month, I was standing in a long line at Cleveland's airport. There must have been a hundred of us slowly winding our way through the maze of straps and posts just outside the waiting area where all arriving passengers eventually exit. Most of us couldn't help but notice the jolly band waiting to welcome a soldier named Ryan.
"Welcome home, Ryan!" read one sign.
"You're our hero, Ryan!" read another.
Several were holding small American flags, and all of them eagerly peered with stretched necks waiting for their soldier.
Finally, a young man wearing camouflage and boots and a grin wider than the bill of his cap bounded through the entryway.
Without a word, nearly a hundred strangers put down their bags and purses and started to clap.
Welcome home.
To reach this Plain Dealer columnist:cschultz@plaind.com, 216-999-5087
posted by the nomad at 12:35 PM
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