Mandy's Story

George S. Butler, died from complications of emphysema. He was a life-long smoker.

He was my grandfather.

My grandfather joined the Army Air Corps in 1942 and retired as a Lieutenant Colonel in the United States Air Force. He served along many other great men in WWII. To pass the time between combat missions he smoked. Smoking was a part of daily life; something to do, something for reprieve.

During and after WWII smoking was socially accepted. Big advertising promoted cigarette smoking. There was little education about the effect of cigarettes and a general disregard for the warnings of the Surgeon General that came out nearly 20 years after the war.

A habit learned during war time became a habit back at home as my grandfather continued his career with the Air Force and Federal Aviation Administration.

My grandfather made many attempts to quit, never more than when I was born. While smoking around his first and only grandchild would never happen, quitting completely was easier said than done. For me, he was able to turn 40 years of smoking into the occasional sneak smoking, but the damage had already been done.

As emphysema plagued his life I couldn't do more than watch as the breathing became harder. Walking turned into a marathon endeavor, and my grandfather became chained to his oxygen tank.

My grandpa survived a war; he survived combat missions; he survived being shot down over enemy territory, he flew countless hours for the United States Air Force and FAA; he even survived cancer and peritonitis. My grandfather didn’t die from the war; he didn’t die from a plane wreck; he didn’t die from cancer; he died from cigarette smoking.

“I love yous” are rarely spoken, but actions are taken perhaps even more seriously where I come from. My family isn’t good at words. My grandfather wasn’t nor am I.

And now… I am going to climb this mountain to say "I love you, Grandpa".

~Mandy