Tattoo Of The B-29 Superfortress: Story That Confirmed We Are All Connected In Some Mystical Ways

This is a long one, so I’ll start with a TLDR - grand-uncle dies in military plane crash of B-29 Superfortress over Florida in 1945 between the two atomic bombs dropping. Grand-nephew finds his son 70 years later, attends the wedding of grand-uncle’s grand-daughter, wakes up late, and randomly winds up sitting behind a woman with a giant tattoo of a B-29 Superfortress.

When I was growing up, we called my father‘s grandmother “Nanny.” I remember during my whole childhood when she was living on her own and when she moved into a nursing home that she had a picture of her son in a military outfit with a pretty young girl by his side. Nanny was still pretty “with it” at the time and would tell me about what a great man Bob was.

I learned from my father that Bob had died during World War II flying a plane. There was also a picture of a young boy in a field hunting, and I learned that was Bob’s son, Jeff.

Fast-forward a bit to 2015. Nanny passed away in the 1980s, and I’m at my Dad’s house looking at old photos and a newspaper blurb from the New York Times about Bob’s plane crashing over Milton, Florida. The article reminds me that Bob had a son. I decided to try to find Jeff.

At this time, coincidentally, the report regarding Bob’s accident becomes public after 70 years. I pull it and it says Bob and his crew were on a training mission in Florida, August 1945. This is between the two atomic bombs dropping so they are training to go to Japan.

The weather report was done but they encountered an unexpected storm that pounded the plane. Bob and the copilot tried to steer the plane out of the storm but wound up in a couple of spirals. The wing sheared off and Bob called for a bailout.

Eleven people bailed out of that big plane. The thing about the , though, is the hatch for the crew up front was on the bottom of the plane. As the plane descended quickly during the spiral, it pushed the hatch up and trapped the co-pilot. Bob, being the pilot, had to bail out last. The report indicates he may have freed the co-pilot, but he did not escape in time before the plane crashed in the Florida swamp. 11 survived, and Bob died.

After reading the report, I continued my effort to find Bob’s son, Jeff. It was hard because, over the years, his last name changed as his mother got remarried. I finally found him using a private investigator and called him on the phone. We had a very long talk. Bob’s wife, Georgia, is still alive, he tells me. We arrange a trip to visit Jeff and Georgia, and my Dad meets us out in San Antonio. They are lovely people, and we have a great lunch catching up.

Georgia tells me that after Bob died, Bob’s mother (my Nanny) thought Georgia couldn’t handle being a widowed mother, so she went out to live with them. Georgia was a tough cookie and was fine, and this caused a rift that led to them drifting off from our family for seventy years. By this point, none of those hard feelings remained. Georgia was a lovely person who passed a few years ago.

I sent flowers to Bob’s grave to remind him we are thinking of him, and a work trip to Los Angeles where he is buried allows me to visit and sit with him.

I met Jeff ‘s daughter, Allie, in Nashville, close to my home in Atlanta. Also a lovely person. She invites me to her wedding in Reno.

The morning of Allie’s wedding, I overslept. I wound up sitting way in the back of the seats at this outdoor wedding. I am shocked to see that the woman in front of me, Allie’s coworker from Nashville, had a giant tattoo of a Superfortress on her back. She told me that that plane means a lot to her family because her grandfather used to fly one.

I took a picture of this tattoo, as no one will ever be able to convince me that was just a pure coincidence. I often tell people this story is one of the reasons I believe in God, or at least that we are all connected in some mystical ways we don’t fully understand.