My brother Rocky is blessed with literary genes too. His are just a couple of sizes larger. That’s the sort of joke you can only get away with when poking fun at a sibling. I am pretty sure he will forgive me because I am about to plug his latest book. (It is always nice when you can refer to your “latest” book.) Besides, I know him well enough to know he will gladly trade a little self-respect for freshly minted currency any day.
Any of my readers fortunate enough not to suffer from short, medium and long-term memory loss as I do may recall that the second and third posts I ever wrote for this now world-famous blog were about a book my brother and I co-authored called “Never Say ‘Hi, Jack’ In An Airport”. I refer to Travel Tips With A Twist Of Denton and Travel Tips, Part Deux.
Rocky apparently felt the need to prove he can string two cogent and marginally comprehensible sentences together without leaning on the crutch of his immensely talented younger brother and has gone out and written a book on his own. Well, sort of. He actually got a tremendous amount of help from our father. Now when you consider that our dear old Dad has been dead thirty-five years, that’s saying something. Before you get all weirded out and start accusing us of holding séances around the Thanksgiving dinner table, I should probably explain.
Better yet, since it is his book, I will let him explain. “Douglas G. “Rocky” Denton was born in Tallahassee, FL literally at the end of WWII, to a P-40 fighter pilot and a South Carolina belle. Before she died, that Southern lady offered to let him read his father’s love letters to her. He was enthralled. He knew his dad was quite the wordsmith, but here, in these carefully preserved epistles, was. . . .” I have ended his explanation abruptly for two reasons.
1) Mr. Google does not like extensive content to show up on two sites. In fact, if you make a habit of that you get relegated to the rankings equivalent of hell’s outermost ring.
2) You can read the rest for yourself by going here which just happens to be a page on Amazon where . . . you are never going to believe this part . . . you can actually purchase a copy of his book.
It occurs to me that it might be helpful if I shared the title of said book. It is called “Warhawk: Letters From Out of the Blue: A True Story of Love and War, Tragedy and Triumph”. If you follow these links that I have spread rather liberally throughout this brief post, you can learn about the love letters, the significance of the “Blue” and so much more. As Rocky eloquently says (note grudging respect), “From off the yellowed pages leapt romance and adventure, comedy and tragedy, sorrow and triumph.”
If you love history and human pathos, you will be doing yourself an immense favor by ordering a copy of this book . . . for a mere pittance I might add. You will be doing my brother an immense favor because the more copies he sells he figures the more likely it is that one will fall into the hands of a Hollywood producer who will recognize what great potential the story has to become the next big blockbuster movie. And finally, you will be doing me an immense favor because if I help him sell a few thousand copies he might forget about that money I owe him.
If I can be serious for just a moment, something I normally avoid like the bubonic plague, this is one incredibly gripping true story. As Rocky describes it (Mr. Google, avert your eyes), “Anyone who has ever sighed at a love story or cried over the loss of a friend would surely want to read letters which opened a window into another time, another world. A world at war where brave men and women fought and died, waited and sacrificed to keep that world free.”
I normally do not stoop to begging on this blog (although I have done a bit of wheedling and cajoling from time to time) but should you find this remotely interesting, I would like to ask you to share this post through the social media buttons I have provided. My brother and I would both love to see our Dad’s great legacy of service and sacrifice live on. And it is a fun read! You will quickly see from Dad’s letters where we got the humor gene!