The oldest McCoy kid was a Navy jet pilot --
Their father ran the creamery in Palouse,

His brother Dick and sister Kay were our peers in school --
I saw their dad make butter for our use,

We all sat sedately on a sunny, summer Sunday
When McCoy swooped down the valley with a roar,

We ran outside -- saw nothing -- then we went inside again,
We were shaken when he did it once more,

It seems McCoy was ferrying a fighter from California
To a naval station in the Inland Empire,

He left the townspeople paler than a calla lily --
Had Count Dracula been there, we'd blame the vampire,

It was a shame that young McCoy flew his final mission --
Somewhere over the ocean he went down,

They never found his plane or body in the deep blue sea --
I can't forget the time he buzzed the town.

by D. Edgar Murray 07/02/2000.