John Louis Wiegner, Jr, the only son of John and Leah Wiegner, of Reading, Pennsylvania, one month out of high school, arrived at West Point filled with boundless energy, enthusiasm and exuberance. Indeed, on the first day of Beast Barracks, he announced to his Infantry-bound squad leader that he would be an Air Force officer and "the best damned fighter pilot that ever flew." It was going to be a long summer for New Cadet Wiegner. He was a star-man but did not hoard his academic prowess. He always had time for anyone who could use his help. There are members of the classes of '58 and '59 who were struggling academically, but who were not "found" because of his selfless tutoring on many a night in the sinks of North Area. He was an outstanding cadet. In addition to wearing stars, by first-class year he was living in the "wheel house," wearing many stripes, as the Brigade Training Officer; and he was a lacrosse player of such caliber that he was selected to play in the 1957 NCAA All-Star game. He was ruggedly handsome; although, he took enough hits from lacrosse sticks and balls that he wound up looking a little more toward the rugged side of handsome. In addition, he probably had a few tenths rattled out of his head from all those hits; but he surely had more than enough to spare. He had a few idiosyncrasies, among them: rumors and "The Days." A favorite gambit was to go to North Area, start an unlikely rumor (for example, an impending amnesty), and then visit South Area the following day to see if it had arrived there yet. He was rarely disappointed. He was the World's Foremost Authority on "The Days." From early plebe year, he knew "how many days" remained for all four classes. How ironic that he would have fewer days allotted him than the rest of us. He died in a mid-air collision on 22 October, only 139 days after graduation. Based on past performance, personality, determination and dedication, there can be little doubt that he would have made great contributions to the Air Force, West Point, and the United States of America. Along the way, he met a lovely young woman he intended to make the future Mrs Wiegner; but that was not to be. A poem in the 1932 Bugle Notes observes that, "These gray walls … have sacrificed the bravest of their sons to ancient wars ... they too were men … who gazed on dancing, sparkling eyes and kissed the lips they loved …." But a fair share of these simple life treasures were denied Jack, as he was one of those destined to be sacrificed early. It gives the rest of us pause to savor the triumphs and, indeed, the tragedies of our own lives. John Donne advises, "No man is an island … we are all a part of the main, a part of the whole … if a clod falls into the sea, the continent is less … any man's death diminishes me, for I am part of all mankind …" Jack's untimely death diminished the star content of the constellation that was/is the Class of 1957. We shall never know the magnitude of the life not lived. He burst on our scene, an exploding nova, in 1953; and that star brightened and sometimes illuminated our lives for four years at West Point, only to be extinguished too few days later – but, in the words of Edna St Vincent Millay,
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