This week’s edition has a military and historical flavor. Our thanks to Bruce Jones from the Columbia River Maritime Museum for snapping that awesome photo of the U.S. Coast Guard cutter Eagle as it sailed under the Astoria Bridge. Locals will be able to tour the vessel when it returns from its appearance at the Portland Rose Festival. This week’s story on Page 6 explains why a modern agency keeps a 1936 sailing ship on its roster.

Thanks, also, to Rita Welch and Christian Gurling at the Tillamook Air Museum for their help with this week’s stories on pages 8 and 9. Like Jones, they are dedicated individuals who are passionate about their mission to preserve history. 

Observing the European connections during my self-guided tour of the museum, including an English World War II uniform from the Women’s Army Corps, brought a lump to my throat. 

My late mother and aunt were among those who played roles fighting back against Herr Hitler’s attempts to bomb Britons into submission, one as a Red Cross nurse bandaging survivors of London air raids and the other in uniform, running a gunsight for artillery crews shooting down Luftwaffe bombers.

Both used to smile and say, “You just did what you had to” when a curious kid asked them about it. I spent my safe teenage years acting in plays, reading books and cycling to the library to get more. They were members of what TV presenter Tom Brokaw called “The Greatest Generation,” a label they would have shunned.

I abhor war, but I am glad museums preserve this significant element of humankind’s past, including its aircraft. Tillamook houses a meticulously created replica of a World War I French Nieuport II. As a child, I made plastic Airfix model kits of that and the Spad biplane.

When I was in grade school, I recall a Spitfire flying over the crowd to open an air show in southern England. The roar, which spectators heard well before they saw the familiar silhouette, was deafening. I was nine.

As the WW2 fighter banked, and the circular blue and red decals on the pale blue underside disappeared into the clouds, I looked around. At that moment, every adult wiped what I presume was a piece of grit from their eyes.