Dear Folks, This evening as I was washing the dishes (once again) I listened to the jazz music on the radio that I found to be rather enjoyable. Note: I do NOT enjoy jazz music with a wailing saxaphone anywhere in it. And as I listened to the soft smooth jazz, it brought back a memory that I had almost forgotten about. It happened in July 1958. I was on active duty in the Navy in California at that time and had received a telegram from my family informing me that my father in Houston, TX, was terminally ill and didn't have long to live. Therefore, I had to get back to him as quickly as I could. My commanding officer issued emergency leave papers for me and on July 18, 1958 I boarded a military Cesna 182 plane in Oakland, landed nearby in Sacramento , CA, and then left Mather Air Force Base there in a G-3, V-6, Cherokee V-4 to Denver. Note: don't even ask me what those plane designations mean. I'm only quoting from my "flight log." I got as far as Lowery Air Force Base in Colorado in the afternoon the next day, July 19, and I found that I wouldn't be able to catch another military flight until the next day. I checked into the Air Force enlisted women's transient barracks, I was assigned my bunk,I stowed my gear and then asked the nearest girl the way to "the club." She knew what I meant, pointed me in the right direction and with a change into civilian dress, I showed up there. I was really impressed with the club. It actually had live music with a piano and bass fiddle as I recall. It wasn't long before some handsome airman asked me to dance and so we did. And let me tell you it was heavenly! The music we danced to was sweet slow jazz that frankly I had never recalled hearing before. We danced close together and both of us were caught up with the sweet rhythm of the jazz music we were dancing to. It was a lovely evening. Later when I climbed into my bunk back at the barracks I knew that the evening was a sweet repite in my continuing journey to Houston the next day. After several more flights in military aircraft I landed in Houston where I was with my family when my father died seven days later on July 26, 1958. But what sweet, sweet jazz I danced to when I needed it the most. vee