Charles Cesky was born on March 2, 1918, in Baltimore, Maryland. He enlisted in the Aviation Cadet Program of the U.S. Army Air Forces on January 27, 1942, and was commissioned a 2d Lt and awarded his pilot wings at Spence Field, Georgia, on January 14, 1943. After serving as a flight instructor and completing fighter training, Lt Cesky was assigned to the 328th Fighter Squadron of the 352nd Fighter Group in England in May 1944. He was credited with destroying 8.5 enemy aircraft in aerial combat before being shot down in December 1944. After being rescued by British soldiers, Capt Cesky returned to his squadron in January 1945, and transferred back to the U.S. in May 1945. After the war, he served as a supply officer throughout the late 1940's and early 1950's. Maj Cesky served on the staff of Headquarters Air Training Command at Scott AFB, Illinois, from August 1955 to November 1957, and then served as a supply officer with the 20th Support Squadron of the 20th Support Group at RAF Wethersfield, England, from December 1957 to December 1960. His next assignment was as a research advisor and department head with the School of Logistics at the Air Force Institute of Technology at Wright-Patterson AFB, Ohio, from December 1960 to July 1963, followed by service on the staff of Headquarters Pacific Air Forces at Hickam AFB, Hawaii, from July 1963 to July 1966. Col Cesky's final assignment was as Base Director of Supply at MacDill AFB, Florida, from July 1966 until his retirement from the Air Force on March 1, 1970. Charles Cesky died on May 11, 1993.

High Flight

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long delirious, burning blue,
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew -
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untresspassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand and touched the face of God.