Thomas Worthington Brundige IV, in my BOQ room

Tom lived down toward the south end of the hall.  He was, like Roger Benninger, a T-33 pilot with the Spittin Kittens Air Defense Command unit at Minot.  He was an Academy grad and a remarkable pilot, according to Roger.  He also played a nice guitar.

Behind him are the pennants of every NFL team at the time.  On the bathroom door is the Superbowl poster.  I had a ticket to that game and went.  That was the Raiders vs the Vikings.  In retrospect, the halftime show was so lame compared to these days.  I think my end zone seat was $30.  This was my second Superbowl.  I still maintained my Rams season ticket until they moved to Anaheim in the 1990's.  Mom went to the games that I could not attend.  I usually timed my visits to Southern California so that I could at least see a couple of home games each fall.

Also behind Tom was one of my four large Advent speakers.  It was THE ABSOLUTE SOUND that advocated a "double Advent" speaker system.  You set a pair beside each other and the sound was even more impressive.  Also, of course, in that era was Quadrophonic sound.  Few were overly impressed, and it was a technology that died.

Tom later was training to become an F-15 pilot.  He developed an in-flight emergency and when he went to bailout was killed--somewhat like the backseater in TOP GUN.  Roger was crushed that his good friend died so young, someone who was a marvelous pilot.

I believe that the poem I wrote about him is posted earlier in this blog, but I will post it again.  He always like the Simon & Garfunkel song, "Only Living Boy in New York" because it refers to "Tom get your plane right on time."

Eager to Fly
                                                  Captain Thomas Worthington Brundige IV,
                                                  F-15 pilot and our friend.

Fall is the wary promises
winter wearily disappoints.

And though we
are also temporarily assigned,
his aborted flight still grieves us
as our own.

He ejected into what we train
might be survival, might be safety;

escape is only a chance,

and a possible intercept,
so he kept ascending.

What matter the expense,
technology fails us,
and when it eludes,
we are all victim.

Like an Academy falcon
flown too far,
he exceeds that obscure horizon
where eyes and instruments cannot go.

But the mind succeeds after what is taken;
we land what the great blue stole;
as often as we want when we journey,
our time together and Tom enfold.

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