Prologue: 1969 A Funeral

Anjelica Harris narrates

I was late. I had flown in direct from Washington DC, leaving at first light and landed in Conrad, MT, mid morning. I called a cab which got me to the church, which was completely packed, standing room only, every single seat taken. That was only to be expected, of course, Joe Harris was always the most popular man in town, and everybody wanted to see him off on his final journey.

I squeezed into the back of the church. It was standing room only. A few of the older people standing at the back recognised me and nodded to me silently. The service had already started and there was no way I was going to disturb everyone by trying to make my way down to the front pew.

A couple to one side behind the last pew moved closer together to allow me room to stand beside them so I could see Joe’s coffin from where I stood.

The tall, broad man, dark tanned and handsome, black hair cropped short, resplendent in the dark blue dress uniform of a full colonel in the USAF, carried his hat and a single sheet of paper up to the church pulpit. He placed his hat and the paper on the sloping surface and looked up at the congregation for the first time. His eyes were sad and moist, but he stood to attention and squared back his shoulders, cleared his throat and began speaking in a distinct and well-educated voice.

“I am going against the best advice my father Joe ever gave me, the day I graduated from flight school. ‘Never volunteer for anything, son,’ Papa said, ‘and you’ll get along just fine.’ Well, no-one was gonna beat me to the chance of coming up here and telling you all how much I loved the wonderful man whose life we are celebrating today, my dear Papa, Joe Harris.

“All of you gathered here today to pay your last respects knew Joe. Most of you remember me, too, but I’ve been so busy these last ten years or so that I have only made flying visits to see Papa on high days and holidays on the farm and rarely showed my face about town much before flying off again.

“Papa encouraged me to fly, taking me up in his crop duster before I could even walk, maybe even before I could talk. He inspired me to make flying a career and now I’m proud to be a part of the US space program; even as I speak, my fellow officers are preparing for the biggest adventure in human history, flying to and landing Mankind on the Moon for the first time. Proudly, those humans who will be first to walk on the moon will be Americans, but that achievement is for all mankind. Yet, even that history making event ... it’s nothing compared to the loss to humanity of the man we are gathered here to say a fond final farewell to.

“Joseph William Harris was born a long ways from us here in Conrad, Montana; he was from another small country town, Sittingbourne in Kent, England, born in 1887. He came here with our beloved Granny Harris and his sister when he was 10 years old, after his father died in a quarry accident. Granny’s brother already had a farm here in Pondera County, and my great uncle paid their sea passage and train fare to bring them here where they could thrive.

“Joe was a bright boy at school and he earned a place in college doing an agricultural degree before later qualifying and working as an electrician, the farm being then worked by his uncle and cousins. He was independently minded and wanted to strike out in business on his own rather than be another farm hand. He didn’t want to be an average anything.

“He became a US citizen in 1906. But he still felt he had ties with the old country of his birth and, when war was declared in Europe in 1914, Papa drove over the border and up to Calgary and joined the Canadian infantry, signed up on a Short Attestation Form for the duration of the war that was supposed to end all wars. It was a shock to Granny and even more devastating to his fiancée, you may remember High School Vice Principal MaryBeth Chambers, well she was his girl MaryBeth Johansson at the time, Papa told me. When he spoke about the past he said he had no regrets at all, he did his duty.