I’ve always loved the 4^th of July.  It’s always meant homemade ice cream, watermelon, fireworks, BBQ, friends over to sit under the shade tree and talking bout when they were growing up, having the veterans all be honored at church, and just good family time.

This year was a little different for me.  On the 13^th of June my Father-In-Law, Duane Thornburg, passed away in Prairie du Chien, WI.  My wife, Denise, was at his bedside along with her mother, Marcella, sister Mary Jane and brother Mark.  I was on stage at the Boys Ranch in Brighton, MO singing with my friends, The Waymakers, for the 50^th Anniversary Celebration of the founding of the Ranch when I got the call.  As I made my way from Missouri to Wisconsin my mind was flooded with good memories of times he and I had together. 

Duane Thornburg was an avid outdoorsman and some of my fondest memories were times and adventures we shared.  My greatest outdoor adventure was about this same time of year in 1995.  For Christmas that year Denise and her Mother, Marcella gave Dad Thornburg and I a gift of a trip to Kasba Lake, in the Northwest Territory., the premiere Lake Trout fishing experience in the whole world.   Dad Thornburg had been there years before with some of his hunting and fishing buddies and had told me about it enough that I was just longing to go enjoy it.   For years I had looked at Dad’s 28 pound Lake Trout he had caught and released at Lake Kasba in the 70’s and mounted as a replica on his den wall.  Being a Southern bass fisherman myself, I had always thought of the smallmouth and largemouth bass as being the ultimate fishing catch and releaser, but man, that Lake Trout was a FISH!  I couldn’t wait to get there. 
We flew out of Minneapolis on June 28, 1995, and into Kasba on a small commuter jet that just barely had enough room to land and take off from the gravel landing strip at Kasba, finally getting stopped just short of the forest that surrounds Kasba Lake.  We were booked to be there for a full week, flying out on the 5^th of July.  
Kasba Lake is totally isolated from any known civilization.  No roads, no towns, no convenience stores, no problems.  Just the fishing camp with two-man cabins, and the headquarters building/bar/mess hall.  The lake is huge as far as the eye can see and we were all there for one reason……searching for the MAN FISH.  That is what the folks up there call the Lake Trout because some of them are about as long as a man is tall.  Well, okay, as tall as a short man is tall.  I wouldn’t want to be guilty of fish stretching.   After we got landed safely and stowed our gear in the cabin, Dad Thornburg mentioned that the last time he was here, in a friend’s private plane, they crashed on takeoff and tore the plane all to pieces.  Nobody killed, just banged up.  Sure was glad he waited till we landed to tell me that. 
I spent the remainder of the day restringing my rods and reels and getting my Lake Trout lures all polished up and ready.  We had a nice supper at the mess hall, a couple of adult beverages and I was ready to hit the sack.  Trouble is, even though it was my bedtime, it was still full light outside.  They don’t call it the home of the midnight sun for nothing.  So, being too excited to go to sleep anyway, I walked down to the shore of the lake with my rod and reel and a Northern Pike lure on and started casting and catching 8-10-12 pound pike (My biggest on the trip was a 15 pound Northern that was just an incredible fight).  Finally, catching and releasing all fish I went on to bed about midnight to get up early to meet our fishing guide at 6AM.
What a time of sharing and bonding as the week went by.  In the evenings, in the cabin, Dad would talk about his time in the Pacific Islands during the 2^nd World War.  He had joined when he was 17 years old and ended up in Japan at the end of the war as part of the Occupation Forces.  I told him how it had changed, 10 years later, by the time I got to Japan, in the mid 50’s during my time in the Navy with the Pacific Fleet.  I have always loved the history and stories of that period and Dad Thornburg had many of them.  Will America ever be that way again?  I don’t know, but by golly it once was and I’ll always be proud of our country and what it stands for.  We fought, we died, and we won.  Brave men and women who believed freedom was worth fighting for.  End of story.
I am very fortunate.  I have been blessed with having a great Father, and a great Father-In-Law.  Both men were of the generation that came through the Depression and went on to both be successful in business and family life.  Both men are gone now, but I celebrate the years of being a part of their lives, learning from both of them, loving them and carrying their memory the rest of my life.  Yes, the survivors of the Depression and the Wars to end all Wars are almost all gone now and as that generation passes there will never be another generation to stand so tall, to walk so strong and sure and to pass on to their children the torch of Freedom and what it stands for.  Freedom is never free, it always has a cost, and their generation paid that cost in blood, sweat and tears for us who came behind.  Freedom is not won by giving in to an enemy, by shrinking from responsibility, or by being ashamed or afraid to stand up and fight for what is right. 
Yes, this last Sunday, the 5^th of July 2009, as Denise and I sat in our church watching an old warrior come down the aisle carrying the American flag while the choir sang “My country tis of thee, sweet land of liberty”, and still, with great effort, he was standing tall and straight, there was a lump in my throat and a prayer in my heart for these old heroes….gone, almost all gone….but never forgotten. 
 And I remember Dad Thornburg saying, as he took the picture of my Man Fish before I released it to swim away, “Now son, that is a FISH!”  And that was a 4^th of July to cherish.  Thank you Lord, for letting me love these men, and share their lives.  The Generation of Heroes.   


Stan Hitchcock