Near the end of WWII, my dad had completed his combat tour as a B-17 pilot and spent some time ferrying war-weary B-29s back to the States. As he was on approach to land at San Antonio, a Piper Cub cut him off in the pattern, and he had to execute a missed approach to avoid a collision. He was pissed and after landing went looking for the pilot of the Piper Cub and met my mom. It was her solo flight.-anotheregomaniac
