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Leo spent a long career after the war as an airline pilot, so he could talk the talk--the flat, unemotional, just-the-facts-ma'am talk.
He was going through this monotone account--"hot oil splattered on my face and the window had been shot out, so there was quite a bit of wind; my co-pilot was dead, and I was working to control the plane as the port wing dipped"--and I simply wasn't believing that he had no emotional reaction.
"Tell me how it felt," I pleaded time after time, almost yelling. He finally said, "Dan, it was a routine plane crash."
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