[glow=red,2,300]Joe Otero[/glow]
There was Joseph Otero the dad -- sometimes stern with high expectations for his five children. Report cards with B's required explanations.
Then, there was Joseph Otero the man -- obsessed with aviation and cars, a talented bongo player, a flirt, a cut-up.
Charlie Otero remembers both sides of his father. As a 15-year-old, he was just beginning to bond with his dad when Joseph died in 1974 at the age of 38.
"He was the life of the party," Charlie said. "If there were 20 guys in a room, he'd be in the middle making them all laugh, telling stories, joshing with people, flirting with girls. He was not a shy person."
That side of Otero sometimes came out in his parenting too, Charlie said. Otero was known to brag about his children's accomplishments. And his fun-loving nature would often inspire flashes of silliness -- like the time he dragged his kids through a store on a snow sled he intended to buy them.
Born in Puerto Rico, Otero immigrated to the United States as a boy.
He grew up in New York City's Spanish Harlem, where he became a champion boxer and fell in love with Julie, a girl from the neighborhood and another Puerto Rican transplant.
As soon as he was old enough, Otero joined the Air Force, where he served for 20 years. He retired as a master sergeant just before moving his family to Wichita in the fall of 1973.
His final deployment took him to the Panama Canal Zone, one of many exotic sites he visited. Charlie remembers that his father, a gourmet cook, would sample dishes during his travels, pick up the recipes and try to perfect them at home.
Otero, who had a commercial pilot's license, was obsessed with aviation and wanted to live in Wichita because it was the Air Capital, acquaintances remembered. During his short time in Wichita, he worked as a mechanic and flight instructor at a Rose Hill airport.
He was just starting to establish himself in the community.
Days after his death, an acquaintance from the McConnell Aero Club recalled that Otero had recently invited him to his house for dinner.
The man never got a chance to take Otero up on that invitation.
[glow=red,2,300]Julie Otero[/glow]
Mother of five respected as 'a lady all the way'
Julie Otero was a lot tougher than she looked, her son Charlie remembers.
A 34-year-old mother of five, she was petite, weighing in at only about 100 pounds. And she was as sweet as an angel, Charlie said.
But her angelic exterior hid an inner fighter -- literally.
A longtime Air Force wife, Julie Otero signed her entire family up for summer judo classes being offered on the base. She saw the classes as something she and her kids could do together.
In no time, Julie was a brown belt and her children were winning trophy after trophy.
Charlie laughs when he remembers his tiny fighting mother.
"You'd see my 100-pound mom fighting these 160- and 180-pound women in tournaments," he said. "She was rough and tough, and she'd just deal with them.
"But she was a lady all the way."
Julie was mentally tough as well. Charlie still has visions of his mother dragging herself, her children and all their luggage through an airport as they traveled to join his father in the Panama Canal Zone, where he was stationed for seven years.
Born in Puerto Rico, Julie came to the United States on a banana boat as a child, her son said.
Outgoing, social and popular, she quickly caught the eye of Joseph Otero, who chased her for years. The two were married in a big church wedding in New York City, and Charlie was born "almost nine months later to the day."
When the family moved to Wichita, Julie took a job on the assembly line at Coleman. She was laid off about a month later in a labor force reduction. She was recommended for rehire.
Charlie adored his mother and remembers her as a devout Catholic who remained passionate about her culture.
"My mom would pay me a penny a word to speak Spanish to her," Charlie said. "She didn't want me to forget it."
She was also an excellent cook. She never made anything from a can, and she would prepare her kids anything they wanted for breakfast, from Belgian waffles to fritters.
"My mother was like an angel," Charlie said. "She didn't drink. She didn't get mad. All she cared about was making sure we had what we needed for life."
[glow=red,2,300]Kathryn Bright[/glow]
"When I think of Kathy," said Marcia Brown, "I think of laughter."
Brown grew up with Kathryn Bright. The cousins spent weekends at their grandparents' farm in Valley Center and Sunday mornings at the First Baptist Church there.
Marcia and Kathryn were the same age. Marcia remembers herself as "a nerd."
But not Kathryn.
"She was beautiful, funny, popular," said Brown, who lives in St. Petersburg, Fla. "And bright, too. Her name fit her well."
Kathryn was a member of the Valley Center Class of 1971. She went to the University of Kansas for a semester, then returned to Wichita, where she got a job at Coleman. She was 21 when she was killed.
There were five kids in the Bright family, and 18 cousins who would gather often. It was a close family, Brown said.
"We spent every Christmas together. No one missed a Christmas for many, many years," she said. They'd meet at Aunt Georgia's or at their grandparents' farm, where the kids would hook a cart to a little donkey named Candy and ride for hours.
In 1959, a photographer for The Evening Eagle took a photo of the clan that ran under the
headline, "Youngsters find donkey pal."
Kathryn Bright is there in the middle, smiling.
"She was just a fun person to be around," Brown said.
Around age 9, Kathryn learned to play the ukulele. She hooked up with a group of kids who would dress in Hawaiian attire and sing for any who wanted to listen. "Kathy was always involved in something."
Later, Kathryn and her siblings would visit Brown's family farm in Butler County. They'd play outdoors, make mud pies, feed the animals, make curler caddies out of old bleach bottles and drive the car around the pasture.
"You couldn't even reach the pedal or brake," Brown said. "We would keep it in first gear and hope for the best."
Brown also remembers singing in a trio in church with Kathryn and her older sister, Karen. It was a well-loved hymn, "In the Garden":
And he walks with me
And he talks with me
And he tells me I am his own.
And the joy we share
As we tarry there,
None other has ever known.
Kathryn was joyful, beautiful, memorable, Brown said. She would have made a great mom.
"If she wasn't making me laugh, she was laughing herself. She was such a free spirit."
