“…a thorn in the flesh was given to me …lest I be exalted above measure” (2 Corinthians 12:7).
They’re standard equipment, these “thorns in the flesh.” Burrs under the saddle. Pains in the, well, you know. They come with the territory.
I’m reading Jack “Dusty” Kleiss’ memoirs of his service in the Second World War. “Never Call Me a Hero: A legendary American Dive-Bomber Pilot Remembers The Battle of Midway” is the lengthy title. I recommend it highly.
As a student of the Second World War, I must have read a dozen or more of such books, memoirs of veterans of this greatest of all conflicts. In spite of the title, Kleiss deserves the recognition and accolades of a hero as much as anyone ever has. Again and again he risked his life flying planes of all kinds throughout the Pacific in the war against Japan. He kept good records, his team did great research, giving us details on the days he served, the planes they flew and the men he served under alongside, which included Admirals Kimmel, Halsey, and Nimitz.
All is good, except for one guy who keeps popping up throughout the story.
Lt. Clarence Dickinson was his thorn in the flesh.