Good morning readers. Pull up a chair and get a cup of coffee, sit, relax and read because today I am writing about honor. No bathrooms, no double wides, no double chins. Today I am giving honor where honor is due.

There is an old saying “to live and learn”. That is what we are doing here on the road. Today we laugh and we cried. We came to an understanding that there is so much we can learn from our elders and our past. We are always in the right place at the right time. These students could have never opened a book to get what they got today.

We spent much of our morning busy working, finishing what we did not finish the night before. Once all was done we headed out the door and got a grand tour of Tennessee School for the Deaf’s archives. We learned that there were two schools for the deaf; one school for the blacks and one school for the whites. Black students had to be separate. Being a northerner we were never exposed to segregation. It wasn’t till the 60’s that integration happened. Black students from this area were put on the train with signs around their necks saying their name and that they were deaf. The person in charge of the black school would get to the train station and see if any children came in for an education. Honor where honor is due. Sophia absorbed every detail in this lesson on black and deaf culture.

We headed out to Oak Ridge, Tennessee, to learn about the Manhattan Project. I am sure that the student’s journals will fill you in on all of the interesting details concerning the Manhattan Project. I’m coming at it from a different perspective, a more personal view of this war we call World War ll. Being a product of the late forties, a baby boomer as they call us, I had the privilege of being the daughter of a WWII veteran. I grew up with a knowledge of WWII but never really understood all that was involved. Dad would sit with his army buddies and talk about the war, telling stories that may have been embellished, but he never left out a detail. That’s just what they did back then.

Today while touring this sight, a rush of nostalgia came over me. Just watching the black and white news clips brought back memories of sitting in the theater before a movie, flashes of WWII would come up on the big screen. The sounds of the planes flying over the ocean to drop the atomic bomb brought chills down my spine. All this took place just before I was born. My mom and dad were part of this history.

Today, there happened to be a reunion of people who had worked on the Manhattan Project. We saw a group of older people walk through looking and remembering what it was like back in the forties. The war defined who you were for many of them. We found out that many of the old timers there were the original team that helped build this here bomb. One of our students took the opportunity to interview Mr. Tewes who was one of the fifty engineers on the Manhattan Project. Mr. Tewes obliged as the kids took notes and watch intensely as he told his story. He told his story with such pride and passion, remembering every significant date. He told it as if it happened yesterday.

He was proud of what he contributed to the war effort, knowing that this bomb could end the war and save many American lives in the process. He had a twinkle in his eye as he talked about how he met his wife at a party held on Thanksgiving Day 1945 in honor of his contribution to the project. She passed away two years ago, but truly lives in the man heart.

Our students realized that honor is due to this man, who happened to be in this place at the same time that we were here. As we all got up to leave I asked Mr. Tewes for a hug because he may be part of the reason why I am here today. If the war did not end when it did, may Dad my not have made it home and I would not be here today writing this journal and giving honor to where honor is due. I thank Mr. Tewes, my Dad and all of the men and woman who died, fought, and contributed to the freedom of our country.

As I watched Mr. Tewes walk down the stairs alone with cane in hand, carefully watching his footing, I realized that there are few soldiers left to tell us their story. Stories of such a time when fighting was the only option in order to have peace. My hat goes off to you Mr. Tewes….Go in peace and honor.