18
“Darlin’”
Linda (Dunn) Sasser knows firsthand that time is no obstacle for God.
NOVEMBER 17, 2008—ON A RANCH NEAR KERRVILLE, TEXAS
Joe Cantu gave his Caterpillar 262 Skid Steer Loader more throttle as it pushed against an entrenched cedar thicket. Ranchers in the Texas hill country fought constantly to keep their land free of the trees, an exotic species that starved valuable pastureland of water and space. Even above the roar of the big Cat’s diesel engine, he heard the snap of branches breaking and roots giving way.
He glanced at his watch. The project was ahead of schedule. A few more minutes and he’d break for lunch.
Then he saw something different on the ground ahead that broke the monotony of prickly pear cactus, dry grass, and cedar. The small area, just a few square yards, had less vegetation and darker soil than the surrounding terrain. Intrigued, he idled the ’dozer and stepped down for a closer look.
Something about the scene seemed familiar. He knelt and saw small bits of charred and twisted metal strewn across the dusty surface, none of them larger than a dinner plate.
Joe knew instantly what he’d found. He marveled that of all the ’dozer drivers in Texas, he was hired to clear this particular patch. How many had been trained by the U.S. Air Force to investigate Vietnam War–era aviation accidents? In fact, while in the Air Force, Joe’s job had been to pick up debris from crash sites. Now he knew this bit of discolored earth had a secret to tell: An aircraft had crashed here.
He carefully sifted through the smaller debris and was astonished at the find: the blackened back of a wristwatch and its thin metal face, numbers barely visible; an inch-long segment of the flexible metal wristband; two coins, a nickel and a quarter; and finally, a man’s gold wedding ring, tarnished but undamaged.
He brushed off the ring and rubbed the inside of the band. Holding it into the sunlight, Joe read the inscription:
“June 14, 1969.” Plus one word: “Darlin’”
JUNE 14, 1969—LA MIRADA, CALIFORNIA
Linda Farmer adjusted her veil in the mirror one last time. Her dream was about to come true. In a few minutes she would walk down the aisle of the La Mirada Methodist Church and become Mrs. Larry Dunn. It was a happily-ever-after ending to a storybook romance that began with a young woman’s concerned letters to a soldier at war.
“In 1967 I was a student at Cerritos Community College,” she recalled. “Just about every day I’d see young men I knew get drafted into the military and leave for Vietnam. When it happened to a close friend, I told him I would be happy to write to anyone who needed letters from home. He was assigned to the 101st Airborne Division, where he met Larry—who just happened to be from my hometown! Over the next year Larry and I wrote many sweet letters back and forth. That’s what started our loving relationship.”
In Vietnam, Larry served as a door gunner on a Chinook helicopter. He was awarded a Purple Heart when the chopper was shot down over enemy territory during troop redeployment. After his yearlong tour of duty, in September 1968, Larry left the service and returned home. He enrolled at Fullerton Community College to study business. And after a brief person-to-person courtship with his former pen pal, he proposed.
Now he waited for her at the altar in a crisp white jacket and black bow tie. He’d lost none of his upright military posture and demeanor.
Seeing him there, Linda was sure she’d made the right choice—and that she’d spend the rest of her life with him. When the proper moment came, she happily slid a ring onto his finger, one she had secretly inscribed with the pet name she used for him: “Darlin’.”
DECEMBER 10, 2008—KERRVILLE, TEXAS
Betty Hendricksen went early to her mailbox and found the first installment of her brand-new subscription to the Hill Country Community Journal, a recently launched weekly paper devoted to local news in the rugged region west of San Antonio. The story on the front page immediately caught her eye: A local rancher had found a wedding ring in the thirty-six-year-old wreckage of a military helicopter crash. The ring and other artifacts had been turned over to Sheriff Rusty Hierholzer, who, after a little detective work, was convinced it had belonged to Sgt. Bruce Laurence Dunn of Anaheim, California. The article was part of his search for next of kin.
“I would like to be able to get the wedding ring back to the family,” he’d told the reporter.
“It grabbed my heart!” Betty said. “I’d been researching our family history and had good success tracking down living relatives we didn’t even know existed. I went straight to my computer and searched the ancestry.com family trees for the name in the article, and there it was!”
Excited, she sent an email, via an anonymous connection service, to the person who’d posted Larry’s name. Then she called Rusty’s office to share what she’d found.
MARCH 1, 1972—CORPUS CHRISTI, TEXAS
Larry Dunn was on top of the world, and with good reason. He was close to graduating with an associate’s degree in business; he’d been accepted into a training program to become a sheriff’s deputy near Los Angeles; and in a few months he would celebrate three years of being married to Linda, the woman whose “letters from home” had stolen his heart all the way over in Vietnam. To top it all off, he was still flying in helicopters—now without getting shot at!
Shortly after marrying Linda, he’d joined an army reserve unit in Van Nuys. The one-weekend-a-month commitment provided a steady income source and kept him in the air a bit longer. When the opportunity arose to return to active duty for a weeklong special assignment to Texas, he jumped at it. The mission: Transport four newly refurbished Huey helicopters from Corpus Christi to Van Nuys. He’d be part of a two-man crew on one aircraft.
“He loved to fly in helicopters,” Linda said. “I’m sure he was there to sign up before the ink was even dry on the request form.”
The first leg would take them as far as El Paso, where they planned to spend the night. The preflight inspections had given them no cause for alarm. The aircraft were fueled and cleared for takeoff. After several hours in flight, the monotonous coastal plains below had finally given way to low limestone hills covered in live oak and cedar. Larry was right where he wanted to be.
Then, without warning, the rear rotor on his Huey detached from the tail. The pilot no longer had control, and the helicopter went down in the Texas hills. Loaded with fuel for the long trip, the wreckage immediately burst into flames. All aboard died instantly.
DECEMBER 10, 2008—CHINO HILLS, CALIFORNIA
Melinda’s first reaction upon receiving Betty Hendricksen’s email was skepticism. She’d seen enough examples of clever online schemes to distrust just about everything. She’d subscribed to the ancestry.com service only a couple of months earlier and wasn’t sure what to expect. Still, there was something intriguing about the message:
“Was your Bruce Laurence Dunn killed in a helicopter crash near Kerrville, TX, on 1 March 1972? Our local newspaper has an article today on the front page trying to locate the next of kin, because his wedding ring was found at the crash site. . . . The paper said his wife’s name was Linda S. Dunn. The ring has an inscription on it.”
“Dunn” certainly had been her stepmother’s name before she married Melinda’s father, Bob Sasser, thirty-three years before. Melinda was three when they met, and Linda was the only mother she’d ever known. This is probably some sort of hoax, she thought. Wait and see.
But she didn’t have to wait long. Before the day ended, two more emails landed in her inbox, then four more the following day—all from people in Texas who’d seen news coverage of the sheriff’s search and wanted to help.
Melinda consulted her brother, Robert, who lived in Florida. After his own initial disbelief, he searched online for the news coverage and found it. Then he called Sheriff Hierholzer to verify the story. It was true! Knowing the news would come as a shock to her mother, Melinda suggested she and Robert contact her together, by conference call.
DECEMBER 12, 2008—PARK CITY, UTAH
Linda was at work at the Christian Center when she got the call. Her heart raced when she realized both her daughter and her son were on the line. What could that mean? Probably bad news, she thought. Then Melinda spoke:
“Mom, a rancher in Texas found what they think is Larry’s wedding ring. It has an inscription—”
“Darlin’,” Linda whispered, unhesitatingly, her heart now in her throat.
In thirty-three years of marriage to Bob Sasser, she had never allowed the pain of her interrupted life with Larry to influence her love for her new family. The story of her previous marriage and how it ended was no secret, but neither was it something she dwelled on. Now, to hear Melinda speak Larry’s name aloud after so many years, and to mention a ring she thought was lost forever—it was as if he’d reached out and touched her across time.
“Larry was my first love, and you never forget your first love,” she said. “I cried on the phone. I was aware that my children were seeing proof of my love for a man who wasn’t their father. But I couldn’t help it. I fell apart, out of grief and gratitude. Right away, I knew it was a message from God. It was like he said to me, ‘It’s okay. Larry’s with me.’”
The ring and other items arrived from Texas on December 17, 2008.
“Sheriff Rusty sent the ring with such care,” Melinda recalled. “Mom was too nervous to open it, so Dad unwrapped it with great respect and had it all laid out for her when she got home from work. He was there when she needed him the most. For them to go through this together has been very healing for Mom.”
Linda wore the ring about a month, and then placed it lovingly in her jewelry box, still overcome with gratitude for the miracle of God’s loving grace. In her Christmas letter that year, Melinda told the story to friends and family:
A devastating time of grief has been turned into a story of hope and faith, 36 years later. If even one of the pieces to this puzzle was not present, it would not be complete: It took the love of marriage vows, a life tragically lost, a beautiful lady keeping her faith through her pain, a rancher’s amazing discovery, a sheriff’s unfaltering determination, a Texas community willing to get involved, and the love and support of a close family. How would all those pieces fit without God’s hand?
Postscript: Around lunchtime on November 17, 2008—just as Joe Cantu had stepped down from the cab of his bulldozer to inspect shiny objects in the dirt—Linda (Dunn) Sasser was traveling thirty thousand feet over his head in a passenger jet. She was on her way home after attending her grandmother’s one-hundredth-birthday celebration in Palestine, Texas.