Random Flights III: Aviators from NARA’s Photo Collection of Aviators: Edward J. Czarnecki and Carl G. Planck, Jr., from Quentin Reynolds’ “70,000 to 1”.  Plus, Raymond K. Hine

Books leave impressions.  Maybe this is by virtue of a book’s very subject matter; perhaps it’s because of an author’s literary style; possibly this arises from a book’s symbolism and message.  And maybe, just maybe, it’s a matter of “age”:  That is, the chance intersection between the era symbolized by a book’s year of publication, and, your “own” age as a reader of that book.

I think this was so for me when I first read Quentin Reynold’s 70,000 to 1 in the late 1960s.  Among the many books in my father’s library (the number seemed innumerable to me at the time, though in retrospect it was hardly so!), more than once I carried 70,000 to 1, Gene Gurney’s Five Down and Glory, or, William Green’s Famous Fighters of the Second World War (specifically, volume I of Famous Fighters; I discovered Volume II some years later) – to elementary school, where – whenever free time permitted, I immersed myself with curiosity, wonder and not-a-little-awe, within a past that that only recently – just a little over two decades previously – had passed.  After all – so yes, this “dates” me – this was in the late 1960s, only two and a half decades after the end of the Second World War.  

As so, in 70,000 to I, I read with wonder about the experiences of Sergeant Gordon Manuel of the B-17 Flying Fortress Honi Kuu Okole, incorrectly noted in the book – as I discovered later! – as Kai O Keleiwa.  As you can appreciate from Justin Taylan’s book review of 70,000 to 1 at Pacific Wrecks, author Quentin Reynolds combines themes of military aviation, escape and evasion, and wilderness survival, to create a contemporary, fast-paced version of Robinson Crusoe.

A particularly inspiring aspect of the book was Reynold’s account of how Manuel met, and was eventually rescued with, American fighter pilots Owen Giertsen, Edward Czarnecki and Carl Planck.  Those names must have left an impression upon me:  In 2014, as I reviewed the photos in Photographic Prints of Air Cadets and Officers, Air Crew, and Notables in the History of Aviation – NARA RG 18-PU, I was more than intrigued to discover Czarnecki’s and Planck’s portraits:  “So, that’s who they were!” 

Their pictures appear below.

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But, first (!) here’s the cover of the first (1946) hardback edition of 70,000 to 1, which features art by Miriam Woods.  (You can view this and other aeronautically themed book art, and many other examples of cover art from books and pulp-fiction magazines, at my brother blog, WordsEnvisioned.  (* Shameless plug *)

Here’s Quentin Reynolds.  Specifically, Quentin James Reynolds.

Quentin James Reynods, at Wikipedia

Quentin James Reynolds, at FindAGrave

Gordon R. Manuel, at Pacific Wrecks

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Second Lieutenant Edward John Czarnecki

431st Fighter Squadron, 475th Fighter Group, 5th Air Force

Edward J. Czarnekci, at Pacific Wrecks

P-38H 42-66948, at Pacific Wrecks

Edward J. Czarnecki, at FindAGrave

Here’s an official WW II Army Air Force Photograph of Lt. Czarnecki and two other fighter pilots, undated image 59978AC (A48682). Caption: This trio of P-38 Lightning pilots knocked down five Japanese Zeros in engagements near Wewak, New Guinea on August 16 and 18, 1943, when more than 200 enemy planes were destroyed.  They are, left to right: Capt. William Walderman of Santa Monica, Calif.; 2nd Lt. Edward Czarnecki of Wilmington, Del.; and 1st Lt. Jack Mankin of Kansas City, Mo.  Their count: Walderman, one; and two each for Czarnecki and Mankin.”

MACR 1235 for P-38H 42-66849 and Lt. Planck, missing on October 23, 1943.  These digital images were scanned from paper photocopies which were themselves made from a fiche copy of the MACR.    

Edward Czarnecki’s name appeared within a list of military casualties published in The Philadelphia Inquirer on November 28, 1943.  Since northern Delaware and southern New Jersey were (still are) within the Inquirer’s primary geographic area of news coverage (…not that I actually r e a d the Inquirer…I don’t…but that’s off topic…), the names of military casualties from Wilmington, Delaware, the vicinity of Camden, New Jersey, and southern ‘Jersey “in general” not uncommonly appeared in the newspaper.

Old Newspapers

The image below shows “setting” of the above article:  Page 2.  Unlike The new York Times, where WW II casualty lists – regardless of length – appeared several pages well “into” the body of the newspaper, WW II casualty lists in the Inquirer always appeared or at least commenced on the paper’s first or second pages.  As the war progressed and casualty lists inevitably became longer, the “first” part of most lists would typically appear “below the fold” on the newspaper’s front page, and continue a few pages into the body of the paper.  

The timing of publication this particular list is actually typical of the appearance of most WW II casualty lists in the (then) print news media:  There was usually (usually…) about a month time lag between the date on which a serviceman was killed, wounded, or missing in action, and the appearance of his name within Casualty Lists released by the War Department.  Thus, a little over one month transpired between Czarnecki’s shoot-down on October 23, 1943, and his name’s appearance in the Inquirer on November 28.  

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First Lieutenant Carl G. Planck

9th Fighter Squadron, 49th Fighter Group, 5th Air Force

Here’s Lt. Planck in an official Army Air Force (undated, but obviously (!) pre-November 1, 1943) photo (122747AC (A32518)).  Caption: “A member of the United States Army Air Force fighter squadron that destroyed seventy-two Japanese planes in aerial combat in New Guinea from June 1, 1942 to January 8, 1943 shortly after the fall of Buna Mission, is shown here.  He is Second Lieutenant Carl G. Planck, 8 Sutherland Avenue, Charleston, South Carolina, with one confirmed victory.”

MACR 1016 for Lt. Planck and P-38H 43-2387, missing on November 1, 1943.  Akin to the MACR for Lt. Czarnecki, these digital images were scanned from paper photocopies, made from fiche.  

Carl G. Planck, at Pacific Wrecks

P-38G 43-2387, at Pacific Wrecks

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First Lieutenant Raymond K. Hine

339th Fighter Squadron, 347h Fighter Group, 13th Air Force

Operation Vengeance – the aerial interception and killing of Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto by P-38 Lightnings of the United States army Air Force (specifically, the 339th Fighter Squadron of the 347th Fighter Group) on April 18, 1943 – has continued to be the subject of a vast amount of attention, commentary, and study.  I myself first learned about this story in the Ballantine Books’ paperback Zero, by Masatake Okumiya, Jiro Horikoshi, and – a h e m – Martin Caidin, where the story is covered in Chapter 20.  Appropriately headed “Admiral Yamamoto Dies in Action”, the events of that day are presented from both (primarily) the Japanese, and (secondarily) the American vantage points.  Therein, in terms of American losses, is found the simple statement, “Our pilots shot down Lieutenant Ray Hine’s P-38; and, we verified later most of the fifteen P-38s which returned to Guadalcanal were badly shot up.”  Regardless of the degree of accuracy in the account given in Zero, I was struck by the irony – for lack of a better word – of Hine being the only American pilot not to have returned from the mission.  And then, years later, I found his photograph in NARA RG 18-PU.  “So, that’s who he was…”       

This portrait of Raymond Hine was taken at Kelly Field on September 29, 1941.  Two additional portraits of him (one of which also appears at Pacific Wrecks) at can be found in his biographic profile at FindAGrave.  

1 Lt. Raymond K. Hine, at FindAGrave

1 Lt. Raymond K. Hine, at PacificWrecks

1 Lt. Raymond K. Hine, at Historynet

Random Flights IV: Aviators from NARA’s Photo Collection of Aviators: One Day in August – Lieutenants Voorhis H. Day, Robert M. Stultz, and Arthur Sugas, August 17, 1943

In the nearly eight decades that have ensued since 1943, a huge amount of literature – popular, professional, and academic – has been devoted to 8th Air Force’s Schweinfurt-Regensburg mission of August 17, 1943.  Perhaps this has been inevitable, given the gravity and significance of the loss of sixty B-17 Flying Fortresses incurred during the “Mission Number 84”.  It would seem that most such literature has focused on the events of the mission from vantage point of the tactics and strategy of heavy bombardment.

However, another aspect of the Mission 84 – certainly recorded; certainly noted; certainly in the historical record – was the loss of three P-47 Thunderbolts of the 56th Fighter Group.  As described by Martin Middlebrook in The Schweinfurt-Regensburg Mission – American Raids on 17 August 1943:

“The Americans suffered some casualties.  In the 62nd Squadron, Lieutenant Voorhis Day and his wingman, Lieutenant Robert Stultz, were seen to go down on some of the Messerschmitt 110s and, although their voices were heard happily talking about a possible success for Day, neither was seen again by their fellow pilots.  It is probable that both were caught by German single-engined fighters.  ‘Daisy’ Day’s friends later tried to secure for him the credit for shooting down two Messerschmitt 110s, but confirmation of this was not granted by American authorities.  The third American casualty occurred in that part of the 63rd Squadron which had remained aloft, the officer leading two flights of P-47s preferring to stay as high cover well above the battle – much to the annoyance of the other pilots in those fighters.  These American fighters were then ‘jumped’ by two German planes coming down from an even greater altitude and the P-47 of Lieutenant Arthur Sugas was shot down.  Lieutenant Harold Comstock promptly attacked and shot down one of the Germans but was later disgusted to be fined £5 by his flight leader for breaking formation without orders.  Comstock says, ‘My very first enemy aircraft destroyed had cost me twenty bucks!  I was sorry to have seen my friend Sugas go down but I have to be honest and say that the elation of my first success was by far the uppermost emotion at that moment.  I didn’t know he was dead; I really thought he would get out.’  Lieutenants Sugas, Day and Stultz, all original members of the 56th Fighter Group when it came to England, died.  Their P-47s crashed between Liege and Maastricht.  Five German pilots from three different Luftwaffe units claimed these American fighters.”

These three pilots were lost in the following aircraft; recorded in the following Missing Air Crew Reports:

1 Lt. Voorhis H. Day, 62nd Fighter Squadron: P-47D 42-7891, LM * M, in MACR 264

1 Lt. Robert M. Stultz, 62nd Fighter Squadron: P-47C 41-6398, LM * H, Joan L. Sullivan, MACR 263

1 Lt. Arthur Sugas, 63rd Fighter Squadron: P-47C 41-6372, UN * S, MACR 265

Something a b o u t the loss of these pilots – three fighter planes and three men, versus sixty bombers and some six hundred men – reminded me of a literary trope not uncommonly found in association with works of literature (typically fiction, but not always fiction) related to military history, pertaining to losses, casualties, and the deaths of soldiers, as viewed through the vastly larger scope of any randomly chosen day’s events.  To the effect that, “Our losses were light today.  We only lost ‘so-and-so’ number of men.”  Maybe so, but not so “light” if you’re one of that number. 

And so, when I reviewed the portraits in the collection Photographic Prints of Air Cadets and Officers, Air Crew, and Notables in the History of Aviation – NARA RG 18-PU, at the United States National Archives, and discovered images of Day, Stultz, and Sugas, a bell of recognition rang quietly within my memory. 

So, these images appear below.  

I’ve included links to the three pilots’ biographical profiles at FindAGrave, and for Day and Stultz, have included images of the German Luftgaukommando Reports reporting the shoot-downs of their planes.  These reports aren’t the (perhaps?) more well-known “J Reports”, but instead AV (Amerikaner Vorgaenge [“American Incident”]) reports: AV 245 / 43 for Day, and, AV 374 / 43 for Stultz; there doesn’t seem to be one for Sugas.  I’ve also included several Buffalo city newspaper articles about Voorhis Day, found via Tom Tryniski’s Fulton.History website.    

Notably, the Wikipedia entry for the Schweinfurt-Regensburg mission mentions the loss of two Spitfires of Number 403 (RCAF) Squadron.  These aircraft, both Spitfire IXs, were on afternoon Ramrod 206 to Ghent, Belgium.  Aircraft MA615, piloted by F/Sgt. Graham Milton Shouldice, collided with aircraft LZ997, piloted by F/Lt. W.C. Conrad, DFC.  MA615 crashed into the sea, but Conrad was able to bail out successfully.  Evading capture, he returned to England via Spain by October 10, 1943.  Other Fighter Command losses that day were Mosquito VI HX826 of No. 25 Squadron (both crew POWs), Typhoon 1B DN553 of No. 182 Squadron (pilot killed), and a Spitfire IX of No. 341 Squadron (fate of pilot unknown). 

And so, the portraits. 

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First Lieutenant Voorhis H. Day

Voorhis H. Day, at FindAGrave

Amerikaner Vorgaenge (AV) Report AV 245 / 43

Note that at the time of the filing of this report, Voorhis was unidentified.

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Army Air Corps To Train Youth

Buffalo Courier Express

October 27, 1939

Old Newspapers

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Buffaloian Graduated From Army Air School

Buffalo Evening News

April 26, 1940

Digital Newspaper Archives of US & Canada

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Day-Zimmerman (wedding)

Buffalo Evening News

June 4, 1942

Digital Newspaper Archives of US & Canada

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4 From WNY Killed; Buffaloian Flying In Asia Shot Down

Buffalo Evening News

February 24, 1944

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In The Nation’s Service

by Betty Harries

Buffalo Evening News

April 1, 1944

Digital Newspaper Archives of US & Canada

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First Lieutenant Robert Mark Stultz

Robert M. Stultz, at FindaGrave

Amerikaner Vorgaenge (AV) Report 374 / 43

Note the English-language translation, below.

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First Lieutenant Arthur Sugas

MACR 265

While circling bombers over Ans approximately 30 FW 190’s made a head on attack on the bombers.  I was flying Postgate White 4, and Lt. Sugas, Postgate White 3.  Two FW-190s closed in on us at about 29,000 feet, and started firing.  I tried to contact Lt. Sugas over the R/T, but was unable to reach him.  I broke into the E/A and dove down.  This was the last I saw of Lt. Sugas.  I do not believe he followed me down.

George A. Compton

2nd Lt., A.C.

Arthur Sugas, at FindAGrave

References

Franks, Norman L.R., Royal Air Force Fighter Command Losses of the Second World War – Volume 2 – Operational Losses: Aircraft and Crews 1942-1943, Midland Publishing, Limited, Leicester, England, 1998

Middlebrook, Martin, The Schweinfurt-Regensburg Mission – American Raids on 17 August 1943, Penguin Books, London, England, 1985 (pp. 259-260)

Random Flights II: Aviators from NARA’s Photo Collection of Aviators – Hank Greenberg, Grover C. Hodge, Jr., Ben Kuroki, and Harvey J. Scandrett.  Plus, Eugene W. Roddenberry.

The “second” post comprises photos from NARA RG-18 PU, this time of specifically aviators who served in the United States Army Air Force of World War Two…  

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Hank Greenberg (Henry Benjamin Greenberg)

“Nicknamed “Hammerin’ Hank”, “Hankus Pankus”, or “The Hebrew Hammer”, was an American professional baseball player and team executive.  He played in Major League Baseball (MLB), primarily for the Detroit Tigers as a first baseman in the 1930s and 1940s.  A member of the Baseball Hall of Fame and a two-time Most Valuable Player (MVP) Award winner, he was one of the premier power hitters of his generation and is widely considered as one of the greatest sluggers in baseball history.  He had 47 months of military service including service in World War II, all of which took place during what would have been prime years in his major league career.”

A candid shot of Hank Greenberg in NARA RG-18 PU.

Here’s an official Army Air Force photo of Greenberg, image 69033AC (A2336).  Caption?  “Captain “Hank” Greenberg, famous baseball personality, pauses a minute before continuing through the chow line at a 14th Air Force base in China.”  The actual date of the photo is unknown, albeit text on the photo card states, “Orig. 4×5 neg rec’d 27 August 1946 from 14th Air Force thru AAF Historical Office.”  However, VintageDetroit states that Greenberg reenlisted in the Army seven weeks after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, “…accepting a position as a sergeant in the Army Air Force, and a few weeks later he finished officer training school and was commissioned a first lieutenant.  He stayed in the uniform of the United States military for the next three and a half years.  His last position was in the China/India/Burma Theater of Operations where he scouted bombing targets for B-29s.  In all, Greenberg served 47 months in the service during World War II, the longest tenure of any ballplayer.”

Hank Greenberg, at Wikipedia

Hank Greenberg, at FindAGrave

Baseball Reference

National Baseball Hall of Fame

Video

The Life and Times of Hank Greenberg, at Keith’s (Mr. Sports Historian) YouTube channel

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Grover Cleveland Hodge, Jr.

Of the five aviators whose images are presented in this post, the names of two – Hank Greenberg (above) and Gene Roddenberry (see below…) – are known to a lesser or greater degree by the general public, while knowledge of another – Ben Kuroki – is probably limited to WW II aviation buffs, historians of American aviation, and scholars of Japanese American history.  But, here’s a fourth personality – or much more aptly and succinctly phrased, a person – knowledge of whom is probably limited only to historians of aviation, those knowledgeable about Canadian history, and (especially?) students of wilderness exploration and outdoor survival: First Lt. Grover C. Hodge, Jr. 

Lt. Hodge was the pilot of B-26B Marauder 41-17862, otherwise known as “TIME’S AWASTIN”, an aircraft of the 440th Bomb Squadron of the 319th Bomb Group, which crashed near Saglek Bay, Labrador on December 10, 1942, during a planned flight from Narsarsuaq, Greenland to Goose Bay, Labrador.  The plane’s compliment of seven crewmen (including Hodge) survived the crash-landing entirely uninjured.  But alas, they did not survive. 

A few links to information about this story are given below.  

Grover C. Hodge, Jr., at FindAGrave

B-26B 41-17862, at Aviation Safety Network

Here’s the accident report for B-26B 41-17862: Accident Report 43-12-10-501.  Note that relatively little of the report focuses on the fate and experience of the crew between the time they crash-landed, and, their discovery by an Eskimo several months later.  Instead, most of the document is comprised of descriptions of flight activity on December 10, and, weather conditions.

Grover C. Hodge, Jr.’s Diary, at B-26.com

Saglek Airport, at Wikipedia

Crash in the Wilderness, at The DEWLine

Clarence Simonsen has done extensive research about the loss of 41-17862, his lengthy write-up exploring the event in great detail, with tact and sensitivity.  He presents the intriguing (and haunting) possibility that Janssen, Josephson, and Nolan may actually have survived their life-raft journey along the Labrador coast, landed in the vicinity of Nain, and hiked into the Canadian wilderness for an unknown distance.  Well, we’ll never know.  His essay about 41-17862 is Smilin’ Jack and the “Twin Engine Queenie”, while his blog is Preserving the Past II – 50 Years of Research About Aviation“)

Oyster, Harold E., and Oyster, Esther M., The 319th in Action (Records of the 319th Bombardment Group as Recorded by Lieutenant William B. Monroe, Jr., Public Relations Officer, and Others), 1976

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Here’s the Historical Record card for B-26B 41-17862.  The aircraft was received by the Army Air Force on August 24, 1942.

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Here are images of three of TIME’S AWASTIN’s crew members.  For those who already know this story (and others who have yet to become familiar with it), Janssen and Josephson (with Sgt. Charles F. Nolan, a passenger) left the crash site in the aircraft’s life raft on December 23, in search of help; in search of anything.  The three men – alluded to just above; their fate yet and perhaps forever unknown – were never seen again.  Their names are engraved upon the columns of the East Coast Memorial, in Manhattan.  

Co-Pilot: 2 Lt. Paul W. Janssen, at FindAGrave

Tribute page by Mrs. Bernice Ulrich, at National WW II Memorial

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Navigator (Bombardier): 1 Lt. Emanuel J. Josephson, at FindAGrave

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Gunner: Cpl. James J. Mangini, Jr, at FindAGrave

Corporal Mangini remained at the crash site with Lt. Hodge, Cpl. Galm (radio operator), and Sgt. Weyrauch (flight engineer).  

Tribute page by Mrs. Lorraine Suter, Cpl. Mangini’s sister, at National WW II Memorial

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Here are links to FindAGrave biographical profiles for the three crewman for whom photographs are unavailable:

Cpl. Frank L. Galm, at FindAGrave

Sgt. Charles F. Nolan, at FindaAGrave

Sergeant Russell Weyrauch, at FindAGrave

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The below image, probably taken by Lt. Josephson, shows three unknown aviators standing before an B-26, at an unknown location.  

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These two topographic maps, prepared by the Mapping and Charting Establishment, Canadian Department of National Defence (both 1968 editions) are (upper map) “Cape Uivak – Fish Island – Labrador North District (14L/7.8, Edition 2)”, Newfoundland, and (lower map) “Hebron – Labrador South District (14L/2, Edition 1)”, Newfoundland.  The scale of the maps is 1:50,000 and the contour interval 100 feet. 

Though I haven’t digitally “connected” images of he two maps to one another via Photoshop, you can see that the lower image, showing Hebron, is geographically continuous with and therefore cartographically “connected” to the upper image.  As such, what immediately stands out is that a fjord – the Iterungnek Fjord – lies between the peninsula where Hebron is situated (in the “lower” map) and the peninsula where Cape Saglek and Saglek Airport are situated (in the “upper” map), 41-17862’s crash location being in the vicinity of that present-day airport.

As is immediately obvious, though the straight-line “as the crow flies” distance between the Saglek Lighthouse, south-southeast to Hebron, is a little over 20 miles, that relatively short distance does not at all reflect the topography, the nature of the intervening terrain, or especially – when those two factors are weighed in combination – the obvious lack of any direct path between the crash site and Hebron.  Also, given the snow cover when 41-17862 crashed in mid-December, the safest (a very relative term) route between the crash site and Hebron would probably have involved following the highly irregular coastline east and south, along the Labrador Sea.  Even if this could have been done, such a journey would have entailed the crew hiking a distance far, far beyond a mere 20 miles, and finally, finding some way to cross the Iterungnek Fjord to reach – on the adjacent peninsula – the village of Hebron.

So, even in the very best of circumstances…  If the crew definitely knew their position; if they were all uninjured (well, they were uninjured to start; that’s true); if they were in good health (they seemed to have been in good health, to start); even if they had wilderness training and experience in outdoor survival during winter months in the Canadian North, the prospect of reaching Hebron – in the dead of winter over snow-covered terrain, or, along an icy coastline – would I think have been far more daunting than initially apparent from viewing small-scale maps of the area.

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Dating from November of 2010, here’s a song; a ballad – with kind of an air of Gordon Lightfoot’s The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald (in which you know the outcome of the story beforehand, wish that the outcome would have been entirely different, yet are still “drawn” to the story by its haunting and symbolic nature…) about the crew of “TIME’S AWASTIN”, by Ellis Coles, at the YouTube channel of Traprocker123.  The song is based upon the diary kept by Grover Hodge from October 15, 1942 through February 3, 1943, while its title, “Diary of One Now Dead”, may (?), have been inspired by the title given to the diary transcript as published in The 319th in Action, in 1976, where Hodge’s diary comprises the final section of the book: “DIARY (BY ONE NOW DEAD).”

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Ben Kuroki

“The only American of Japanese descent in the United States Army Air Forces to serve in combat operations in the Pacific theater of World War II.  He flew a total of 58 combat missions over Europe, North Africa, and Japan during World War II.”

Here’s Ben Kuroki’s quite candid image in NARA RG 18-PU.

In 1985, Ben’s recollections of his experiences in the 20th Air Force appeared in Chester Marshall’s The Global Twentieth – An Anthology of the 20th AF in WW II.  A complete transcript of Kuroki’s essay, as well as its accompanying photo, showing Kuroki in the tail gunner’s position, follows…  

THE STORY OF DETERMINATION BY A JAPANESE-AMERICAN TAIL-GUNNER

By Ben Kuroki, Tail Gunner 484th Squadron, 505th Bomb Group

Preface

Ben Kuroki was the only Japanese-American to fly combat missions with the Army Air Force in the Pacific Theatre of War during World War II.  And he did it only by sheer determination and persistence – going all the way to the top to get permission.  A personal letter to him from Secretary of War Henry Stimson struck down the Air Force regulation prohibiting Japanese-Americans from flying combat missions in the Pacific thus allowing Ben to remain a B-29 crew member.

“Influential friends went to bat for me and I was granted an exception which allowed me to be accepted in the 505th Bomb Group as a tail gunner on a B-29,” Ben said.  “Army intelligence officers twice tried to remove me from my crew before we departed the U.S. for the Pacific, making it necessary for me to show my special letter from Secretary of War Stimson.”

In preparing this article, I asked Ben if we could publish the letter from the Secretary of War along with his story.  Ben replied: “Much to my dismay, I let my daughter use it in an art exhibit at the University of California at San Diego, and since then, we have not been able to find it.”

Chester Marshall

Here’s Ben’s story:

When I returned to the United States after completing thirty missions in B-24’s in the European Theatre, I was sent to Santa Monica, California for rest and recuperation.  Because of a few discriminatory actions against me soon after arriving there, I decided to go to any length to get into B-29’s and the Pacific War.

At Santa Monica I was asked to appear on an NBC radio program featuring the noted singer Jenny Simms.  My appearance was cancelled because NBC officials said the Japanese-American issue was too controversial.  Later, I was in Salt Lake City, and a man refused to share a taxi with me, saying, “I won’t ride with no damned Jap!”  This happened while I was in uniform and wearing the Distinguished Flying Cross with oak leaf cluster and other ribbons.

When my assignment came through placing me in the 48th Bomb Squadron, 505th Bomb Group, 313th Bomb Wing, I was a happy soldier again.  I was assigned to a B-29 crew as tail gunner.  After training at Harvard, Nebraska, we were scheduled to deploy to Tinian Island in the Marianas where we would join in the great air assault then in progress against the Japanese homeland.

Aerial combat was not new to me.  I had completed thirty missions – the twenty-five required plus five – as a tail gunner with the 409th Bomb Squadron of the 93rd Bomb Group in Europe.  The 93rd Group, the first B-24 Group to be stationed in England, was known as Ted Timberlake’s “Flying Circus.”  One of our toughest missions was the historic low-level attack on the Ploesti oil refineries in Romania.  That one still makes the hair rise on the back of my neck!

For my upcoming Pacific tour, I was assigned to Crew Number 84-10 as tail gunner.  Other members of my crew were: 1st Lieutenant James Jenkins, airplane commander; 1st Lieutenant Harold B. Wilson, pilot; 1st Lieutenant Joseph Pope, navigator; 2nd Lieutenant Kenneth Neill, bombardier; M/Sergeant Paul Hughes, flight engineer; S/Sergeant Warren Sheck, radioman; Sergeant William Shaffer, radarman; S/Sergeant Bernard Endler, central fire control; Sergeant Jerome Karnoff, right gunner; and Sergeant Leroy Kirkpatrick, left gunner.

We named our plane “The Honorable Sad Saki,” which was a sort of take off on the names of the “Sad Sack” cartoon character and a Japanese drink.

My most unforgettable experience came soon after we landed in Tinian.  The ground crews had arrived on the island earlier, and rumors were rampant of enemy stragglers infiltrating the camp.  Few of our GIs had previously been in combat, and they were extremely trigger happy.  After dark they would open up with their carbines and rifles at the slightest noise, sending bullets whizzing all around the camp.  The next day they would find dead pigs and other domestic animals that belonged to the natives.  These animals, crunching around in the nearby cane fields, triggered a lot of gunfire from our “protectors” and caused us to fear for our lives.  Since I was of Japanese ancestry, I was so worried that one of the trigger happy GIs would take a shot at me that I was afraid to even go to the latrine after dark, preferring to anxiously wait for the sun to rise.  I felt that I deserved the Purple Heart for bladder damage!

The rumors also indicated that some enemy stragglers were wearing GI uniforms so I stuck real close to my other crew members – even in chow lines during the day.

During the first couple of weeks when the trigger-happiness was at its worst, I actually felt safer when I was flying combat missions over enemy targets.  Although the Japanese anti-aircraft fire and fighter opposition were lighter than I had encountered over Europe, no mission was a milk run.  When my buddies kidded me about being my bodyguards back at the base, I sorta got even when we were airborne by joking, “You guys had better be good to me, because if we get shot down, you’ll need my help.  I’ll even bring you rice and fish heads.”

Ben and his crew completed 35 missions against the Japanese homeland making him one of the elite few who accomplished the feat of completing a combat tour of duty in both the European Theater of operation and the Pacific Theater of operation.

Here’s Ben Kuroki in Army Air Force photo +58171AC (A39047):  JAPANESE “AMERICAN TAIL GUNNER OVER TOKYO – American born Japanese T/Sgt. Ben Kuroki, Hershey, Nebraska, a tail gunner with 30 ETO missions, is interviewed on Tinian after completing his 27th mission in the Pacific, by T/Sgt. Hal Brown, Bakersfield, Calif., combat photographer for Gen. H.H. Arnold’s official Army Air Forces weekly radio show, “The Fighting AAF”.  Kuroki wears Distinguished Flying Cross and the Air medal with four Oak Leaf Clusters.”

Ben Kuroki, at Wikipedia

Ben Kuroki’s Family Tree

Ben Kuroki, at FindAGrave

Air and Space

American Air Museum in Britain

Ben Kuroki’s Bloot Chit, at National Museum of American History (Behring Center)

And, Chester Marshall’s book…

Marshall, Chester, The Global Twentieth – An Anthology of the 20th AF in WW II, Apollo Books, Winona, Mn., 1985

Here’s a snippet of what is (presumably?!) a much lengthier interview of Ben Kuroki, via the National Japanese American Historical Society.

________________________________________

Gene Roddenberry (Eugene Wesley Roddenberry)

“Television screenwriter, producer and creator of Star Trek: The Original Series, and its sequel spin-off series Star Trek: The Animated Series and Star Trek: The Next Generation.”

Gene Roddenberry, long before the advent of Star Trek, in his photographic portrait from NARA RG-18 PU Note the white-ink label at the bottom of the photo with the abbreviation “(42-G) KF”.  Though I think (?) that would imply graduation from Class 42-G at Kelly Field, Roddenberry actually graduated with Class 42-G at Goodfellow Field, San Angelo, Tx. …

…  and, via Army Air Forces Collection, here’s the front cover of his class graduation book, CAVU, Class 42-G, Goodfellow Field, San Angelo, Tx. …

… where his portrait appears on page 69.  

As described at Pacific Wrecks, Roddenberry served in the Southwest Pacific with 394th Bomb Squadron of the 5th Bomb Group, eventually retiring from the military with the rank of Captain. 

On August 2, 1943 he piloted a B-17E Flying Fortress – 41-2463, “Yankee Doodle” – which crashed on takeoff from Guadalcanal or Espiritu Santo, with the loss of two crew members, Sgt. John P. Krueger and navigator 1 Lt. Talbert H. Wollam.  The aircraft can be seen below in Army Air Photo Photo 22847AC (A45620).  Caption follows:

“B-17E – “Yankee Doodle”

“Members of a heavy bombardment squadron in the South Pacific have a novel method of chalking up their victories.  On the noses of their B-17s they paint Jap flags to indicate planes shot down.  Some have downed as many as 15 zeros.

Miniature destroyers or cruisers or transports signify a ship of that class officially sunk.  The torpedoes indicate the number of striking missions in which the plane has had a part.  A striking mission in the combat area is an attack on a specific enemy target.

Standing under the nose of their Flying Fortress, these two men [names unknown] of the ground crew pause to pose for the Army photographer in the South Pacific.  These men are extremely proud of their planes and their victories.  Note the string of shells for the machine gun in the nose.”

“Rec’d 1/9/43 thru Director of Photography from South Pacific Theater.  Copied 2/16/43.”  

Gene Roddenberry, at Wikipedia

Gene Roddenberry, at FindAGrave

Pacific Wrecks

B-17E 41-2463 – 13th Air Force, 5th Bomb Group, 394th Bomb Squadron, (Lost August 2, 1943)

Roddenberry.com

Talking About Gene Roddenberry, at Television Academy Foundation

Internet Movie Database

Memory Alpha Fandom

Internet Speculative Fiction Database

________________________________________

Harvey Jackson Scandrett

“The sun glinted off the fuselages of the silvery Mustangs and from my vantage point, they seemed to stretch to the horizon to the front and sides of me.  Between 350-400 miles north of Iwo we ran into a gigantic weather front with a solid squall line of cumulonimbus clouds blocking our path.  These immense thunder-heads were too high for us to surmount.  After we had circled for some time looking for holes without finding a trace of any, I heard Col. Scandrett say over the radio “Proceed with the mission; I take full responsibility.”  At this my heart stopped and I know that I was not alone.”

“I realize now that Scandrett had to make a difficult decision without benefit of accurate weather information.  He gambled and lost everything.” – Leonard A. Dietz, July 6, 1986

Enlisted in the United States Air Force in 1940, graduating from Randolph Field as a fighter pilot.  By 1945, commander of the Headquarters Squadron (Deputy Group Commander) of the 506th Fighter Group.  On June 1, 1945, commander of the three 7th Air Force Fighter Groups (15th, 21st, and 506th) assigned for B-29 Superfortress escort mission to Osaka, Japan.  One of the 24 7th Air Force P-51 pilots lost that day.

One of the links below will take you to a PDF with the names of the 24 pilots lost on this mission, as well as the three other pilots who – having parachuted over the Pacific Ocean – were rescued.  The list also includes aircraft serial numbers and MACR numbers for the aircraft flown by the 24 pilots who didn’t survive.  The only similar incident that I’m aware of from the European Theater involved the loss of eleven P-51B Mustangs and pilots – no survivors – of the 363rd Fighter Group (five from the 381st Fighter Squadron, and six from the 382nd) over the English Channel on March 4, 1944, almost certainly caused by a combination of pilot inexperience and (very) bad weather. 

Regarding 7th Air Force P-51 losses on the June 1, 1945, mission, unfortunately, aircraft nicknames and plane-in-squadron numbers are known for only a few of these P-51s (and this, it seems, only from private photographs!), for MACRs filed for 7th Air Force fighter losses did not record such information.  To be specific, the “space” for aircraft nicknames in such MACRs doesn’t include the individual planes’ actual hand-painted-and-sometimes nose-arted nicknames, the simple and generic word “Mustang” appearing in that data field instead. (?!?)      

Missing Air Crew Report 14653

Harvey J. Scandrett, at FindAGrave

Harvey J. Scandrett, at Pacific Wrecks

7th Air Force P-51D Pilot Losses – June 1, 1945

P-51D 44-72607, Madam Wham-Dam / 550 – 7th Air Force, 506th Fighter Group, 458th Fighter Squadron (Lost June 1, 1945), at Pacific Wrecks

506th Fighter Group – Iwo to Japan

506th Fighter Group – 1 June 1945 Black Friday

A book!  (A good book, at that…)

Lambert, John W., The Long Campaign – The History of the 15th Fighter Group in World War II, Sunflower University Press, Manhattan, Ks., 1982 (see pages 121-126)

A magazine (…from years ago…)

Blake, Steve, “The 363rd Fighter Group in WW II – Part I”, Fighter Pilots in Aerial Combat, Summer, 1982, Number 5 (pp. 15-22)

A Path in the Sky: A Navigator’s Log from a Downed B-17 [Revised post…]

[And now, the post is “new and improved”!…

When I created this post in late 2016 (has it been that long?!) its “raison d’être” was to display images of an aerial navigation log from a 15th Air Force B-17 Flying Fortress that crash-landed in Poland on December 26, 1944.

That purpose, in this now-updated post, remains much the same.  But, with a difference.  Though the initial version of the post featured black & white images of the navigation log – those images having made from reduced-size photocopied scans of the log – this updated version features full-size “first generation” color scans of the log, which I found by searching the website of the United States National Archives (NARA).

As such, these NARA 300 dpi scans present the log in its near-original color (which I well remember from physically examining the document during a visit to NARA some years ago!), and better resolution than the scans of the black & white paper photocopies originally featured in this post.

So, if you’ve visited this post before, you’ll see the new images below. 

If you’re new here, you’ll see these NARA scans for the first time. 

In either case, the scans of these documents (and two other scans) provide a fascinating view into a little remarked-upon (well, not nearly as dramatic as fighter planes) aspect of WW II military aviation: Navigation.  Getting “there”.  And, getting “back” again.  

Specifically, the new items comprise two scans from Luftgaukommando Report ME 2620, which are typical of documents that can often – not always, but pretty often – be found incorporated within MACRs for aircraft of the USAAF 8th, 9th, 12th, and 15th Air Forces, specifically lost over the European mainland: Crew lists, composed by the Germans, after individual aviators had been captured and / or identified, with their names correlated to a specific aircraft and crew.  The heading of the “first” document is “Meldung über den Abschuss eines US-Amerikanisch Flugzeuges” (Report about the downing of an American airplane).  The “second” document is an abbreviated version of the crew list, and includes specific information about the plane in question (“…337”) and crew positions of each aviator.]  

In prior posts, I presented photographs from German Luftgaukommando Reports – in the United States National Archives – concerning a P-51D Mustang fighter, and, a B-17G Flying Fortress, which were lost in combat missions over Germany in late 1944.  For the former, a series of technical intelligence photographs taken by the Germans upon recovery of the crash-landed fighter.  For the latter, a remarkable “in-plane” / “in-flight” photograph carried by and captured from one of the B-17’s crewmen.

This post – covering another Luftgaukommando Report – is a little different, for it shows a find of a different sort:  An intact and complete Air Corps Navigator’s Log retrieved from a crash-landed Flying Fortress, which has survived in much the same condition as when the last notations were recorded upon it a little over 72 years ago.

The story behind the Log?

It began at 8:03 A.M. on Tuesday, December 26, 1944, when B-17G 44-6337, Kandy, of the 32nd Bomb Squadron, 301st Bomb group, piloted by 1 Lt. Harry Owen Filer, departed for a mission to the oil refinery complex at Blechhammer South, Germany.

Missing Air Crew Report 10746 carries three accounts of the plane’s disappearance.

     1 Lt. Charles A. Dews, navigator, reported, “Right after bombs away, Plane No. 6337 started falling back from formation.  Number 3 or 4 engine had been hit by enemy flak.  My pilot reported that it was losing altitude and that either smoke or gas vapor was coming from 3 or 4 engine.  Just before we rallied at Ciezyn we lost sight of 6337 who was lagging back and losing altitude but under control.  We last saw Plane No. 6337 at 1250 hours, 26 December, 1944, location of 50/01 N – 18/27 E.  The weather was CAVU and no chutes were seen.

     Another navigator, 2 Lt. Joseph I. Laird, recounted, “Just after we dropped our bombs on the target, I noticed #4 engine smoking on Plane No. 6337.  The plane peeled out of formation taking a heading of 45 degrees and slid down to the left smoothly, losing altitude but under control.  The #4 engine was probably hit by flak over the target.  The plane dropped back from the formation but was still under control when I last saw it at 1250 hours, 26 December, 1844.  It was at 50/01 N – 18/27 E, the weather was CAVU and no chutes were seen.

     Tail gunner S/Sgt. Harry P. Hale described the following: “Shortly after bombs away, Plane No. 6337 fell out of formation, losing altitude and dropping back.  Smoke was coming from either No. 3 or 4 engine which was apparently hit by flak encountered over target.  The plane seemed to be under control when I last saw it at 1250 hours, 26 December, 1944, and saw no one bail out.  The weather was CAVU and our Navigator gave the coordinates of 50/01 N – 18/27 E when I last reported seeing aircraft No. 6337.

As in many Missing Air Crew Reports, eyewitness statements account for the plane’s loss only up to the time it disappeared.  But, as in (also) many other Missing Air Crew Reports, an explanation of the plane’s loss is presented in postwar Casualty Questionnaires.  In Kandy’s case, these were filed by pilot Harry Filer, navigator Gilbert Nesch, and radio operator Earle Cochrane.   

The following is a summary of information in the Questionnaires:  The plane was struck by flak, and left formation while southeast of the target, shortly after 12 noon.  Not long after, Kandy was crash-landed near Krakow, Poland.  The entire crew survived uninjured and were captured, all returning to the United States after the war’s end.

Some decades later, co-pilot Alfred Cryer’s brief account of the plane’s loss has now appeared at the website of the 301st Bomb Group, under the heading “My First Mission“, giving the story of the plane’s loss “from the cockpit”:

The crew that I was flying with, the day I was shot down, was not my crew.  It was my first mission and I guess it was a crew made up from the pool.  The reason we came down near Krakow, Poland was we were heading to a field in Russia.  On the second bomb run on the target our ship and the lead ship were hit by anti-aircraft fire.  We took hits in the number two and number four engines.  Orders were if you were not able to make it back to Italy, you could try for this field in Russia.  Our navigator told us when we should be able to see the field, after making a couple of circles and not seeing a field we decided a wheels up crash-landing was the way to go.  Only it was occupied Poland, about 35 miles from the front lines.

The names of the crew, their next of kin, and their wartime home addresses – derived from information in the MACR, and the Luftgaukommando Report – follow below:

Pilot: 1 Lt. Harry Owen Filer
Mrs. Alice B. Filer (wife), 510 NE 56th St., Miami, Fl.


Co-Pilot
: 2 Lt. Alfred James Cryer (Born in Illinois, in 1922)

Mrs. Gladys M. Cryer (wife), 141 South Prairie St., Batavia, Il.

This portrait of Lieutenant Cryer, added by researcher Kathy, is from his FindAGrave biographical profile.

Navigator: 2 Lt. Gilbert Theodore Nesch (Born December 6, 1917)
Mr. Frank F. Nesch (father), 1105 Yout St., Racine, Wi.

Togglier
: T/Sgt. William Eugene Nassif (Born April 2, 1922)

Mr. Otto Nassif (father), 613 40th Avenue North, Fargo, N.D.
Mrs. Bessie Nassif (mother), Pollock, S.D.


Flight Engineer
: T/Sgt. Ernest Mario Anticola (Born 1921)

Mr. Natale Anticola (father), 564 Hopkins St., Buffalo, N.Y.

Radio Operator: T/Sgt. Earle James Cochrane
Mrs. Kathleen G. Cochrane (wife)
Mrs. Blanche E. Haislip (mother), 49 Oak Ridge Ave., Schoolfield, Va.

Gunner (Ball Turret):
S/Sgt. Edward Anthony Codo (Born June 30, 1925)

Mr. Edward C. Codo (father), 213 Sherman St., Joliet, Il.

Gunner (Waist)
: S/Sgt. Philip Shlom (Born 1922)

Mrs. Marion V. Shlom (wife), 3435 Richton St., Apt. 112, Detroit, Mi.
Mrs. Libby Shlom (mother), 2017 Clairmount Ave., Detroit, Mi.


Gunner (Waist)
: S/Sgt. Franklin Junior Elmen (Born 1915)

Mrs. Hazel B. Elmen (wife), 1112 Spruce St., Leavenworth, Ks.
Mr. Walter F. Elmen (father), 1315 South State St., Salt Lake City, Ut.

Gunner (Tail)
: S/Sgt. Patrick Marvin Nicks (Born 1925)

Mrs. Margurite Goeden (mother), South 523 Washington St., Spokane, Wa.

Here are some pages from the MACR for 44-6337…

First page of MACR 10746: Information about the crew and plane, and summary of data about the circumstances of its loss.

A map of the plane’s last reported position.

Crew roster, another (usually) standard document in MACRs covering multi-place aircraft.

____________________

Oogle Map showing southeastern Germany, Czechia and Slovakia (then Czechoslovakia) and southern Poland, with Oogle’s red position indicator superimposed on Krakow.

Southern Poland, zooming in on Krakow.

The southern part of Krakow.

Oogling even closer…  The plane was crash-landed somewhere in the vicinity of the communities of Kobierzyn and (Lagiewniki) Borek-Falecki, shown in the right-center portion of this map.

____________________

Remarkably, at the website of the Polish Aviation Museum a photo (actually, a composite of three photos) exists of the crash-landed B-17.  The same image – and much more – can be found at the “intheair” website, which features extensive information about contemporary interest by the local community (most recently as of January, 2016) in the history of Kandy’s loss. 

____________________

“Meldung über den Abschuss eines US-Amerikanisch Flugzeuges” (Report about the downing of an American airplane)    

Abbreviated report.  Given the absence of first-name information for three crew members, this document was presumably completed prior to the report above, which itself was completed on January 9, 1945, fourteen days after the crash-landing of 44-6337.  

But, what of the Navigation Log?

Rectangular in format, the dimensions of the Log are 20″ by 26″.  The upper half is subdivided into two rectangular areas of roughly equal size (which I’ve dubbed the “first” and “second” sections), while the lower half (which I’ve dubbed the “third section”) has the general format of a spreadsheet. 

So, here’s the log in its “fullness”.  It’s pretty big: 7,900 by 6,200 pixels.

____________________

The “first” section of the Log (13″ x 10″) covers:

Information about the plane, date of mission, and target.
Mission Orders
Weather (General Forecast)
Flight Plan
Flight Crew
Winds
Memoranda

This section appears below:

Here’s the first section, as a scan from a paper photocopy:

Here are highlights of the information that Lt. Nesch recorded in this section of the Log:

Plane Number (last three digits of serial): 337
Plane Type: B-17G
Date: 26 Dec 1944
Place of Departure: Base
Destination: Bleichammer [sic] South

Mission Orders

Target: Bleichammer [sic] South
IP (Initial Point): Jagendorf
Axis: 060
Rally: Right
Guns (anti-aircraft at target): 153
Weather (General Forecast) (lots of data recorded here…)
Latitude / Longitude
Dist: Distance (elapsed)
TC: True Course
TH / MH: True Heading / Magnetic Heading
Alt / Temp: Altitude / Temperature
IAS / TAS: Indicated Airspeed / True Airspeed
GS: Ground Speed
Time: Time of record

Flight Crew

P – Filer – 1 Lt.
CP – Cryer – 2 Lt.
N – Nesch – 2 Lt.
B – Nassif – T/Sgt.
E – Anticola – T/Sgt.
R – Cochrane – T/Sgt.
BT – Codo – S/Sgt.
WG – Schlom [sic] – S/Sgt.
TG – Nicks – S/Sgt.
WG – Elmen – S/Sgt.

Winds

Memoranda

Flak: Csehi, Gor, Bratislava
Fighters: 50-80 Vienna, 40-50 Target, 120-130 Total
Escort
50 P-51s
66 P-51s    49-35, 17-43    12:56
60 P-51s    49-28, 18-00    12:50
Station: 0730
Takeoff: 0800
Rend (Rendezvous): 0857
Target: 1245
ETR (Estimated Time of Return): 1540
(other notes)
Mielec 50-19, 21-48
Rzeszow 50-07, 22-03
12 – 500 RDX (bomb load)

____________________

The “second section” (12 1/2″ x 10″) covers:

Celestial Data
Fuel Consumption
Colors of Day
Memoranda
Radio Bearings

This section of the Log also includes pre-printed formulas and geometric reminders for calculating Interception, and, radius of action, and also conversion scales for temperature (C / F), and, barometric pressure (millibars / inches).

Here’s the second section:

And, here’s how this document appeared in the “original” version of this post:

Here are highlights of the information that Lt. Nesch recorded in this section of the Log:

Celestial Data

No such data is actually recorded!  Instead, under the heading “Charts“, appears a list of aerial navigation maps carried aboard Kandy.  These covered Naples, Chieti, and Fiume (Italy), Graz and Vienna (Austria), “Taby” [sp?], and, Krakow (Poland).

Fuel Consumption (lots of data recorded here…)

Colors of Day:
GRR (probably green-red-red)
YY (likely yellow-yellow)
RGG (presumably red-green-green)

Memoranda
Wing: C
Group: B
Bomber: Schoolroom #1
Escort: Rubbish
Recall: Frontier
Weather (nil)
Lake Lesina 0857 3500′
KP Split 0944 1100

____________________

The third section (26″ x 10″) occupies the “bottom” half of the Log, and in tabular format, provides fields for entry of data relevant to aerial navigation, as the mission progressed.  The fields comprise the following:

Aircraft position (Latitude / Longitude)
Time
True Course
Drift Correction
True Heading
Variation
Magnetic Heading
Deviation Correction
Compass Heading
Temperature (Celsius!)
Airspeed (Indicated, Calculated, and True)
Winds
Ground Speed
“Run” (?)
“To Next Check Point” (Distance, Time, and Estimated Time of Arrival)
Meteorological Observations (Weather, Visibility, and Clouds)

An area to the right of these entries, entitled “Remarks”, allows the navigator to write notes about significant events as the mission progressed.  A scan of this section is presented below:

Here’s the original image from the paper photocopy:

A transcription of the above notes follows:

ENGINES STARTED: 0803 (handwritten note at top of log)

ENGINES STOPPED: (…no entry would ever be made…)

08:57  GP. REND. 1 MILE WEST OF RD PT.  0903 HEADED EAST ALONG COAST, AT 48-07 N, 15-30 E (altitude 4000)

09:15  TAKING UP HEADING FOR SPLIT (altitude 9000)

11:32:  LIGHT FLAK 47-43 N, 17-42 E (altitude 21000)

12:00:  CIRCLING IP MADE 360 TURN  JUST WEST OF IP. (altitude 24000)

12:29:  OILFIRES FROM PREV. WAVE.  BOMBS AWAY  SMOKE SCREEN, BARRAGE TYPE FAIRLY HEAVY (altitude 25000)

____________________

Another document in Luftgaukommando Report ME 2620, not shown in the earlier version of this post, is this combination Flight Log / Flight Plan of a much simpler format.  Though the sheet has tables and data fields on both sides, it’s obvious that Lieutenant Nesch only utilized one side; specifically to record flight plan and mission data.  Notice that unlike the Flight Log, the Flight Plan includes data fields for geographic locations, latitude and longitude information.  Notice Lt. Nesch’s arithmetic calculations on the right.  

Here’s the “blank” side of the document.  

____________________

Corroborating and reflecting the information in the Navigator’s Log is Luftgaukommando Report (KSU / ME 2620), a translated page of which – from the MACR – is shown below:

As listed above, the following material was retrieved from the aircraft:

1 folder-form with course calculation (Navigator’s Log)
1 radio key
1 plane instructions
1 package with optical lenses
1 radio handbook
2 sheets of radio instructions (secret)
1 (aerial)?) map of each of following cities: Chieti, Vienna, “Naples, Krakau” (Krakow), Taby (?), “Graz” (Gratz), and Fiume.  This list is identical to the list of maps in the Navigator’s Log.

Of the above items, the only material that was actually retained to become part of the Luftgaukommando Report was the Navigator’s Log.  This is consistent with Luftgaukmmando Reports covering American heavy bombers, which may list all manner documents and material (such as cameras, electronic, and navigation equipment) salvaged from downed warplanes, where – upon examining the actual Luftgaukommando Report – such items are unsurprisingly (!) not present.  I would suppose this was due to the sheer physical size and weight of these items, and, the probability that they were analyzed (if not disassembled?) for intelligence purposes.  Above all, (im)practically speaking, a B-17 pilot’s manual, the manual for a BC-348 radio, or a reflector gunsight, cannot readily be stuffed into an 8 1/2″ x 10″ file folder!

Thus, what is present in Luftgaukommando Reports – at least sometimes – are letters (V-Mail and handwritten), dog-tags, and personal documents (such as driver’s licenses, military “calling cards”, or Officer’s Identification Cards), and – in rare instances, like this – a Navigator’s Log. 

Items that, given the anonymity and chaos of war, are striking reminders of the very human side of history.   

So, though Lt. Nesch reported that Kandy’s engines were started at 8:03 in the morning, but never quite had the opportunity to record the return of his crew to Lucera, Italy, at least they did return, albeit some months later. 

As did his log, which seven decades later exists as a reminder of a war ended long ago. 

Mission, complete. 

________________________________________

December 6, 2016

May 18, 2017

May 20, 2021

 

A Book in Memory, A Book of Memory: Fighter Pilot, by 1 Lt. Levitt Clinton Beck, Jr. [Updated post, updatingly updated…]

(“This” post, having been created in February of 2019, is now slightly updated: Included below is a photographic portrait of 1 Lt. Levitt Clinton Beck, Jr., from the National Archives’ collection Photographic Prints of Air Cadets and Officers, Air Crew, and Notables in the History of Aviation – NARA RG 18-PU.  Though I don’t know the Advanced Flying School from which Lt. Beck graduated and received his commission as a Second Lieutenant, the large pin that he’s wearing, bearing the abbreviation “43-B”, indicates that he received his wings in February of 1943.  Lt. Beck’s pride and determination are obvious.)

[May 20, 2021:  Updating the update!…

From Missing Air Crew Report 6224, covering the loss of Lt. Beck’s P-47D Thunderbolt, this post has included a copy of the “Meldung über den Abschuss eines US-Amerikanisch Flugzeuges” (Report about the downing of an American airplane) from German Luftgaukommando Report J 1582, which pertains to the capture and identification of Lt. Beck, and, the eventual “correlation” by the Germans of Lt. Beck to his specific Thunderbolt. 

I’ve now updated this post (I prefer to “stick with the same post”, rather than make a succession of brief additional posts) to include 300 dpi color scans, from the United States National Archives, of the two sheets comprising J 1582.  One scan is of the above-mentioned “Meldung”, and the other is a list – compiled on July 7, 1944 – of destroyed Allied airplanes, with the names (where known) of pertinent dead or captured Allied airmen lost on June 28, 1944.  

Both of these documents are displayed “lower” in the post, just “below” the MACR…] 

________________________________________

________________________________________

“On the other hand,
if I don’t make it,
everything I have written will be here for anyone to read,
and I feel it will make a better ending to my life than just to be
“missing in action.”

“When you read all this I shall be right there looking over your shoulder.”

________________________________________

________________________________________

Among my varied interests is a fascination for literary art.  That is, art, appearing as cover and interior illustrations upon and within books and magazines, examples of which are displayed at one of my brother blogs, WordsEnvisioned.  My interests in literary art encompass a wide variety of subjects, such as science fiction (the latter especially as “pulp” science fiction, and fantasy, from the 1940s through the 1960s), many aspects of history, aviation, literature, and many other areas. 

Within the world of aviation, the book Fighter Pilot, created by the parents of First Lieutenant Levitt Clinton Beck, Jr. in honor and memory of their son, at first seemed to be a most fitting subject for WordsEnvisioned.  On second thought, I realized that the book’s literary and historical significance and its relation to military aviation make it a more suitable subject “here”, at ThePastPresented.

So…

______________________________

Military literature from all eras is replete with autobiographical accounts of the wartime experiences and postwar reminiscences of its participants.  Such narratives, whether published during the immediacy of a conflict, or afterwards – years, and not uncommonly decades later – are typically based upon combinations of official documents, letters, diaries, photographs, illustrations, and above all, human memory, however fickle, imperfect, or uncertain the latter may be.  The commonality of most such accounts, regardless of the era; regardless of the war; even regardless of the identity of the soldier and the nation for which he fought; is that the participant of the past, would become the chronicler, creator, and literary craftsman within the present, for the future. 

Among the vast number of books and monographs presenting the story of a soldier’s wartime experiences, is another kind of literature, bearing its own nature and origin.  That is, stories about the lives and military experiences of servicemen who never returned from war, created by family members – typically parents – sometimes by former comrades – as living memorials that exists in words, and grant indirect testimony of and witness for those who can no longer speak.

A striking example of this genre of military literature is the book Fighter Pilot., created and published in 1946 by Levitt Clinton and Verne Ethel (Tryon) Beck, Sr., of Huntington Park, California.  The book is a posthumous autobiography of their son, First Lieutenant Levitt Clinton Beck Jr., who served as a fighter pilot in the 514th Fighter Squadron of the 406th Fighter Group, of the 9th Air Force.  Centrally based upon the thoughts, musings, retrospectives, and then-undelivered “letters” penned by their son, and including transcripts of correspondence several photographs, Fighter Pilot is historically fascinating, detailed, and from a “human” vantage point, a literary work that is best termed reflective – for the reader, and, by Beck, the writer.

Shot down during a brief encounter with FW-190s of JG 2 or JG 27 on June 29, 1944, Beck crash-landed his damaged Thunderbolt (Bloom’s Tomb; P-47D 42-8473) south of Dreux, France, near Havelu.  His loss is covered in MACR 6224. 

Taken to Les Branloires by Roland Larson, he was given civilian clothes by a Mr. Pelletier, and then taken to the town of Anet, where he remained for three weeks, hidden by Madame Paulette Mesnard, in a room above her restaurant, the Cafe de la Mairie (on Rue Diane de Poitiers).  There, while safely hidden (Fighter Pilot reveals that Madam Mesnard insisted that Lt. Beck remain there until Anet’s liberation by Allied troops…) he would compose the writings that would eventually become Fighter Pilot

Three weeks later, Lt. Beck was taken to the home of Mr. Rene Farcy, in Les Vieilles Ventes. 

One week further, Beck was picked up by a certain “Jean-Jacques” and the latter’s female companion, “Madame Orsini”.  Ostensibly a member of the Underground, Jean-Jaques was actually Jacques Desoubrie, a double agent who worked for the Gestapo.  Desoubrie took Lt. Beck to a hotel in Paris, on Boulevard St. Michel. 

The next day, the Lieutenant was arrested by the Gestapo and taken to the prison of Fresnes. 

From there, in accordance with German policy (as of the Summer of 1944) towards Allied aviators captured while garbed in civilian clothing and without military identification (dog-tags), and, in association with resistance networks in Belgium, France, and the Netherlands, Beck was one of 168 captured Allied aviators sent to the Buchenwald Concentration Camp.

A very detailed account of the mens’ experiences at Buchenwald can be found at the Wkikipedia biography of RNZAF pilot Squadron Leader Phillip John Lamason, DFC & Bar, who became the senior officer of the group.  As quoted, “Upon arrival, Lamason, as ranking officer, demanded an interview with the camp commandant, Hermann Pister, which he was granted. He insisted that the airmen be treated as POWs under the Geneva Conventions and be sent to a POW camp.  The commandant agreed that their arrival at Buchenwald was a “mistake” but they remained there anyway.  The airmen were given the same poor treatment and beatings as the other inmates.  For the first three weeks at Buchenwald, the prisoners were totally shaved, denied shoes and forced to sleep outside without shelter in one of Buchenwald’s sub-camps, known as ‘Little Camp’.   Little Camp was a quarantine section of Buchenwald where the prisoners received the least food and harshest treatment.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“As Buchenwald was a forced labor camp, the German authorities had intended to put the 168 airmen to work as slave-labor in the nearby armament factories.   Consequently, Lamason was ordered by an SS officer to instruct the airmen to work, or he would be immediately executed by firing squad.  Lamason refused to give the order and informed the officer that they were soldiers and could not and would not participate in war production.   After a tense stand-off, during which time Lamason thought he would be shot, the SS officer eventually backed down.

“Most airmen doubted they would ever get out of Buchenwald because their documents were stamped with the acronym “DIKAL” (Darf in kein anderes Lager), or “not to be transferred to another camp”.   At great risk, Lamason and Burney secretly smuggled a note through a trusted Russian prisoner, who worked at the nearby Nohra airfield, to the German Luftwaffe of their captivity at the camp.   The message requested in part, that an officer pass the information to Berlin, and for the Luftwaffe to intercede on behalf of the airmen.  Lamason understood that the Luftwaffe would be sympathetic to their predicament, as they would not want their captured men treated in the same way; he also knew that the Luftwaffe had the political connections to get the airmen transferred to a POW camp.”

Eventually, the men were transferred out of Buchenwald, with 156 going to Stalag Luft III (Sagan).  Ten others were were transported from the camp over a period of several weeks.

Two of the 168 did not survive:  They were Lt. Beck, and, Flying Officer Philip Derek Hemmens (serial 152583), a bomb aimer in No. 49 Squadron, Royal Air Force.  Hemmens’ Lancaster Mk III, ND533, EA * M, piloted by F/O Bryan Esmond Bell, was shot down during a mission to Etampes on the night of June 9-10.  Ironically, Hemmens was the only crew member to actually escape from the falling plane.  His fellow crew members were killed when EA * M was shot down.

Lt. Beck, weakened from an earlier bout of illness from the conditions in the concentration camp, died from a combination of pneumonia and pleurisy while isolated in the camp’s “hospital”, on the evening of September 29-30, 1944. 

He has no grave.  His name is commemorated on the Tablets of the Missing at the Luxembourg American Cemetery.

Similarly, the name of F/O Hemmens, who died on October 18, is commemorated at the Runnymede Memorial.

Well, there is at least some justice in this world, even if that justice is not speedy:  Jacques Desoubrie, whose infiltratation of two French Resistance groups eventuated in the arrest of at least 150 Resistants, fled to Germany after France’s liberation.  He was, “…arrested after being denounced by his ex-mistress, and executed by firing squad as a collaborationist on 20 December 1949 in the fort of Montrouge, in Arcueil (near Paris).”

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For one so young at the time (Beck was 24), the overlapping combination of seriousness, introspection, contemplation, and literary skill (and, some levity) in his writing are immediately apparent.

A central and animating factor in Beck’s words was the realization of the danger of his predicament, and the possibility that – however remote, at the time; for reasons unknown, at the time – he might not return.  He was realistic about this.  Whether this feeling arose from a premonition, or objective contemplation of the danger of his situation, either and both motivations spurred him to record thoughts and create letters for two eventualities: 

His return, and the creation of a permanent record of his experiences, perhaps for the sake of reminiscing; perhaps for eventual publication.

His failure to return, and a document by which he could be remembered by his parents and friends.  (He was an only son.)

As he recorded:

“The idea has been growing within me these last few days that I should like to take all these experiences and others I have had, and have my book, “Fighter Pilot,” published after the war is over.  There is the thought, too that “Lady Luck” may not be able to ride all the way with me.  So, while I have a few days to wait for the French Underground to complete their plans for my escape back to England, I see no reason why I shouldn’t write every day, all that I can, so that just in case my luck has run out, you will know what has happened to your wandering son.”

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I obtained a copy of Fighter Pilot some years ago.  The book was republished in Honolulu by “Book Vompay LLC” in 2008, with the book’s Worldcat entry stating that, “This edition is a revised and corrected version of the original, which was first published in 1946.”  As of this moment – early 2019 – copies are available from two eBay sellers, each for approximately $50.00. 

Some extracts from the book’s text, as well as some images, are shown below.  These will give you a feel for the book’s literary and historical flavor.

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The book’s dust jacket bears an image of a bubbletop P-47D, almost certainly sketched by Beck himself.  Though the canopy frame bears a kill marking denoting a destroyed German plane (see account below), this aerial victory was not confirmed: USAF Credits for the Destruction of Enemy Aircraft, World II, contains no entry for this event.

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A poem by Beck, composed at the age of twenty.

I SEE IT NOW

(Written in 1940)
By L.C. Beck, Jr.

I WATCHED the day turn into nite,
Creeping shadows reached the sky;
Birds flew to their nests,
Still singing as they went;
All mankind lay quiet at rest,
As though to heaven sent.
Quiet ne’er before was like this –
Even wind hung softly about the trees,
As is afraid of waking birds,
Sleeping in their nests;
‘Twas like another world to me,
And I found myself wishing –
Wishing it were true.

I’ve suffered – and have hated it,
But in my mind a thought was born,
Making a new path for me –
On which I now find my way.

I see it now –
While I suffer here
I must not question of it;
It is the way of life –
Too much happiness would spoil me;

I’d grow too fond of life on earth
And the after life I seek
Would not be so sweet -.
We must have our troubles here;
Our hearts torn by loss,
Our hands made bloody by war,
Our future left unknown.

Once again the time has come
When day and night do meet, –
But all are going in ways apart
And but touch here in their passing;
I’m glad that God mas made it so
For it thrills me to my very soul
To see so bright a luster of the day
Meet the sweet sereneness of the night.

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The book’s simple and unadorned cover.

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1 Lt. Levitt Clinton Beck, Jr., in an undated image taken in the United States.

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Pilot, propeller, and power.  Given Beck’s rolled-up sleeves and the intense sunlight, this picture was probably taken somewhere in the southeastern United States.  Another clue: 406th Fighter Group P-47s did not have white engine cowlings.

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Dated March 8, 1944, this picture is captioned “Officer’s Party, AAF”. 

Fighter Pilot lists the names of the men in the photo.  They are (left to right):

Front Row

Billington, James Lynn 2 Lt. (0-810463) – Queens County, N.Y.
KIA June 24, 1944, MACR 6346, P-47D 43-25270
Dugan, Bernard F. 2 Lt. (0-811868) – Montgomery County, Pa.
KNB April 15, 1944 (No MACR)
Born 8/16/19
Arlington National Cemetery; Buried 7/19/48
Beck, Levitt Clinton, Jr., Lt.

Middle Row

Long, Bryce E. Lt. (0-811938) – Edmond, Ok. (Survived war)
Van Etten, Chester L. Major (0-663442) Los Angeles, Ca. (Survived war)
Gaudet, Edward R. 2 Lt. (0-686738) – Middlesex County, Ma.
KIA June 29, 1944, MACR 6225, P-47D 42-8682
Atherton
Benson, Marion Arnold 2 Lt. (0-806035) – Des Moines County, Ia.
KIA June 17, 1944, MACR 6635, P-47D 42-8493

Rear Row

Cramer, Bryant Lewis 1 Lt. ( 0-810479) – Chatham County, Ga.
KIA August 7, 1944, MACR 7405, P-47D 42-75193
Cara Montrief (grand-daughter)  According to Fighter Pilot, Cramer’s daughter was born three weeks after her father was shot down. 
Dorsey III, Isham “Ike” Jenkins – Opelika, Al. (Survived war)
David “Whitt” Dorsey (brother)

Note that Major Van Etten is wearing RAF or RCAF wings.

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A review of Missing Air Crew Reports yields a huge umber of accounts for which an aircraft went missing, and, the pilot did not return.  This is so for MACR 6224, which covers Beck’s loss.  However, within Fighter Pilot appears Beck’s own account of his last mission, writing in hiding at Anet, which provides the “other side” of the Missing Air Crew Report.  Beck’s final radio call, “Eddie, I think I may have to bail out,” – probably to 2 Lt. Edward R. Gaudet – was heard and reported as “My airplane is hit.  I think I’ll have to bail out,” by 1 Lt. Bryant L. Cramer, who himself was shot down and killed less than two months later. 

Lt. Gaudet was shot down and killed during the same engagement, while flying P-47D 42-8682 (covered in MACR 6225).

Beck’s account, and images of MACR 6224, follow below:

CHAPTER TWO

My First “Victory”

WE WERE TO fly the “early one” that morning of June 29th.  We dashed down in the murky dawn, that only England can boast about, for breakfast and briefing.  Both very satisfying, we took off and headed for our target, just a few miles south-west of Paris, along the Seine river.  My flight carried no bombs, as we were to be top cover for the squadron on their bomb run.  It was a group (three squadrons) mission.

Just before we reached the first target, a bridge, the flak opened up and we did some evasive action to go around it.  None of it came very close to my flight, but we were not giving them very much of a target to shoot at, I guess.  The clouds made it rather hard to keep the others down below in sight, so I dropped down to about 12,000 feet.  We lost the rest of the squadron for a while and then I spotted them to the west, being shot at.  I started over there with my flight and as we neared the others, someone in my flight called:

“Break, Beck, flak.  Break left!”

I did, and then, Eddie, I believe, said: “It’s a 190.”

I turned 180 degrees and saw the 190 in the middle of three 47s — Cramer, Eddie and Unger.  I gave it full boost and started back after the little devil.  He looked very small among the Thunderbolts and I had no trouble recognizing him as a 190.  He was breaking up and then I think he saw me coming after him as he turned around and we were then going at each other head on.  For a brief second I thought of breaking up into a position where I could drop on his tail, but he was the first Jerry I’d ever seen and I wasn’t going to let him live that long if I could help it.

I knew, however, that his chances of shooting me, at head on, would be just as good but I was a little too eager and mad to give a damn.  I squeezed the trigger and I think the first round hit him because I saw strikes on his cowl, wing roots and canopy all the way in.  I guess I’d have flown right through him, but he broke up a little to the left and I raked his belly at very close range.  I thought to myself:

“Becky, there’s your first victory.”

Just to make sure, though, I turned with him and started down but I didn’t seem to be going very fast.  I rammed the throttle with the palm of my hand but was rather astonished to feel it already up against the stop.  I flipped on the water switch but that didn’t seem to do any good either.  I looked down at my instruments and then it was very clear.  My engine had been shot out.  I felt a little panicky at first but settled down and started “checking things.”

Nothing I did seemed to have any effect, so I called:

Eddie, I think I may have to bail out.

Oil started licking back over the cockpit.  Here we go again, I thought.  Just like Cherbourg.  She is even worse this time, I guess.  The damned engine was just turning over and that was about all.  I knew I could never make the channel but I was still trying, I guess, because I was messing around with the throttle and everything I could get my hands on …  6000 feet now.

I still had my eye on my “victory”, though.  He was going down in a spiral to the left, smoking very badly.  Wham!  Something hit me in the back and threw me forward.  I didn’t need to look to know what it was.  I broke to the left pulling streamers off everything and there he was.  A sleek little 190 sitting on my tail – gray and shiny, spitting out flames of death up at me.  It wasn’t a very pretty sight, I must say — looking down his cannons — I knew then that I was no longer fighting to get the ship running again.  I was fighting for my life!!

I was pretty scared for an instant, but it seems that just when I get that feeling inside and almost think I’m a coward, something snaps.  It did, and I was once again the mad fighting American I had been, with an engine.  I forgot for the time being that my engine was dead, I guess, because I watched him flash past and then jerked my kite around to the right to a point I knew he would be.  I hadn’t looked out the front of the canopy for some time and now as I did, all I saw was the reflection in the glass, covered with oil, of my gun-sight.  I cursed and pulled the trigger, shooting in the dark, but at least I felt better.  I kicked the ship sideways to have a look out of the side and there was Jerry — just a hundred yards up front.  I swung the nose around to about the right position, I thought, and fired.  I don’t know whether I hit him or not, but he seemed in pretty much of a hurry to get the hell away.

I pressed the “mike” button and said:

“I’m bailing out.”  But all I heard was deathly silence.  I knew then that my radio had been blown to bits by the Jerry on my tail.

I thought that I’d better jump at about 4000 feet, so I undid my safety belt and just then my ship shuddered and I heard terrific explosions all around me.  I looked out of the only clear space left in the canopy, and saw more flak than I’d ever dreamed possible in one small area.  I couldn’t see which way to break so I just went to the right, because the ship did, I guess.  I knew then that to bail out would mean sure capture and I still had just a wee bit of hope left for my chances of getting away.  I decided to stick with the ship and try a trick that “Benny” and I had talked about one night before he was killed.

I opened the canopy a crack so I could see the ground and when I did, I saw the longest clear stretch of land I think I ever saw in France.  It was just about the right distance away, I thought, for me to make my dive to the deck and then scoot over there, at tree top level, and belly in.

I remembered that I had taken my safety belt off, so I started trying to put it on and still keep my eye on Jerry at the same time — also fly the ship— without an engine.  Some fun, and if you want to try your ability at being versatile, it is a good trick.

I got under Jerry without his seeing me, I guess, and then down among the trees; I had to keep a keen eye out of the cockpit, so I gave up the idea of buckling my belt again, and decided that I would stretch my luck a bit more, by doing the impossible.  I really had no choice, but to hell with the belt.  Here comes Jerry again.  I had about 275 MPH, so I felt pretty “safe”, you might say.  I would wait until he got in range, then break and throw off his aim and then belly in.  It was very simple, when you happen to be the luckiest guy in the whole air force.  I put one hand on the instrument panel and waited until I got slowed down a bit.  I eased her down slowly and was just about ready to touch the ground when I realized that I had not put my flaps down and my stalling speed would be much too fast.  I pulled up, but just before I did, I felt my prop hit the ground.  I pushed the flap handle down and then watched the grass go by on either side.  It seemed as though I’d buzzed half way across France by now and I must be running out of field.  I kicked the ship sideways and looked.  The trees were still quite some distance ahead, so I eased the old girl down and then I was sliding.  I put my “stick hand” on the panel, too, and just braced myself and waited.  It shook me around quite a bit, but as I had ridden quite a few rough roller coasters without a safety belt, I was doing pretty well without one now at 100 MPH or so in a 7 1/2-ton hunk of metal.  Just before the last few feet, the ship turned to the right and threw me crashing into the left side of the cockpit.  It was then that I realized that my back and ribs were already sore from the shock I’d received from the 190’s cannon.

Flames were licking up over the cowling of my ship and I had no more than enough time to get out.  I knew I wouldn’t have to destroy my ship.  I jumped out, parachute and all, and again hit on my left side, on the wing.  I was pretty sore around that part of me by now, also quite excited and too mad to care much.

A few yards from the ship I stopped long enough to take off all the equipment strapped to me.  I considered taking the escape kit out of my ‘chute pack, but there wasn’t time.

When you are 100 miles inside enemy territory, naturally one has the feeling that every bush hides a German.  I was quite inexperienced in ground fighting, so I didn’t look forward to shooting it out with the Germans with my .45 pistol.

Thoughts were running through my mind about just what to do and how, all during those first five or ten seconds.  I even thought about hiding my ‘chute as we had been instructed in a lecture, but I looked back at my airplane and almost laughed.

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At approximately 0815 on 29 June, I was flying the wing of Yellow Flight Leader, Lt. Beck, at 13,500 ft. on a heading of 260o over Dreux.  The flight was jumped all too effectively at this time by four FW-190s, who came out of the clouds directly over us.  Lt. Beck and I broke left, bit one of the 190s got hits on Beck’s airplane before I could get it off his tail.  His engine was smoking rather badly, and as I followed the enemy aircraft down in a dive, attempting to close into effective range, I heard Lt. Beck call on the radio and say, “My airplane is hit.  I think I’ll have to bail out.”  I can not say for sure whether he made the jump successfully or not, nor am I positive he did jump.  It is quite probable, however, that he did jump, and successfully.  A pilot from the 513th Squadron, flying below us at the time of the encounter, reported seeing an unidentified, black fighter dive into the ground, and saw a chute open up above it.  The Focke-Wulfs were silver.

Missing Air Crew Report 6224

Here’s NARA’s digital version of the original “Meldung über den Abschuss eines US-Amerikanisch Flugzeuges” (Report about the downing of an American airplane) for Lt. Beck and his Thunderbolt.  Note that though Lt. Beck was shot down on June 28, 1944, this document was actually compiled only a little over four months later: November 2, 1944.  Lt. Beck had died two months before.       

Here’s a list (list number 28, to be specific) of four of the Allied warplanes shot down in France on June 27-28, 1944.  Data about the losses appears as black typed text, while identification numbers of pertinent Luftgaukommando Reports has been inked in, in red.  The Luftgaukommando Report numbers are KE 9108, KE 9065, J 1582 (Lt. Beck’s plane), and KE 9064.  Note that Lt. Beck, name then unknown, is reported as “flüchtig”: close translation “fugitive”.   

I’ve been unable to correlate KE 9108 to any aircraft, but KE 9064 definitely pertains to Lancaster III JB664 (ZN * N) of No. 106 Squadron RAF,  piloted by P/O Norman Wilson Easby, and KE 9065 covers Lancaster I LL974 (ZN * F), piloted by F/Sgt. Ernest Clive Fox.  Of the seven men in the crew of each aircraft – both of No. 106 Squadron RAF – there were, sadly, no survivors.   

As described in W.R. Chorley’s Bomber Command Losses, Volume 5

JB664: T/o 2255 Metheringham similarly targeted.  [To attack rail facilities at Vitry-le-Francois.]  Crashed 2 km E of Bransles (Seine-et-Marne), 16 km SE of Nemours.  All [crew] were buried in Bransles Communal Cemetery.

LL974: T/o 2255 Metheringham to attack rail facilities at Vity-le-Francois.  Shot down by a night-fighter, crashing at Thibie (Marne), 11 km WSW from the centre of Chalons-sur-Marne. All were buried locally, since when their remains have been brought to Dieppe for interment in the Canadian War Cemetery.   

Though KE Report numbers – covering British Commonwealth Aircraft losses – appear in NARA’s master list of Luftgaukommando Reports, I don’t know if (well, I don’t believe) they’re actually held at NARA.  

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This is a (postcard?) view of the main street of Rue Diane de Poitiers in Anet.  Lt. Beck lived on the third floor of the building on the right, in a room with the window directly below the small “X” symbol.

And below, a 2018 Google Street view of Rue Diane de Poitiers, which (well, to the best degree possible) replicates the orientation and perspective of the above 1940s postcard image.  Akin to the postcard, the view is oriented south-southeast.  

What was Madame Mesnard’s restaurant is now occupied by a branch of the Banque Populaire, while the business to the right (_____ Centrale“) is now the Pressing Diane Anet laundary service. 

Above all, hauntingly, the similarities between the view “then”, and the view “now” are striking.  The window of Lt. Beck’s hiding place is visible directly beneath the leftmost of the two television antennae.

Below, another Google view of 16 – 18 Rue Diane de Poitiers.

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This is a very different view of Rue Diane de Poitiers: The drawing, sketched by Lt. Beck, shows buildings directly across the street from the window of his room.  His self-portrait appears as a reflection in the lower right windowpane, with his initials – “By LCB” – just below.

And below, a 2018 Google street view (albeit at ground level) of the building directly across the street from Lieutenant Beck’s room.  In 2019, it’s the home of the Boulangerie pâtisserie chocolaterie à Anet (Chocolate Bakery Pastry Shop in Anet). 

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Here are Lt. Beck’s last diary entries and final words to his parents, composed just prior to his departure from Anet and his ill-fated attempt to return to Allied forces:

It’s a very beautiful day today, the first nice sunny one in over a week. I shall just have to lie in the sun awhile, even though I won’t get much written.  As I said previously, I was to leave at 8:00 o’clock at night.  That was wrong, I find, after talking to Paulette about it.  It was at 8:00 o’clock in the morning.  That means that I don’t have tomorrow to write and so today must wind up my writing from France.

It has been lots of fun writing all this.  I guess that I am just halfway glad that I got in on this part of the war.  Just a few hours after I set my plane down in France, I thought to myself:

“Boy, what a story this will make.”

Even if I don’t get out of France, ever, this will, by mail, and that is one reason why I have taken it so seriously.  Had I felt that it never would be read I should not have written so much.

Writing something like this that will not be mailed right away gives me a chance to say just anything I feel.  If I get back to England and finally to America again, I can just tear up anything that was meant to be read if I were killed trying to get back.  On the other hand, if I don’t make it, everything I have written will be here for anyone to read, and I feel it will make a better ending to my life than just to be “missing in action.”

No one wants to die like that — just without anyone knowing what happened.  I feel then that I have really accomplished a great deal in leaving these passing thoughts behind.  Hoping with all my heart that they will be of some comfort to all my friends, and especially to my Mom and Dad.

When you read all this I shall be right there looking over your shoulder.  (You may not see me but I am here.)  You can feel that I have not gone away, but have, instead, come back to you.  (I am so much closer than I was in England and France.)

You should see my tan now.  I’m either mighty dirty or very tan, one or the other.  At least I like it and feel much more healthy when I’m brown, as I have told you before.

I’ll be darned if Larson didn’t bring me two packages of cigarettes.  He must have killed two Jerries to get them.  What a guy!!!

How can a guy feel sad and lonely with someone doing everything in the world for you – ?

Mom, if you will, I’d like you to write a letter to Paulette and to Larson.  They can get the French lady I spoke of, to translate it for them.  You can write two or just one letter — suit yourself.  Address it to Larson Roland, Anet, France.

He has lived here all his life and everyone knows him.  Also, if you like, you can ask them to write and tell you just what happened.  You will want to know I am sure and if there is any way humanly possible, they will find out and write you.

So, as this lovely day draws to an end, so does my writing.  Always remember this saying which you put at the bottom of so many of your letters.  It is truly a short, sincere, and very simple statement but holds a world of comfort and thought:

“Keep smiling.”

I have kept smiling every day and it has made each day of my life joyously happy.  Just remember me as always smiling, Mom.  And now it is you and Dad who must, “Keep your chin up” and “Keep smiling”, always.

I shall always be, Your loving son

— L.C.—

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And,  earlier in the text, a letter to an unknown “Helen:

Helen,

You didn’t think I would forget you, did you?

After knowing a girl as lovely as you, for twelve years, a guy would be absolutely a “dope” if he did!

Thinking of all our wonderful times together is easy but to forget them would take more than a lifetime.

I guess something must have gone wrong with the machine that “puts names on bullets”.  We both were quite sure, weren’t we?  I really felt that I would live to be a hundred, but I suppose I can say, quite safely, that in my 24 years I have had my share of living.

It’s always nicer, anyway, to end a story at its best climax.  My story ends just as I like it.  Full of thrills and excitement and with the blood tingling in my veins — Fighting.

I guess there isn’t much else to say.  You know how I always was about such things.  Perhaps leaving things unsaid at times is better.  Just now, anything I say might sound foolish or untrue.  Perhaps it would be, but when a person writes a note of this type he doesn’t very often say things he doesn’t mean.

If you can see my point I shall only say this and no more.

I loved you dearly when we were at our best.  You must have known.  Surely you could tell.  As for some of the time, I will admit that I wasn’t sure.

Our love affair was, ’tis true, quite irregular and although it might have been better, I shall always think of it as a very wonderful part of my life.

Perhaps had we been a bit older when we met and I a bit more settled, as well as you, we would have been married.

As it turned out you are much better off as you would be a widow now instead of a beautiful young girl, with a fine future ahead of you.

Well, “Sweet Stuff,” I shall say Byeeeee now, with a kiss for old times.

I want to wish you every happiness that can be yours.

Until we meet again — I shall be waiting.

Love, L. C.

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Finally, just before his departure from Anet:

If anything happens to me, I hope that you can finish my story.  It would be my last wish and I think a very nice way to end a thus far, perfectly swell life.  Naturally, I truly hope that I shall be able to finish the story myself, but if not, the ending will be for you to finish.  Paulette will have someone write you and tell you just what happened, if the French Underground can find out.  This is quite an unhappy little note, isn’t it?  I feel much the opposite, however.

______________________________

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Here are images of four of the pilots mentioned by Beck, or, appearing in the group photograph above.

This is “Dorsey III”, namely, Isham “Ike” Jenkins Dorsey III, of Opelika, Alabama.  He survived the war.  Contributed by his brother, David “Whitt” Dorsey, this photo appears at Isham Dorsey III’s commemorative page at the Registry of the National WW II Memorial.

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“Unger”, mentioned in the account of Beck’s last mission, is listed in Fighter Pilot as “Lt. Edwin H. Unger, Jr., New York, N.Y.”  His image, as an aviation cadet, appears in a composite of photographic portraits of servicemen from Nassau, New York, in the Nassau Daily Review-Star of May 26, 1944, accessed via Thomas N. Tyrniski’s FultonHistory website.  (That’s where the “If you are reading this you have too much time on your hands.” is from!)  Lt. Unger survived the war.

If You Are reading this you have to much time on your hands

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This is Major Chester L. Van Etten from Los Angeles, who’s seen (wearing RCAF or RAF wings) in the center of the group photo.  This image, also at the Registry of the National WW II Memorial, appears in a commemorative page created by Chester L. Van Etten himself.

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Also appearing at the WW II Memorial Registry is this image of Lt. Bryant L. Cramer, appearing on a commemorative page created by his grand-daughter, Cara Montrief.  I assume that this image was taken in the Continental United States. 

Here’s Lt. Cramer’s portrait, taken in August of 1943, from the National Archives’ collection “Photographic Prints of Air Cadets and Officers, Air Crew, and Notables in the History of Aviation“.

References

Beck, Levitt C., Jr. (Beck, Levitt C., Sr.), Fighter Pilot, Mr. and Mrs. Levitt C. Beck, Sr., Huntington Park, Ca., 1946

Chorley, W.R., Royal Air Force Bomber Command Losses of the Second World War Volume 5 – 1944, Midland Publishing, Hinckley, England, 1997

USAF Credits for the Destruction of Enemy Aircraft, World War II – USAF Historical Study No. 85, Albert F. Simpson Historical Research Center, Air University, 1978

First Lieutenant Levitt Clinton Beck., Jr. – FindAGrave biographical profile

P-47D 42-8473 “Bloom’s Tomb” – at 406th Fighter Group

Lancaster ND533 – at Aerosteles

Lancaster ND533 – at North East War Memorials Project

Lancaster ND533 – at WW2 Talk

Jacques Desoubrie – at Wikipedia

Allied Airmen at Buchenwald – at Wikipedia

Allied Airmen at Buchenwald – at National Museum of the United States Air Force

Squadron Leader Phillip John Lamason, DFC & Bar – at Wikipedia

– Michael G. Moskow

2/26/19

1017

9/26/20

1651

No Longer Missing: The Survival of Lt. JG William Robert Maxwell, United States Navy Fighter Squadron VF-11, May 2, 1943 – “A Castaway’s Diary”

“Just before sundown, rain began falling, the wind became stronger, and the waves got higher and higher.  There wasn’t much I could do – I was still weak and not a little scared.  About all I did was to throw out my sea anchor – a small rubber bracket on a 7-foot line – and cover myself with my sail.  Rain fell in torrents and the wind blew all night.  I bailed out water six or seven times during the night with the small cup that the pump fits in and also with my sponge rubber cushion, but there were always 2 or 3 inches of water in the bottom.  The rest of the time, I just huddled under my sail.”

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The posts about the survival and return of Lieutenants Johnson and Landers pertaining to events in 1942, this post focuses on the experiences of Navy Lt. JG William Robert Maxwell in mid-1943.  A member of Navy Fighter Squadron VF-11, Maxwell was not shot down in aerial combat, per se, albeit he was forced to parachute during a combat mission.  This occurred on May 2, 1943, during his squadron’s first week of combat operations, when, while escorting a strike to Munda, his F4F Wildcat’s tail was sliced off by his wingman as the latter was switching fuel tanks.  Successfully parachuting from his fighter, Maxwell took to his life raft, in time successively reaching the islands of Vangunu, Tetepare (Tetepari) and Rendova, being rescued from the latter on May 17. 

While one commonality among the experiences of these three aviators is that they saved themselves by parachuting from their planes (rather than belly-landing or ditching their aircraft), another, more critical element, with I think greater relevance to survival and evasion – notably with Johnson and Maxwell – is that the very circumstances of their predicaments forced them to be self-reliant during much (Maxwell), or all (Johnson), of the time until their rescue.  (Landers didn’t have that problem, meeting native tribesmen very soon after landing!)  On the other hand, a central difference between the Army Air Force pilots and Maxwell is that a life raft was absolutely central to the latter’s survival – at sea.  Landing on land, neither Johnson nor Landers had no such problem.  (Well, Johnson had other problems!)          

Some time after his return, Maxwell wrote a detailed account of his experiences and survival, which was published in Intelligence Bulletin of December, 1943 (available at Archive.org).  As you can read below, where I’ve presented the article verbatim, Maxwell’s account has absolutely no identifying information (well, it was the middle of the war!) except for the calendar dates, and particularly, the first date – May 2 – when he was shot down.  Using this information, DuckDuckGo, and various websites (like Aviation Archeology) I was able to “pin down” the initially anonymous pilot’s name, identity his Squadron, and determine the Bureau Number of his F4F.  That led to Tillman and van der Lugt’s VF-11/111 ‘Sundowners’ 1942–95, which tied all the pieces together, the details matching the account in Intelligence Bulletin.  

Digressing…  Like many “things” one discovers while doing historical research, I found this article, and the journal itself, purely by chance: While researching a post covering a subject vastly different from WW II (albeit quite military in nature) … and then some!  Space Warfare, as described and conjectured in Astounding Science Fiction, in 1939

So, it would seem that researching fiction led to fact. 

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William Robert Maxwell later in WW II, probably while serving with VF-51.

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This is the relevant passage excerpt from Tillman and van der Lugt’s VF-11/111 ‘Sundowners’ 1942–95:

On 25 April 1943, after six weeks in the Fijian islands, CAG-11 departed for Guadalcanal.  White, Cady and Vogel each led one of VF-11’s three elements to their destination, with TBFs providing navigation lead on the 600-mile flight.  The Wildcats made the 4.5-hour flight to Espiritu Santo that day and logged another 4.3 the next, arriving at ‘The Canal’ on Monday the 26th with 34 aircraft.  Two had been delayed en route with mechanical problems, but both shortly rejoined the squadron.  ‘Fighting 11’ settled down at the Lunga Point strip better known as ‘Fighter One’, while Cdr Hamilton’s other three squadrons were based at nearby Henderson Field.  The ground echelon had previously arrived by ship or transport aeroplane and established a tent camp in what intelligence officer Lt Donald Meyer called ‘a delightful oasis of mud and mosquitoes in a coconut grove’. 

The next day VF-11 was briefed by Col Sam Moore, the colourful, swashbuckling Marine fighter commander.  The ‘Sundowners’ were to fly under the tactical control of the US Marine Corps, as the leathernecks had been operating from the island for the past eight months.  Later that morning (the 27th), VF-11’s first patrol from ‘Cactus’ was flown by Lt Cdr Vogel and Lt(jg)s Robert N Flath, William R Maxwell, and Cyrus G Cary.  It was a local flight with nothing to report, but two days later Lt Cdr White led two divisions on an escort to Munda.  The only enemy opposition was anti-aircraft (AA) fire.  Throughout the combat tour VF-11 was blessed with exceptional maintenance.  Prior to any losses, the unit maintained an average 37 of 41 available aircraft fully operational for an initial complement of 38 pilots.  The 90 percent readiness rate was partly due to the Wildcat’s relative simplicity, but it was also a tribute to Frank Quady’s maintenance crew.  The ‘Sundowners’’ mechanics certainly deserved their reputation, as they literally built an extra fighter from the ground up.  Using portions of three or four Marine wrecks, the sailors assembled another F4F-4 which they assigned the BuAer number 11!

At the end of the first week (Sunday, 2 May) VF-11 suffered its first loss.  Sixteen ‘Sundowners’ were escorting a strike to Munda when, south of Vangunu, at 14,000 ft the ‘exec’, Sully Vogel, ran one of his fuel tanks dry and lost altitude while switching tanks.  His element leader, Bob Maxwell, moved to port to regain sight of Vogel and the two Wildcats collided.  Vogel’s propeller sliced off the last six feet of Maxwell’s fuselage (BuNo 11757), the F4F nosing up in a half loop and then falling away in a flat spin.  Maxwell managed to bail out and opened his parachute, but the other Wildcats had to continue the mission.  At 1700 hrs the returning pilots spotted Maxwell in his life raft and reported his position, although it was too late to summon help.  Vogel had aborted the mission, returning with a smashed canopy and rubber marks on one wing from Maxwell’s tyres.  ‘Maxie’ was nowhere to be seen the next morning, and he remained missing for a full two weeks until a PBY Catalina brought him back to Guadalcanal on 18 May after a harrowing, but safe, 16 days in enemy-occupied territory.  The intrepid South Carolinian had sailed his raft to Tetipari, arriving on the 5th.  He walked the length of the island in seven days, encountering a crocodile that claimed dominion over a channel on a coral beach, but otherwise Maxwell met no opposition.  On the 13th he launched his raft for Rendova, where he knew he might contact an Australian coast watcher.  He was met by friendly natives who took him to safety near Segi Lagoon on the 17th. 

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This Oogle Map shows the Solomon Islands.  Vangunu, Tetepare (Tetipari), and Rendova are situated in the “center”, as it were, of the archipelago.  

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Here’s a closer Oogle Map view of Vangunu, Tetepare (Tetipari), and Rendova. 

 

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Finally, an air photo / satellite view of the same three islands.  (This image is from Duck Duck Go, not Oogle.)    

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Also from Tillman and van der Lugt’s VF-11/111 ‘Sundowners’ 1942–95:

Maxwell’s fifth mission had been his last with VF-11, for he was flown to New Zealand, where he spent the next spent two months in hospital, recuperating from his adventure.  Subsequently he joined VF-51, becoming the squadron’s only ace aboard USS San Jacinto (CVL-30) in 1944.

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The original source of Maxwell’s report:  Intelligence Bulletin for December, 1943, from Archive.org.

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And so, here’s Robert Maxwell’s report…

Section III.  A CASTAWAY’S DIARY

1. INTRODUCTION

A U.S. aviator, forced to parachute from his plane in the South Pacific, spent two trying weeks on the sea and on practically uninhabited islands before he was rescued.  He kept a day-by-day account of his experiences, relating how he utilized his equipment, the mistakes he made, and how he obtained food and water.

A condensed version of this pilot’s diary is presented below.  In addition to being interesting, his story is believed to contain lessons which will be profitable for other members of our armed forces.  It is considered that the safe return of this pilot to his squadron should be attributed to his resourcefulness and the intelligent use he made of his equipment.  The fact that he knew where he was and where he wanted to go, and knew how to go about getting there saved him from a great deal of futile wandering and mental distress.

The names of persons and places have been omitted from the story.

2. THE DIARY

May 2 [1943]

The opening of the ‘chute snapped me up short, and I was able to look around and see my plane falling in two pieces – the tail section and about 6 feet of fuselage were drifting crazily downward and the forepart was fluttering down like a leaf.  I tried to ease the pressure of the leg straps on my thighs by pulling myself up to sit on the straps, but was unable to do so because of the weight and bulk of my life raft and cushions.  As a result, my thighs were considerably chafed.

I was so busy looking around that I didn’t notice how fast I was descending, and before I knew it I had hit the water.  The wind billowed the ‘chute out as I went under, and I was able to unfasten my chest strap and left leg strap at once; unfastening the right strap took about 45 seconds, and I held on to the straps as I was pulled along under water by the ‘chute.  I couldn’t understand why I didn’t come to the surface – then I remembered that I hadn’t pulled the CO2 (carbon dioxide) strings of my life jacket.  As soon as I had done this, my belt inflated and I came to the surface.  I immediately slipped my life raft off the leg straps, ripped off the cover, and inflated it.

During my descent I had hooked an arm through my back pack strap so as not to lose it, but during the time I was struggling under water it must have come off because, when I came up, I saw it floating about 20 feet away.  I paddled over and picked it up, along with two cushions – one of which was merely a piece of sponge rubber, 15 inches square and 2 inches thick.

After I got into the boat, I took the mirror from the back pack and discovered a deep gash, about 14 inches long, on my chin and another deep gash, about 3 inches long, on my right shin.  I took out my first-aid kit, examined the contents, and read the instructions.  I found that there was no adhesive tape in the kit – apparently it had not been replaced when the kit was checked on the ship coming down from Pearl Harbor.  I sprinkled sulfanilamide powder on both wounds and put one of the two compress bandages on my leg.  I haven’t any idea how I got either one of these cuts.  During this time I was having brief spells of nausea, but did not vomit.  However, in a short while I had a sudden bowel movement, probably as a reaction from the shock and excitement.  I felt very weak and dizzy.

I began to take stock of my equipment and to figure out where I was by consulting the strip map which I had in my pocket.  My chief aim was to reach the nearest land.

As I sat in the boat, still dazed and faint, I realized that, with the distance and prevailing northeast wind, I had little chance of making one of the larger islands.  As nearly as I could figure out, I was about 10 miles east of a small island and about 10 or 15 miles south of another.  Beyond reaching land I hadn’t formulated any plans except to reach land.

About 50 minutes after I had crashed, I saw a friendly fighter coming toward me from the west, about 50 feet off the water.  I immediately grabbed my mirror and tried to flash the plane.  The pilot wobbled the plane’s wings, came in, and circled, and I saw that it was my wing man.  Five other fighters came down and circled, apparently trying to get a fix on me, and I waved to them.

Soon they went off toward the cast, and I noticed to my consternation that dark cumulus thunderhead clouds were moving in quickly from the northeast and that the sea was getting quite rough.  I realized that no planes would come out for me then because of the approaching dusk.  Just before sundown, rain began falling, the wind became stronger, and the waves got higher and higher.  There wasn’t much I could do – I was still weak and not a little scared.  About all I did was to throw out my sea anchor – a small rubber bracket on a 7-foot line – and cover myself with my sail.  Rain fell in torrents and the wind blew all night.  I bailed out water six or seven times during the night with the small cup that the pump fits in and also with my sponge rubber cushion, but there were always 2 or 3 inches of water in the bottom.  The rest of the time, I just huddled under my sail.

May 3

The rain stopped about daybreak, but the sky was cloudy and the sea still choppy.  Off to the east I saw what appeared to be two friendly fighters in the distance, but I knew they wouldn’t see me.  As day approached, I saw that I had been blown about 10 miles south of the center of the island I was making for.  The, wind was still from the northeast and I knew I would have to paddle like the devil even to hold my own and not be blown farther out to sea.  I broke out one of my six chocolate bars and ate part of it, but I wasn’t hungry.  I also took a swallow out of my canteen, but I wasn’t particularly thirsty.  All day long I rowed with my hand paddles, sitting backward in the raft.  By 1600 my forearms were raw and chafed from rubbing against the sides of the raft.  I had stopped paddling only two or three times during the day, to eat a bite of chocolate and take a swallow of water.  Rain began falling about 1600, and I hit a new low point of discouragement when I realized that I had apparently made no headway at all during the day.

After night fell, the rain continued in intermittent showers until dawn.  The sea was still rough and the wind was from the northeast.  I tried to continue paddling, but a large fish hit my hand – I don’t know what kind it was – in fact, I didn’t even see it, but the experience dissuaded me from rowing any more in the dark.  I threw out my sea anchor again – this time with the two cushions tied on the line for additional weight – and huddled under my sail for the rest of the night.  I don’t recall that I slept this night, or any night before I got to shore – I just seemed to lie in a sort of coma.

May 4

When the sun came up, I found that I was south of the west end of the island and about two miles farther out than I had been the previous morning.  I broke out another chocolate bar for “breakfast,” drank a little water, and began to paddle again.  Some time during the day I got the idea of getting in the water and swimming along with the raft.  The only result of this maneuver was that I lost one of my hand paddles, and I went back to paddling with the remaining paddle and my bare hand.

The results of my continuous paddling were more heartening this day, and by about 1500 I realized that I had covered quite a little distance.  Just about this time, however, a big storm came from the northwest, and it began to rain again.  Again I put out my sea anchor with the cushions tied to it, and settled down under my sail.  It rained off and on all night with a northwest wind.  Although I was never very thirsty, I would catch rain on my sail and funnel it into the pump cup, drink some of it, and use the rest to keep my canteen filled.  Before the storm came that afternoon, the sun had been quite hot and I had kept my head covered with my sail and applied zinc oxide to my face.  Earlier that day I had seen four friendly fighters, going west along the south shore of this island.  I also saw a friendly patrol plane which passed over early every morning and late every evening, but because the sun was so far down each time, I was never able to signal with my mirror.

May 5

At daybreak I saw that I had drifted to a point about 6 miles south of the east end of the island.  I had another chocolate bar for breakfast and a little water, and I was considerably encouraged when I found that the wind was blowing from the southeast.  This meant that I had a very good chance of reaching the island, so I pulled in my sea anchor and began paddling.  Some time during the morning my remaining hand paddle slipped off in the water and, forgetting that I had my life belt inflated, I jumped overboard to retrieve it.  Of course, I couldn’t get under the surface and soon gave up.

I stopped paddling only to take an occasional swallow of water, and about 1800 I came close to the shore.  The surf didn’t look too bad.  I headed right in – a mistake, as it turned out, for as soon as I got in closer I found that the waves were at least 50 feet high (*), the highest surf I’ve ever seen.  About this time a big one broke.in front of me.  It was too late to turn back.  I felt as if I were 50 feet in the air when it broke, and all I could see in front of me was the jagged coral of the beach.  I tried to beat the next one in, but it caught me just after it broke and tossed me end-over-the-kettle into the coral.

Fortunately, I missed hitting the sharpest coral and received only a few cuts on my hands.  My boat landed about 50 feet away in a sort of channel leading into the beach.  I tried to stand up and found that I couldn’t walk.  Finally, I crawled over to the little channel, got my boat, and dragged it up on a small sandy beach.  Since I had tied my belongings rather securely to the raft, the only items that were missing were the pump, the two cushions, and the can of sea marker.  I was very tired and very weak; I turned my raft upside down and lay on it, with my sail over me, trying to sleep, but apparently I was too tired to sleep – I think I only dozed for periods of a few minutes at the most.

May 6

At dawn I began to look for coconuts on the ground and found one mature nut under a tree.  The tree was about 25 feet high, and I immediately set to thinking how I could get more of the nuts off it.  I was, of course, too weak to climb and I thought of cutting notches in the tree.  It was hopeless, and I opened the one coconut.  The seed had already sprouted and there wasn’t much milk in it; since I wasn’t hungry, I ate only a little of the meat.

Instead, I had my usual “breakfast” of a chocolate bar, laid out my things to dry, cleaned my knife and gun as best I could, and rested some more.  Although my .45 had been wet almost constantly and was quite rusty, the moving parts worked all right after I had applied more oil to them.

Then I started out to find some pandanus nuts, having read and reread my guidebook.  I found a few, but they were so high I couldn’t get to them.  In the afternoon I sorted my equipment and rested.  By this time I had decided to try reaching the western end of the island.  I wasn’t sure whether there were any Japs or natives on the island, but thought I might at least run into some natives.

During the day I ran across a crocodile in a channel in the coral beach, but we parted company at once, without incident.  Toward evening, rain threatened.  I made a coconut cup, imbedded it in the sand, and rigged my sail around it so that it would catch water and funnel it into the cup through a small hole in the sail.  The rain began when it got dark.  I settled myself on the ground under a tree and pulled my rubber boat over me for shelter.

May 7

In the morning I worked out a plan for getting some coconuts.  I cut several notches in the trunk of the tree and then made a sort of rope ladder with my sea anchor line, placed this around the trunk so that it would slip, and pushed it up as far as I could.  Climbing up by these means, I was able to reach and twist off two coconuts.  This was pretty exhausting work, so I rested for a while and then filled my canteen with the rain water that had accumulated in the coconut cup.  I drank the milk from the coconut and ate a little of the soft meat, but still I was not very hungry.  My store of chocolate bars was down to two, so I decided to conserve them.

I then packed all my gear in my back pack, rolled up my life raft, and set out to walk along the coast to the west end of the island.  There was a 100-yard stretch of coral between the water and the beach, and it was not bad walking.  Naturally, I was glad I hadn’t discarded by shoes in the water.  Several times I came to channels in the coral, usually at the mouths of small streams, and then I would have to blow up my life belt and swim across.  At one such “place I saw more fish and tried to catch one with my fishing line and pork-rind bait, but the fish declined to bite.

Late in the day I came to a sandy beach, along which I walked until it was dark.  Then I made a crude lean-to of palm fronds against a tree trunk, blew up my life raft, and settled down on it with my sail as a cover.  I smeared zinc oxide on my face – I put either zinc oxide or vaseline on my face each morning and night for protection against sunburn, and also periodically put vaseline on the gash on my shin and on my hands, which were cracked from the salt water.  The sulfanilamide powder was rather water-soaked, so I used vaseline instead.  Aside from a daily quinine pill, that was the extent of my doctoring.  Fortunately, the gash on my chin had closed pretty well.

That night I woke up from one of my periods of dozing to find that the tide had come in.  I scrambled around, moving my gear to a dry spot, and discovered that the tide had carried away my sail and my shoulder holster.  Luckily, I had my .45 close to my side, but one of the two clips in the holster contained all my tracer bullets.

May 8

In the morning, after I had eaten half of my remaining chocolate bar, I started walking again.  Most of the time I walked in the water up to my knees.  Soon the coral ledge ended and I had to strike inland because I couldn’t get through the immense surf that was washing against the high rock and coral of the shore.  I would go inland a little way, parallel the coast by clambering up and down the ridges, and then go back to the shore to see if I could make my way along it.  During the day I saw two more crocodiles in a small lagoon and my only snake, a small blue snake about 1 1/2 feet long with a flat tail.  During the day I found several coconuts along the beach and on the ground, and I drank the milk.  As dusk came on, I was inland, climbing one of the ridges.  It began to rain.  I put my life jacket and back pack on the ground, under a log, and lay on my deflated life raft.  It rained all night, and by morning I was lying in mud.

May 9

During the morning I crossed more ridges, which ran down to the shore from the central range.  This was pretty tiring – mostly I would zigzag up them, and then slip and slide down.  I was always hopeful that I would be able to make my way along the coast, but this was impossible.  During the day I ate some fern leaves and the remainder of my last chocolate bar.  At dusk I came down to the coast to see whether I had rounded a particular rocky point.  I found that I hadn’t, and decided to spend the night in a small cave in the coral, which was about 100 feet above and 150 feet back from the water.  I slept on my back pack and life jacket and used my deflated raft as a cover.  After sleeping spasmodically, I was awakened at dawn by a wave breaking at the entrance to the cave.

May 10

In the morning, rain was falling and the wind was blowing; I could make little headway over the rocks and coral so I took to the ridges again.  I ate some ferns, and about 1450 I came onto the shore where there was a good sandy beach.  The hills were smaller, and there was a grove of coconut palms.  I was near the end of the island and could see the next one about 2 or 3 miles across the channel.  In the shallow water I found two small crabs and about eight mussels.  I ate the crabs raw, and, putting the mussels in my pocket, headed for a small bay.  It was a fine afternoon and I built a lean-to of sticks and palm fronds and blew up my raft.  I then tried some of the mussels and found that they were rather unpleasantly slimy.  When I ate the rest the next day, I washed them first and they tasted pretty good.   It rained that night, and since my lean-to did not prove to be as water-proof as I had expected, I got under my boat.

May 11

The next morning I rested, and ate the meat and drank the milk of a few coconuts.  I decided not to build a fire because of the possibility of attracting Japs, but to get to the next island and try to make contact with the natives.  I filled my canteen from a stream.  Late in the afternoon a number of friendly bombers and fighters came over going west and soon returned.  Both times I used my mirror to try to attract their attention.  I was quite weak and tired, but built a new and better lean-to.  That night I dozed fitfully and the mosquitoes were quite annoying.  The only other noteworthy incident that day was my first bowel movement since the one immediately after parachuting into the sea.

May 12

In the morning I washed my clothes and set about making some oars.  I found two small pieces of lumber with a few nails and a screw in them, and, using the nails and a screw, I attached two sticks to the pieces of lumber to make a serviceable pair of oars.  Then I ran my sea anchor line around my boat through the rings, and attached to it another piece of rope that I had found.  I made two loops in the rope for oar locks.  By looping the rope around my feet I could get leverage for rowing.  I used some sponge rubber from my back pack to make pads for oars.  I slit my back pack and inserted a couple of sticks; this provided me with a sail.  When I had completed my preparations in the evening, I gave my craft a brief shake-down cruise, dined on coconuts, and went to sleep.1

May 13

With the meat of two coconuts and my canteen of water as provisions, I set out early in the morning on my voyage to the next island.  I went out to sea through a break in the reef and soon found that, although my course was due west, I was heading northwest.  This was due to a north-northeast wind, and I rowed constantly because of the possibility of being blown south Of the hook of the island.  About noon I headed into a sandy beach on the south shore of the hook and again found to my dismay that I had underestimated the size of the surf.  The waves caught me and tossed me onto a fairly smooth coral ledge.  I was under water for what seemed a very long time – actually about 45 seconds – but managed to hold onto my boat.  As I struggled to my feet I heard someone shouting and was overjoyed to see two natives in a canoe about 50 yards off shore waving to me.

I got into the canoe with all my gear except the back-pack cover and we started east to the south shore of the point, where we met two more natives in another canoe and put into the beach.  The natives brought some water and a taro from a hut.  After a while we started around the point and along the shore.  The natives asked me if I were thirsty, and when I said that I was, we again put into the beach and went into another hut, where I saw a collapsible Japanese boat.  One of the natives climbed a 50-foot coconut palm and brought me some coconuts.

Finally we pushed on to a village about halfway up the coast.  There I was greeted by the chief.  After being given pineapple and taro, I was taken to another hut where it was indicated that I was to sleep.  I was given a corner of a low platform, a clean bamboo mat, and a pillow and blanket.  After eating more pineapple and taro, I talked mostly with the chief’s son, who had been to a mission school and was quite interested in America.  After dark we all went to sleep.

Traveling from island to island for three days, the natives managed to get me to the U.S. outpost, where I was picked up and carried back to my organization.

(*) This height, estimated by the writer, is believed to be excessive.

References

Intelligence Bulletin, V II N 4, December, 1943, Military Intelligence Division, War Department, Washington, D.C.

Tillman, Barret; van der Lugt, Henk; Holmes, Tony, VF-11/111 ‘Sundowners’ 1942–95 – Aviation Elite Units 36, Osprey Publishing Company, London, England, 2012

No Longer Missing: The Survival of Second Lieutenant Clarence T. Johnson, Jr., 7th Fighter Squadron, 9th Fighter Group, June 15, 1942

“Finally the boat stopped and was quiet for a time, but I continued calling until I heard answering voices.  I thought them to be a group of soldiers out for an outing trip just for the fun of it.  The finally found me, however, and got me down out of the tree; it was then I learned they were a searching party looking for me, and they had searched for two days.  They later told me that they had no idea I was there and did not hear my calls until the motor had stopped.  Jack Murray had the black Abo trackers with him and one of them wanted to stop and take a look at the shore at this point.  Jack Murray did not want to stop but the Abo insisted so he pulled up to shore just to please the Abo.  It was then they heard my yells for the first time.  It seemed almost as if the Abo had had some sort of premonition of my being there and would not go on without first investigating.” 

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Paralleling the previous account of the shoot-down, survival, and return of Lieutenant John D. Landers, “this” post focuses on the survival of another 9th Fighter Squadron pilot whose story is related in Steve W. Ferguson and William K. Pasaclis’ Protect & Avenge: the 49th Fighter Group in World War II: First Lieutenant Clarence T. Johnson, Jr.  

Johnson’s survival and rescue occurred half a year earlier than that of Landers:  On June 15, 1942, during the 7th Fighter Squadron’s engagement with Zero fighters while intercepting G4M bombers over the Cox Peninsula, in Australia’s Northern Territory.  Akin to the account of Landers in Protect & Avenge, Johnson’s bail-out and survival comprise four sentences of text.  But, the full story of his survival, recorded in the historical records of the 7th Fighter Squadron – below – is at once dramatic, compelling, and powerful, given the starkly remote nature of the area where he landed by parachute, which in some ways seems as inhospitable – if not moreso? – than that of New Guinea.  And, on an intangible level, his survival was attributable to an element of chance – and much more than chance alone – for he was ultimately returned back to the land of the living due to the intuition of a native Aboriginal tracker.

So, akin to the post about Landers, this post includes Ferguson and Pascalis’ account of the December 26, combat, below, followed by a verbatim transcript of Landers’ own story, from AFHRA Microfilm Reel AO 720.  The post also includes an image from Protect & Avenge, and some maps from our lord and master (we love  oligarchy!) Oogle. 

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THE THIRD RAID; JUNE 15th

The raiders repeated the same tactics with 21 fighters preceding 27 high flying bombers on the next day.  Of the 28 Warhawks that went aloft, the 8th Squadron was again unable to break through the escorts and could not hit the bombers in the initial contact over Beagle Gulf.  The 9th and 7th Squadrons again were heavily engaged.

The 9th FS was routinely up above Darwin proper with 2 Lts. George “Red” Manning leading the flight of wingmen Tom Fowler, Clay Peterson and “crocodile bait” Bob McComsey who had only recently returned to flight status.  Red Manning was a short, sandy-haired German-American who loved to argue and set up a personal confrontation with an element of the 3rd Ku directly above the docks.  After wingman Fowler joined in the fray, and McComsey with wingman Peterson followed, three ZEROs reeled out of the fight.

The enemy bombers had reached the docks by this time, dropped their ordinance and set fire to some of the nearby buildings.  Even the convalescing Van Auken and his attending physician were forced to seek refuge beneath the Major’s hospital bed as bombs struck near the Kahlin dispensary.  As the raiders turned west and began to accelerate in a descent over Cox Peninsula, they were met by the 7th Squadron.

The Screamin’ Demons were in two flights at 24,000 feet to ensure they would intercept the bomber formation which had been missed at their higher altitudes in the two previous raids.  With Blue Flight led by ace Ops Exec Hennon, and Red Flight led by Squadron Deputy CO Capt. Prentice, they dived to the left rear quarter attack on the G4M raiders, but only Hennon and wingman 2 Lt. C.T. Johnson closed to within firing range before the ZEROs intervened.  Johnson lost power momentarily and a ZERO quickly cut him off from his flight.  The 3rd Ku aviator riddled the sputtering Warhawk, and Johnson tried to escape in the stricken fighter, but the Allison engine caught fire.  He bailed out at nearly 18,000 feet over hazy Cox Peninsula (as of 2016, reportedly with a population of 15 people).

In the meantime, Red Flt Ldr Prentice and wingman 2 Lt. Claude Burtnette had engaged two escorts and both men opened fire, sending the ZEROs spinning down toward the Gulf.  Second Lt. Gil Portmore in the second Red element also fired a broad deflection volley at a third ZERO which plunged downward, but the Demons were quickly overwhelmed.  Red Flight was engaged by an enemy quartet and in the ensuing maneuvers, the Demon team split up.  After shaking a ZERO off his tail, Burtnette of Blue Flight set off alone after the escaping bombers beyond Cox Peninsula, but was attacked again off the west shore by a 3rd Ku escort whose 20mm cannon fire blew off the ammo bay panel from the top of his right wing.  He bailed out into the sea just west of Indian Island and floated in his Mae West vest while Capt. Hennon circled over his downed wingman until the ZEROs left the area.  Burtnette reached Quail Island over two hours later and was spotted by a pair of RAAF Wirraway patrol planes who radioed his location to the Navy.  The Australian lugger Kuru picked him up early the following morning from the north beach of Quail Island.

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(Johnson’s original account, from AFHRA Microfilm Reel AO 720)

REPORT OF LIEUT. JOHNSON
7TH Pursuit Squadron

Report of Lieutenant Clarence T. Johnson, Jr., 7th Pursuit Squadron, who parachuted from his plane following engagement with the enemy.  Lt. Johnson reports as follows:

We went up when the alert was sounded at about 11:45 a.m. June 15, and intercepted the enemy bombers at about 25,000 feet when they were heading away from where they had dropped their bombs.  I attacked a formation of bombers picking on one that was lagging behind, came right in on his tail and firing a burst into the rear of the ship.  The gunner was firing on me all the time and I evidently failed to hit anything as he kept us his fire.  I then heard bullets in my plane ripping up the canopy and I thought I had been jumped by Zeros, so I cut away quickly but could not see any Zeros.  I then made a deflection shot at another bomber in the middle of the formation and at that time my motor R.P.M. dropped off and then stopped completely smoke pouring out very badly.  I was ahead of bombers and dropped down trying to gain speed to come up under the belly of the bombers, got the nose up and took a long shot at them but did nothing.  I tried to head my plane back to the field, but the haze was so bad from forest fires etc., that I could not get directions just right.  I was calling in on my radio all the time telling them I was coming down and tried to stay with it as long as possible.  Evidently my canopy had been hit by bullets as there were holes ripped in it about six inches long.  I pulled the emergency release and it flew open.  I tried to get my canteen out but it was stuck in beside the seat and I could not get it loose before bailing out.  The flame was then coming from the plane so I rolled it on its back and fell out.  As I did so my leg hit the rudder or some other part.  I opened my ‘chute immediately my boots being jerked off at the same time.  I was at approximately 18,000 feet when I bailed out.  While coming down I took a piece of paper from my pocket and tried to map out the area I was going down in.  There had been several planes around up until this time but [I] did not see any after that.  I landed in a burned out area with numerous stumps and trees sticking up, and I was lucky not to land in one.  As I was coming down I thought I saw a stream of water about one and one half miles to the west, so I picked up and went in that direction and found a large spring in a clump of green trees, so I established camp there.

After resting a while I cut two panels out of my parachute and made ropes from the shroud lines and ripped up two white flags which I put in the top of the highest trees.  Then I spread my parachute on the ground and made myself a cup of hot chocolate with water from the spring.  I could not sleep until night and then I got up at about 3:30 or 4:00 o’clock in the morning with the intention of wandering toward the river which I thought I saw the day before.  When I was almost there I discovered that I had left my compass at the camp along with my other equipment and decided to return for it before it was too late.  I got lost and never found the camp.  I wandered around for several hours and finally about noon I came upon the river again.  I noticed the current flowing one way and thought it must be down stream, as I followed the river all that day and late into the night spending the remainder of the night on the banks.  Early the next morning I saw planes flying around from time to time but they did not see me and I had no way of signaling them, so there was nothing I could do.  I followed the river all the way and finally came upon the source of the stream instead of the mouth which I expected.  It was fed by [a] large fresh water spring.  I spent the night there.  I arose early in the morning with the intention of walking the length of the stream to the coast where I expected to find food stores.  I also thought of finding an Abo camp which I thought might be near, and where food etc., could be obtained.  As I walked down the river I swam from side to side so that I could not miss any camps or food stores which might be on either side.  Often I could not see the river for the dense undergrowth bushes which grew along the banks.  On the fourth night I was getting very hungry and weak as I had had absolutely no food since the first day.  When I bailed out of the plane there were four shells in my gun three of which I had shot.  I was saving the last one for myself.  I was in the water for about four hours trying to cut my way through the mangrove growth to get to the shore as I was positive the ocean was near.  Finally made my way through the swamp where the mud was waist deep and I picked out a good place to spend the night.  I was about to make camp when I heard what sounded like a motor boat gradually growing louder and louder.  I thought this must be my last chance, so I automatically climbed a tree, fired my .45 and began yelling, but the boat kept going and I kept telling.  Finally the boat stopped and was quiet for a time, but I continued calling until I heard answering voices.  I thought them to be a group of soldiers out for an outing trip just for the fun of it.  The finally found me, however, and got me down out of the tree; it was then I learned they were a searching party looking for me, and they had searched for two days.  They later told me that they had no idea I was there and did not hear my calls until the motor had stopped.  Jack Murray had the black Abo trackers with him and one of them wanted to stop and take a look at the shore at this point.  Jack Murray did not want to stop but the Abo insisted so he pulled up to shore just to please the Abo.  It was then they heard my yells for the first time.  It seemed almost as if the Abo had had some sort of premonition of my being there and would not go on without first investigating.  They made me some hot tea and heated me some stew – the first food I had eaten in four days.  I was then taken to an Abo camp which was about a half day’s journey arriving in the evening.  There was a government lugger across the bay where they took me for a good bed.  Sub Lieut. Secrest [sic] was in command and they fixed up my feet and gave me a good bed for the night.  The motor of the boat had gone out and they used sails to take us gradually toward Point Charles.  Late in the afternoon the wind gave out and the current was against us, so they radioed in for a tow.  They had also sent a message the evening before that I had been rescued.  At about 7:30 a boat came out and towed us in and I was taken to the Darwin Hospital where I spent the night.  I had gone five days without food of any kind – Monday noon to Saturday noon – when I was rescued.  I kept trace of time by making nicks in my ring with a finger nail file.

I would recommend that some sort of signaling equipment be provided all pilots such as a very pistol, flares, or some sort of rocket.  Also, in this section there always are fires burning, and if some sort of chemical could be had that would make a distinguishing colored smoke when placed in the fire, it would be easy to locate the lost pilot.  I also advise all pilots to wear some sort of strap-on boots that cannot be jerked off when the pilot bails out of his ship.  It is a good idea to wear coveralls as a protection for the legs and carry a gun and knife.  Never wander off unless you know exactly what you are doing and always carry compass.  Don’t throw away any equipment as you can make shoes out of parachute cover etc., and don’t cut the pants legs off.  Above all don’t get excited or hysterical; think things out reasonably; use your head; and don’t get discouraged and give up.  But don’t drive yourself and use all your energy in one day; conserve as much of your energy as you can.  A slow steady pace will make your energy last longer.

CLARENCE T. JOHNSON, Jr.
2nd Lt., Air Corps.

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A little over five months after Lt. Johnson’s rescue, the San Bernardino Sun published an article about his military service.  The article was found at the California Digital Newspaper Collection of the University of California at Riverside Center for Bibliographical Studies and Research.  

LT. JOHNSON, FIGHTING ARMY PILOT, HONORED

San Bernardino Sun
October 23, 1942

S.B. Youth Again Decorated for Valor in Action Against Japs in South Pacific

Lieut. Clarence T. Johnson Jr., son of Major and Mrs. C.T. Johnson of San Bernardino, again has been decorated for heroism while serving with the U.S. Army Air Force in Australia, according to word received in San Bernardino yesterday.

Previously he had been awarded the silver star for action near Darwin, Australia, June 13, and the purple heart for bravery in an aerial battle over Horn island March 14 in which he was wounded.

Lieutenant Johnson was awarded oak leaf dusters, his latest decoration, at Gen. Douglas MacArthur’s Headquarters.  The presentation was made by Major-Gen. George C. Kenney.

SHOOTS DOWN ZERO

The award was in recognition of two recent encounters with the enemy.  In the most recent action, Lieutenant Johnson was piloting a P-40 over Horn Island off northern Australia when he was Intercepted by a formation of Jap planes.

In a swift air battle, Lieutenant Johnson, succeeded in shooting down one zero fighter and then escaped without damage to his ship.

The silver star award was for his attack on 27 Jap bombers near Darwin.  The assault was so successful that three or four enemy planes were caught in bursts from his machine guns and disabled.  Lieutenant Johnson continued the attack after one motor of his ship [? – !] was disabled.  His plane burst into flames and he was forced to bail out.

LOST IN JUNGLE

Upon landing, he found himself in wild jungle and swamp, through which he had to make his way unaided for six days before reaching his base. 

His absence resulted in a report that he was “missing.” 

Major Johnson, former San Bernardino mayor, is now in charge of an army recreation camp at Brunswick, Ga.  Mrs. Johnson was executive secretary of the San Bernardino chapter of the Red Cross until she resigned a few months ago to join Major Johnson.

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“7th FS cadre veteran C.T. Johnson (left), red flight leader Frank Nichols and veteran A.T. House cited at 14 Mile Field immediately after their part in the Lae convoy strike on January 7th.”  (From Protect & Avenge)

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Australia! – care of Oogle maps.  The general location of the Cox Peninsula, in the Northern Territory, is indicated by the red oval.  

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Zooming in onto the Cox Peninsula, again denoted by a red oval.  Note the city of Darwin to the east, separated from the Cox Peninsula by the Beagle Gulf / Port Darwin / Fannie Bay.    

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This map, from Protect & Avenge, gives a general view of geographic features surrounding Darwin, with the locations of 49th Fighter Group aircraft losses – which specifically resulted in fatalities to pilots or personnel – denoted, for a total of ten such symbols.  Since Johnson survived, by definition there is no such symbol for his shoot-down.  

 

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Oogling in for a map view of the Cox Peninsula.  Though Darwin, the capital of Northern Australia, has appreciably grown since WW II (according to Wikipedia, the population is now over 147,000), note the barren appearance of the Cox Peninsula.  Other than Wagait Beach, there’s not much in the way of human habitation.   

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An equivalent air photo / satellite view of the above map.  

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The northern shore of the Cox Peninsula, showing the location of the Point Charles Lighthouse, mentioned in Johnson’s report.  The lighthouse faces the Beagle Gulf.    

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Zooming in even further, the lighthouse is in the center of this image.  

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And now for something completely different.  (Albeit unsurprising in the world of 2021.)  When I was putting together this post and perusing Oogle Maps / Oogle Street view, I couldn’t help but notice the presence of a McDonald’s Restaurant (on Bagot Road, in the Aboriginal Community of Bagot) in Darwin’s northern inner suburb of Ludmilla.  Something tells me that this street had a markedly different appearance back in 1942…  

References

Ferguson, Steve W. and Pascalis, William K., Protect & Avenge: the 49th Fighter Group in World War II, Schiffer Publishing, Atglen, Pa., 1996

Hess, William N., 49th Fighter Group: Aces of the Pacific, Osprey Publishing Company, London, England, 2014

AFHRA Microfilm Reel A0720, frames 1059 and 1060 (Johnson – 6/15/42)

Point Charles Lighthouse, at Geocaching Australia

Point Charles Lighthouse, at Wikipedia

No Longer Missing: The Survival of First Lieutenant John D. Landers, 7th Fighter Squadron, 9th Fighter Group, December 26, 1942

“Upon looking down I realized the ‘chute had opened just in time, because I was right in the tree tops, having bailed out at a very low altitude.  After landing in the trees which were about seventy-five to one hundred feet high I finally succeeded in cutting myself loose and scaled down three different vines before reaching the ground.  The jungle was so thick I could not even find my jungle pack which I had pitched from the tree.”

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A central, natural theme of the literature of military aviation – regardless of the era, geographic theater, or level of technology – has revolved around accounts of aerial combat, particularly between fighter planes.  However, even with the fascination inherent to such tales on historical, intellectual, and even emotional levels, they’re often characterized by a kind of…  Well, on a literary level … sense of “roteness” … to the point where an author could “swap out” opposing pilots aircraft types and nationalities; even change the very conflict in question, and create a tale having a similar – if not the same? – literary and emotional impact.    

However, in another respect, the literature of military aviation is often characterized by a theme of a different nature.  That lies not in stories about aerial victories, military awards, technology, camouflage and markings, and aircraft “nose art”, but instead in accounts about the survival of aviators who did not, n e c e s s a r i l y (!) emerge completely victorious – or victorious at all, in any way! – from engagements with an enemy.  Stories of endurance, perseverance, and survival in settings where climate, geography, remoteness from immediate aid, and sometimes a combination of injury and isolation render a downed pilots’ chance of survival problematic at best, and minimal at worst.  Of course, this doesn’t even begin to take account of the possibility of capture by enemy forces, let alone the sometimes much worse threat posed by enemy civilians…

Well, there are myriads upon myriads (upon many?!) such tales in the popular literature of military aviation, and in “this” post you’ll be able to read such an account: It’s the story of the shoot-down and survival of Lieutenant John D. Landers on December 26, 1942, during the 9th Fighter Squadron’s (49th Fighter Group’s) encounter with Ki 43 Oscars of the Japanese Army Air Force’s 11th Sentai over eastern New Guinea.  The story of this aerial engagement can be found in Steve W. Ferguson and William K. Pascalis’ Protect & Avenge: the 49th Fighter Group in World War II (1994), where Lander’s experiences – after bailing of his P-40 – comprise a single paragraph.  Having access to the original historical records of the 9th Fighter Squadron (in digital form, from the AFHRA), I was able to find the account composed by Landers himself, after his rescue and eventual return to the 9th Fighter Squadron.  

This is not at all meant as a criticism of Protect & Avenge, for this fine book (any substantive aviation history, really) would be both prohibitively lengthy and expensive were it to include each and every facet of information from historical records.  

The post includes Ferguson and Pascalis’ account of the December 26, combat (immediately below) followed by a verbatim transcript of Landers’ own story, from AFHRA Microfilm Reel AO 720.  Also included are images from Protect & Avenge, William N. Hess 49th Fighter Group: Aces of the Pacific, and some maps and air / satellite images showing New Guinea, zooming in on the location of Pongani village, which location is central to the story.

As for 1 Lt. Lieutenant John D. Landers himself?  He eventually rose to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel, being credited with 14.5 aerial victories: six in the Pacific while serving in the 9th Fighter Squadron, and eight and a half in the European Theater while serving with the 38th, 357th, and 78th Fighter Squadrons, of the – respectively – 55th, 355th, and 82nd Fighter Groups of the 8th Air Force.  

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THE BEST VS. THE BEST; DECEMBER 26, 1942

As the 49ers shuttled men and planes at Moresby, the JAAF 11th Sentai began their active participation in the operations from Malahang strip, northeast of Lae Village.  After a number of small reconnaissance flights, the OSCARs flew a sweep in force to the south in the improved weather of mid-morning on December 26th.

Likewise, the second Warhawk patrol lifted off from the fields at Port Moresby between the intermittent rain showers and coasted over the Owen Stanley Mountains toward the Buna area.  Senior Lt. “Big John” Landers led a dozen Warhawks with White Flight at 14,000 feet, Blue Flight at 10,000 and Red Flight at 8,000, all meant to orbit over Buna.  Just as they arrived, the Dobodura air controller urgently called for fighter cover.  “ZEKEs” were strafing the landing area and attacking a flight of RAAF Hudson transports, one of which carried none other than Gen. Blarney, head of the Allied army in New Guinea.  Landers ordered “tanks off” and the Flying Knights peeled off for the interception.

The “ZEKEs,” of course, were the Lae OSCARs that had caught the Hudsons at low altitude.  As the OSCARs separated momentarily in their mad chase after the RAAF bombers, Landers’ Red and Blue Flights burst out of the hazy overcast and struck the enemy over Dobodura airfield.  The Knights latched onto their targets and a vicious dogfight raged from 5000 feet down to the tree tops.

Blue Flight engaged first as veteran element leader Jim “Duckbutt” Watkins and wingman Art Wenige held together to make two coordinated passes against the OSCARs.  Blue Leader Bill Levitan and wingman Bill Sells separated in the first hard turn, but they quickly bested a pair of enemy fighters beneath the hazy overcast.  Before the Blue quartet was forced to break off due to low ammo and fuel, Levitan, Sells, Watkins and Wenige each claimed to have destroyed one the assailants.  As for Red flight, things turned out differently for Darwin veteran John Landers.

In Red Flight’s attack descent through the broken overcast, Landers’ elements lost formation and remained dangerously separated throughout the fight.  In his first combat engagement, wingman 2 Lt. Bob McDaris claimed a “ZEKE” destroyed and another heavily damaged, but failed to relocate his flight leader.  “Mac” made a solo retreat for Moresby.  Likewise, 2 Lt  John “Baggie” Bagdasarian had chased an OSCAR off the tail of Blue Flight’s Watkins, but Baggie’s old stager could not stand the strain and he set the P-40E with its blown Allison engine down safely at Dobodura.

Landers, flying #75 THE REBEL (formerly CO Irvin’s old ship), plunged right into the midst of a regrouping flight of six OSCARs, and took them all on at once.  Big John’s wild aerobatics in the REBEL so startled his opponents that he bested two of them before the odds overcame him.  One of the sentai masters finally swung his nimble Ki-43 in behind Landers and the lone Knight could not shake free.  The REBEL was perforated by a long, accurate stream of 7mm tracers.

Landers broke down and away for the safety of the foothills to the south, but his pursuer riddled the REBEL again before he could drop behind the crest of the forested terrain.  Big John pulled back his canopy, stepped out on the wing and was swept off in the slipstream at 1000 feet of altitude.  He was jolted in the straps below the burst of his chute and fell into the dense forest due east of the coastal village of Pongani.

The hefty pilot survived a rough tumble through the limbs of a tall tree and came to rest in a dense thicket that took several hours to negotiate.  Once able to find better footing in a stream, after three days, Landers eventually waded to a small village not far from Pongani.  The tribal elder there graciously took a personal liking to the six foot, four inch “plenty whitey goodfella.”  They gave the blond giant food and shelter for the night, and on the next day, a native party escorted Landers down the trail to Pongani village.  Big John soon caught the next transport flight for Port Moresby.

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(Landers’ original account, from AFHRA Microfilm Reel AO 720)

Combat Report of 1st. Lieut. JOHN D. LANDERS, 0-431968,
9th Fighter Squadron, 49th Fighter Group.

On December 26, 1942, the red flight of which I was leader and including Lt. R.A. Francis, Lt. R.A. McDaris and Lt. W.D. Sells took off at 0945 o’clock for patrol over Buna.  My flight was split up due to radio disturbance and poor reception, leaving two two-ship elements.  We were patrolling at about 3,000 feet.  At 11:15 o’clock Wewoka called and said that enemy aircraft were strafing Dobodura.  At 11:17 I dropped my belly tank, turned on my gun switches and dove down to 1,000 feet directly behind a Zero.  I got to within 200 feet of the Zero before I fired.  As I squeezed the trigger a trail of black smoke came from the Zero and it immediately blew up.  This was the first of three Zeros which were attacking an allied transport.  I turned into the second one which was also in a turn.  I fired a burst ahead of him and through him.  I turned back around and followed him and got another burst into him as I was turning to my left and he was turning into me.  While firing the second bust, which was a long one, I could see that the Zero was smoking, and I expected it to blow up like the first one but it burst into flames and went down.  At this time I observed about eighteen to twenty holes in my left wing and immediately banked over to my left at which time I saw a third Zeke firing at me.  I pulled over this Zero and started into an intense dog fight at about 1,000 feet.  He hit me with three different bursts, all deflection shots, and I felt certain that this was one of “Tojo’s hot pilots”.  One burst hit the wing, another his across the nose and in the engine and the other one across my tail section.  My engine was smoking badly from underneath.  During the latter part of the dogfight I was beginning to lose power, so I turned away from the Zero toward a gap between the mountain tops of the Hydrographer’s range and the clouds, just a small opening, but I headed right for it.  My engine started running rougher and smoking more, so I prepared to bail out if my engine stopped.  Just before I got to the mountain range my engine started missing fire and then quit altogether just as I cleared the mountain top.  I lowered my nose to keep from stalling out, rolled back my canopy, cut my switches, unfastened my safety belt and prepared to jump.  I banked to the left about 15 degrees, stuck out my left arm and shoulder and head and let the wind suck me out.  About half way out my feet got caught and I had to kick them free.  Just as I saw the tail of my plane go by I pulled the rip cord.

Upon looking down I realized the ‘chute had opened just in time, because I was right in the tree tops, having bailed out at a very low altitude.  After landing in the trees which were about seventy-five to one hundred feet high I finally succeeded in cutting myself loose and scaled down three different vines before reaching the ground.  The jungle was so thick I could not even find my jungle pack which I had pitched from the tree.  While in the tree I could hear a running stream which seemed very near but which took me forty-five minutes to reach due to the intense jungle.  Upon reaching the stream I started walking up stream to a village which I had sighted while in the air.  After walking for six hours I came upon a native woman with two kids.  She was so startled to see me that she started bellowing like a cow until the whole village came.  They led me to a shack and built a fire just outside; it was raining.  We sat around and made signs and I tried to make myself understood as to what I wanted done and where I wanted to go.  There were only three words the natives in the village could say, namely: Jap, American and machine gun.  I gave them many gifts, shiny objects.  They fed me paw paw, bananas and sweet potatoes.  We then went back to the village on a mountain about a mile from where I bailed out.  It only took us about two hours to reach this destination by native trails.  They showed me .50 calibre ammunition they had taken from my plane, approximately where it had landed.  This proved a help in getting them to lead me to the plane later.  I made them understand that I wanted them to take me to my plane the following day.  Just before dark a group of natives came up with my parachute, which they had removed by climbing the tree.  The ‘chute was badly torn from having caught on the branches.  I learned it might be a good idea to remain with the ‘chute because the natives seemed to have no trouble in finding the ‘chute, as they indicated that they watch the sky when hearing combat.  I later used part of the ‘chute as cover.

There was only one shack in this village on the mountain top which was about two miles actually from the village.  This shack was a grass hut about twenty by fifteen feet and about four feet high.  That night when I got ready to go to bed they cleared a place in one of the corners, laid a mat down for me to sleep on, gave me the chute to cover with and the air cushion for a pillow.  They fed me again by cooking green bananas over the fire and sweet potatoes.  There were 23 natives and myself in this hut those two nights.  The first morning in the jungle we awoke at seven o’clock.  The men, women and children, the latter ranging from four and five up, sat around for an hour and smoked.  At eight o’clock we started eating, a meal which consisted of cooked bananas, sweet potatoes and paw paw.  Then they started combing their hair and primping up for the day; the men shaved with old double edge blades which upon examination must have been a pulling action.  Each man carried a mirror.  This lasted until nine o’clock and I afterwards learned that this was daily routine with this group of natives.

We started out on a march to my plane which lasted about two hours.  Upon arriving there I could see that the plane was beyond saving.  The plane did not burn but was completely demolished.  I especially checked on radio equipment and everything was completely broken up including instruments.  I sat around until about two o’clock and watched them take the souvenir pieces from the mountain side.  I was amused to note that the women carried the whole load back to the camp.  I spent that evening in the hut with the twenty-three natives.  It was understood that they were to take me to Gore the next morning.

I had six guides from the village.  We stuck to native trails throughout the entire march over the mountains and streams.  A stream was always at the foot of the mountains and I was well supplied with good clear drinking water from them.  Native food was plentiful, consisting of bananas and paw paws.  At the villages we passed through I was given coconut milk to drink.  The first night we slept in a deserted village of about fifteen shacks.  The following morning my guides obtained other guides and the original group returned to their village.

In each village I slept in a shack which was set aside for visitors.  My guides, myself and the owner of the shack were the only ones who slept there.  The wives and children went elsewhere for the night.  They were always expecting me from one village to the next by the guides shouting from mountain tops.  Preparations would be made, such as having a boy climb a tree to get me a coconut and the like.  The natives took especial interest in my gun and wanted me to shoot all the birds along the trail which they would keep to eat later.

On my fourth day I found a native who could speak very good English.  I asked him if he would guide me the rest of the way to the coast but he replied, “I would if I could but I don’t think my wife would let me.”  He used Aussie slang freely and said that his wife spoke as good English as he.  He was amused and happy that we could carry on a conversation and that the other natives in the village could not tell what we were talking about.  The next morning he sent another boy in his place to guide me.  He said he could not go but for me to sleep in the fourth village from there that night, and that the following day I could make the coast.  My last day we climbed up mountains for three hours and went down hill for seven hours, and arrived at a small American Outpost about 4:30 that afternoon, December 31st.

An interesting thing about the mountains was that at about 11:30 every day it started to rain.  When we were on top of the mountains we would be walking through a dense fog but by the time we could get to the bottom it would be clear but still raining.  I was wet about twenty-four hours of the day despite keeping a fire burning all night.

I remained with our troops at Pongoni until picked up by Captain Peaslee on January 2nd.

It is suggested that arrangements me made to carry salt tablets and handi-tape in pilot’s jungle kits.  In my particular case the natives found my parachute before they found me.  It might be a good idea to remain with your parachute for a few hours at least.  Leggings should be worn by pilots while flying to be sure of having them in event of emergency.  Also, it might be advisable to include small items, such as, razor blades for gifts for the natives.  These items could be inserted in the back pad or jungle kit.

JOHN D. LANDERS
1st Lt., Air Corps.

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“(Left to right) 2 Lts. John Landers, Jack Donaldson, flight leader Andy Reynolds and John Sauber.  Donaldson replaced fallen Livingston of the original flight team which later became the high scoring Blue Flight. ” (Photo from Protect & Avenge)

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“Java veteran Capt. ‘Bitchin’ Ben S. Irvin, who was 9th FS CO for a short period in Darwin, leans against the wing of his P-40E (41-25164, “white 75”), “The Rebel”, showing its prominent Pegasus fuselage art.  Irvin had claimed two confirmed victories with the 17th PS in February 1942 before joining the 49th FG.  Irvin did not add to his tally while leading the 9th FS, and returned to the US in late October, 1942” (Photo from collection of John Stanaway, in 49th Fighter Group: Aces of the Pacific)

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“The Rebel” in flight (Photo from Protect & Avenge)

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Color profile of “The Rebel”, by Chris Davey, from 49th Fighter Group: Aces of the Pacific.

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“Brig. Gen. Paul B. Wurtsmith, Commander 5th Fighter Command, congratulates Lt. John D. Landers, Joshua, Texas, of the 49th Fighter Group after presenting him with the Purple Heart.  He also received the Oak Leaf Cluster, Air Medal, Distinguished Flying Cross and Silver Star at a ceremony held at Dobodura Airfield (Horando), near Port Morsesby, Papua, New Guinea.  18 May 1943.” (79118 AC / A32295)

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John D. Landers, now Colonel John Landers, serving in the 78th Fighter Group, as pictured in Duxford Diary (American Air Museum in England document 16844)

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New Guinea.  The location of the general area of Pongani village is denoted by the red oval. 

Zooming in for a closer view of the location of Pongani village… 

…and, even closer.  

An air photo / and or satellite view at the same scale as the above map….

…followed by an even closer view.  

References

Ferguson, Steve W. and Pascalis, William K., Protect & Avenge: the 49th Fighter Group in World War II, Schiffer Publishing, Atglen, Pa., 1996

Hess, William N., 49th Fighter Group: Aces of the Pacific, Osprey Publishing Company, London, England, 2014

USAF Credits for the Destruction of Enemy Aircraft – World War II, USAF Historical Study No. 85, Albert F. Simpson Historical Research Center, Air University, 1978

AFRHA Microfilm Reel AO 720, frames 1017 through 1020 (Landers – 12/26/42)

P-40E-1 41-25164 “The Rebel” / “75”, at Pacific Wrecks.com

Pongani village, at Wikipedia

Pongani Airfield, at Pacific Wrecks

Far Away, So Close: The Fall of B-24 Liberator “Marty the Rubble Maker” – Follow-up…

Back in late 2016, I created three posts (first, second, and third) about a series of stunning WW II Army Air Force photographs showing the loss of B-24H Liberator Marty the Rubble Maker (42-52096), an aircraft of the 722nd Bomb Squadron, 450th Bomb Group (the Cottontails), of the 15th Air Force, on May 12, 1944 – seventy-six years ago this month.

Recently, I received the following communication from aviation historian Brian Lindner:

Your story on Lt. J.C. Wood’s crew and their fate is truly excellent.   I have been researching their story at NARA and other sources and found your article completely accurate.

I am writing a book that will center around the fates of the crewmen from about 25 famous aviation photos at NARA.  My hope is to complete the research phase in late 2020 or early 2021.

Would it be possible to obtain permission to quote from your article?  If yes, how should it be credited?

Thank you in advance for your consideration.

PS:  The link to the photo showing Hodge and Platt doesn’t work.

I want to thank Brian for his very nice compliments about my post(s).

By all means, they certainly can be quoted from!

As far as crediting my work goes, hmmm, that’s a good question…

…perhaps the bibliographical reference should be in the format:

“Far Away, So Close: The Fall of a B-24 Liberator Off the Coast of Italy” (Parts I, II, and III), at ThePastPresented.com, December 29, 2016, accessed on such-and-such-calendar-dates(s)

(Thanks for the tip about the hyperlink: It’s repaired!)

On a related note, Brian has a story – Unwraveling the Mystery of the ‘Little Warrior’ – at the July, 2009 issue of Wicked.local, concerning Lt. Sidney Benson, a co-pilot in the 862nd Bomb Squadron, 493rd Bomb Group, 8th Air Force.  Lt. Benson’s plane, B-24H Liberator 42-94812 (“Little Warrior” – “8M * X”), piloted by 2 Lt. John H. Hansen, was shot down by flak on June 29, 1944.  The plane’s loss is covered in MACR 6721 and German Luftgaukommando Report KU 2389. 

Brian’s article is based on an official Army Air Force photo which I’m sure is very well known to those familiar with WW II aviation history, and just as much – WW II history – “in general”, for the photo has appeared in books and magazines over the past several decades.  For a time in the 1990s (?) the image (sans any explanatory information) was even used as a header illustration for advertisements for some sort of military book club, which appeared in the magazine section of some Sunday newspapers.

Akin to the image of Marty the Rubble Maker, I similarly first saw this photo in Steve Birdsall’s Log of the Liberators.  In 2012, I was able to scan (at 600 dpi) the official USAAF photo (53708AC) at the National Archives.  The picture is shown below. 

The perspective of the image is deceptive, for the USAAF photographic print is actually a cropped view from the original image, the latter revealing that the bomber is actually making an abrupt bank to the right rather than being in level flight.  A clue: The dark object in the upper left is actually the leading edge of the port fin of the B-24 from which the photo was taken.

Of greater importance than the plane is her crew.  

None returned. 

So, here are the men of the “Little Warrior”… 

Rear, L-R:

2 Lt. Jerome Levy, 0-703639, Navigator, Camden, N.J.
2 Lt. Sidney A. Benson, 0-818558, Co-Pilot, Marblehead, Ma.
2 Lt. John W. Hansen, 0-693976, Pilot, New York, N.Y.
2 Lt. Malcolm M. Stich, 0-697746, Bombardier, Brooklyn, N.Y.
T/Sgt. Vernon J. Polzin, 38367667, Flight Engineer, Taylor, Tx.

Front, L-R:

S/Sgt. Cyrus R. Aidala, 32707915, Ball Turret Gunner, Brooklyn, N.Y.
“Sandy Saunders, Top Turret Gunner”
(Same as S/Sgt. John E. Sanders?, 18191467, “Flexible Gunner”, Goose Creek, Tx.?)
S/Sgt. Walter A. Boykowski, 13171280, Tail Gunner, Pittock, Pa.
“Sgt. Ramos, Radio Operator” (not in crew during mission of June 29)
S/Sgt. Sylvanus G. Haksell, 39297646, Nose Gunner, El Centro, Ca.
Not in photograph:
S/Sgt. Billy B. Gomillion, 38424702, Radio Operator, Wichita Falls, Tx.

From my reading of the MACR, I realized that Lt. Benson escaped from the plane (how?) but didn’t survive.  I always had my “suspicions” but didn’t know – until reading Brian’s Wicked Local story – what actually happened to him after he safely parachuted to earth.

Alas, the story is sad; appalling; infuriating.

Yet, well told: Brian has done fine research, and relates the tale in a compelling manner.  You can also read about his research at the Boston Globe.

His forthcoming book should be interesting…!

The Missing Photos – III: Five Among the Missing: The Loss of a 38th Bomb Group B-25 Crew – “What will become of them no one knows…”

Nearly seventy-six years ago – on Wednesday, November 3, 1943 – an officer of the 823rd Bomb Squadron of the 38th “Sunsetter” Bomb Group made entries in his squadron’s historical records concerning that day’s central event:  A strike mission along the New Guinea coast from Alexishafen to Bogadjim, to attack barges, buildings, and concealed enemy troops. 

The outcome of the mission was reported as follows:

Our pilots and crews took off again to slap the little Jap off the map.  Nine B-25Gs took off at 0713L to blast out barges, possible large hideouts and buildings from Alexishafen south of Bogadjim, New Guinea.  Fighter cover was effected over Nadzab at an altitude of 3500 feet.  The fighter escort consisted of P-47s.  The flights were of three planes each and were led by the flights of the 822nd Squadron.  28 x 500 lb. 4-5 second delay demolition bombs were dropped in specific targets.  Many of the bombs scored direct hits on barges along the coast.  1 bomb dropped safe due to rack failure and 3 bombs were returned to base due to mechanical failure.  82 rounds of 75mm were fired on runs with a number scoring hits and the remainder with no visible results.  Villages and hideouts were thoroughly strafed with 6100 x .50 calibre and 1300 x .30 calibre ammunition.  Photos were taken of the strike.

Next followed remarks covering events experienced by specific aircraft and crews, focusing on battle damage, and, the loss of B-25G 42-64850:

The ack-ack encountered was moderate inaccurate and heavy coming from Madang, Alexishafen and Erimhafen Plantation.  Plane no. 769, piloted by Remshaw, received a hole in the bomb bay door from fragment of 20mm.  Plane No. 874, piloted by Shulich, received large hole in left vertical stabilizer from undetermined type of shell.  Plane No. 850, the crew of which were Smith F/O pilot, Newland O.T. co-pilot, Chapin R.D.  navigator, Anagos T. radio man, Boykin J.R. gunner crashed in water between Bili Bili Island and mainland.  Cause unknown but thought due to loss of power due to damage from ack-ack.  All five crew members last seen in life raft, apparently uninjured, rowing toward Bili Bili Island.

Throughout the attack no interception was encountered.  The remaining eight planes landed at Durand at 1135/L.

The next day – November 4 – no combat missions were flown by the 823rd Bomb Squadron.  This brief pause in operations gave the squadron historian time to ponder the fate of the missing crew, his brief notes encompassing the hope for their rescue against their more likely fate as captives of the Japanese.  Specifically:

All crew members express deep sorrow for the five crew members who were last seen in a life raft heading toward Bili Bili Island.  What will become of them no one knows.  Let’s hope that they are safe.

Alas, they were not safe.

They would never return. 

Today, the five crew members of B-25G #850 – Smith, Newland, Chapin, Anagos, and Boykin – remain among the over 73,000 American servicemen still missing from the Second World War.  Barring a fortuitous archival or archeological discovery, they will probably ever remain as such: “Missing in Action”. 

But, the historical record of this crew’s loss is singularly different from the overwhelming majority of accounts of Allied World War Two aviators lost in either the Pacific or European Theaters of War.  This is because the Missing Air Crew Report covering the crew’s loss – MACR 1087, to be specific – includes a photograph of the crew (albeit, as viewed from a distance) as last seen by fellow members of the 823rd Bomb Squadron en route back to the 38th Bomb Group’s base at Port Moresby. 

The photograph was first discovered as I was reviewing MACRs via Fold3.com, which database / website many readers of this post are probably well familiar.  The Fold3 version of this image is shown below: 

In August of 2014, I had the rare opportunity, during a visit to the National Archives in College Park, of viewing and digitizing the original (?) “physical” (!) MACR and the included photograph (see “The Missing Photos”). 

So, here is the above image, as copied via an EpsonPerfection V600 scanner.

______________________________

The “first” page of MACR 1087, covering the loss of B-25G 42-64850, a 75mm cannon-equipped ship – is shown below:

The following comments were recorded by the 823rd Bomb Squadron’s Statistical Officer, 2 Lt. Homer L. Cotham, and appear on the “second” page of the MACR:

(12) Plane, while flying formation at low altitude over target, suddenly lost altitude striking water.  The plane bounced twice, then sank immediately.  Entire crew seen in Life Raft making for island in near vicinity of accident.

(13) Plane crashed in water four miles south of Madang, three-quarters of a mile off shore, in near vicinity of Bili Bili Island, N.G.

(15) Extent of search:  Catalina flying boat attempted to reach vicinity of accident or crash the night of October [sic] third.  This attempt was incomplete due to weather.

The plane’s loss was described by Squadron Operations Officer Capt. William Brandon, who stated:

While flying on Mission number 306 H, Alexishafen to Bogadjim Road Barge Sweep, I was leading flight number one.  Flight Officer Smith was flying number three left wing position at the time that I took my flight in over the target.  When next I looked to check the planes in my formation I saw Flight Officer Smith’s plane in the water.

Circling the plane as it sank I dropped a life-raft.  This life-raft sank but the crew of the sunken plane were able to safely board the raft from their own plane.

When last sighted all members of the crew were observed aboard life-raft making towards the vicinity of Bili Bili Island, N.G., course undetermined.

______________________________

Unlike MACRs which specify the last-known latitude and longitude of a missing aircraft, the location of B-25G #850’s loss is simply given in words: “Off Bili Bili Island.”

To give you a frame of reference of the location of Bili Bili Island, here are two Google Maps – each having Google Maps’ red location pointer centered upon Bili Bili Island – showing the location of that tiny geographic feature.

This first map shows New Guinea and northern Australia, with – moving west to east – the Arafura Sea, Gulf of Carpentaria, and Coral Sea between the two land masses.  Bili Bili Island is located approximately 360 miles west-southwest of Rabaul, just off the eastern coast of New Guinea, and south of Madang. 

______________________________

In this second map, Bili Bili Island is not visible, but locations mentioned in the MACR – Alexishafen and Madang – are.  These towns lie along the western shore of Astrolabe Bay, which body of water remains unlabeled.

______________________________

Moving from the pixels of 2017 to the paper of 1943, MACR 1087 includes C.I.U. (Central Interpretation Unit) Map No. 36 of the Alexishafen area.  The location of the B-25’s loss, about half-way between Bili Bli Island and the New Guinea coast, is denoted by an “X” within a small circle.

(By way of comparison, here’s the map as it appears at Fold3.com.)

______________________________

At a slightly larger scale than the C.I.U. map is the Google map below.  This closer view reveals that Bili Bili Island is approximately 3 miles south of the southern limits of Madang, and about 1.3 miles east of the New Guinea mainland.  Oddly, Google Maps leaves the island un-named, with the designation “Bil-Bil” superimposed on the opposite shoreline.  Is there a village by that name at this location? 

______________________________

Finally, at the same scale as the preceding map, we come to a Google Earth view of Bili Bili Island and Astrolabe Bay.

______________________________

Pacific Wrecks clearly describes the loss of un-nicknamed B-25G 42-64850, surmising that the men were captured and died in captivity, while the Pacific Wrecks essay concerning the fate of allied POWs at Amron, New Guinea (Death at Amron – by Undersea Explorer / Documentary Film-Maker Walter Deas) suggests that the Smith crew may have murdered at that Japanese base, a “hilltop high-ground 16 kilometers north of Madang,” which served as a Japanese Army headquarters and Kempeitai facility. 

Pacific Wrecks’ history of the Japanese Army base at Amron, which served as a lookout point and headquarters for the 18th Army and Kempeitai, lists the names of eleven Allied airmen (nine Americans and two Australians) who were confirmed to have been murdered at that location, and, five others who probably suffered the same fate, all between June, 1943 and April, 1944. 

However, the members of the Smith crew are not listed among the sixteen.

______________________________

The Capture of the Smith Crew

The Smith crew were definitely captured.  This information comes from three sources.  

In reverse chronological order, these comprise the 2011 book Sun Setters of the Southwest Pacific Area – From Australia to Japan: An Illustrated History of the 38th Bombardment Group (m), 5th Air Force, World War II – 1941-1946, As Told and Photographed by the Men Who Were There (by Lawrence J. Hickey, Mark M. Janko, Stuart W. Goldberg, and Osamu Tagaya); 1944 newspaper articles in (unidentified) Buffalo area newspapers, and most strikingly, transcripts of English-language Japanese propaganda broadcasts to the western United States covering the mens’ capture

In 2011

As described in Sunsetters: “Capt. Bill Brandon led the 823rd Squadron, and when his flight of three planes reached Bili Bili, roughly halfway between Alexishafen and Bogadjim, he and his wingmen dropped their bombs between the area’s plantation and Bili Bili Island, just off the coast.  As his bomb bay doors were closing, Capt. Brandon looked out his window and was shocked to see that Flight Officer Richard Smith’s plane was in the water.

Brandon circled back and dropped a life raft to the downed crew.  Smith’s plane sunk immediately after hitting the water, but he and his crew escaped and climbed into the raft.  The men were last seen rowing toward Bili Bili Island, where they were captured and interrogated by the Kempei Tai, the Japanese Military Secret Police.  Major Nakamoto, the 18th Army Staff Intelligence Officer, led the interrogation, which lasted roughly a week.  Afterward they were taken a mile southwest to a POW compound, then transported to Wewak.  They were never heard from again.”  (Unfortunately, there no bibliographic reference for the source of this information.) 

Pacific Wrecks history of the Wewak POW Camp (Kreer POW Camp) lists the names of three airmen (members of Captain William L. “Kizzy” Kizzire’s crew, about whom see more below) who were confirmed as having been POWs there.  Neither they, nor any other Allied POWs presumed to have been held captive at that location – the Smith crew among them? – survived the war.    

Late 1943 and early 1944

News items concerning F/O Smith from The Buffalo Evening News.

The first news item simply mentions Smith’s “Missing in Action” status.

Flight Officer Richard Smith

Overseas since last March, Flt. O. Smith has been stationed in New Guinea and had been piloting a bomber.  His last letter to his mother was written Nov. 3, the day on which he was reported missing while on a mission over New Britain.  Graduated from District School 3, West Seneca, and West Seneca High School, he was a carrier for The Buffalo Evening News before entering the employ of the Bethlehem Steel Company.  He enlisted in the Air Forces June 28, 1941.

News about F/O Smith’s capture was published in February or March of 1944, in the context of news about the death of his cousin and fellow Buffalo resident, Army Private Floyd C. Smith.

WAR-SERVICE FLAG HONORING 4 SMITHS NOW HAS GOLD STAR

Patrolman Wayne Smith, a grizzled veteran of 20 years’ service as a West Seneca policeman, went about the sad task of replacing one of the four blue stars in the family’s service flag with a gold star today.  He has just been notified by the War Department that his son, Pvt. Floyd C. Smith, 19, who had been previously reported missing in action in Italy, now is known definitely to have been killed.

What makes the news even more tragic for the smith family is that over on the other side of the world Flight Officer Richard Smith, 23, a nephew of Patrolman Smith, is a prisoner of the Japs.  Richard is the son of Albert Smith, an electrician, of 17 Klass Ave., West Seneca, and was taken prisoner last Nov. 3, when a twin-engine bomber he was flying was forced down on a flight from New Guinea to New Britain.

Two other members of the Smith family are in the nation’s service.  One is Pvt. Wayne Smith Jr., 21, a brother of Floyd, who has been unheard of in recent weeks and is believed to be overseas, and the other is Seaman First Class Milton D. Smith, 38, an uncle of Floyd and Richard, who is now at sea.  Milton’s home address is 80 Hayden St., Buffalo.

“I guess the war is proving kind of hard on the Smiths,” commented Patrolman Smith in his home at 25 Harlem Rd., West Seneca.  “But I guess the same thing is happening to the Smiths all over the country.  I wish I were a little younger I’d go in and take Floyd’s place.  The last word we received from Floyd was about seven weeks ago when he wrote that ‘everything is swell’.  Shortly after that he was reported missing.  But we didn’t give up hope until the second telegram came.”

Floyd was inducted in the Army in April 1943 after he had been working at the Curtiss-Wright Corporation airport plant for about five months.  He was a native of West Seneca and was in his third year at West Seneca High School when he left school for war work.  Assigned to an infantry unit, he had been in North Africa before going to Italy.

News of his death has been kept from his grandmother, Mrs. Fannie Smith, who is ill and also lives at 25 Harlem Rd., West Seneca. (1)

A particular sentence in the article stands out:  “Richard … was taken prisoner last Nov. 3, when a twin-engine bomber he was flying was forced down on a flight from New Guinea to New Britain.”

How was this known by early 1944? 

Probably through English-language radio broadcasts transmitted from Tokyo, and beamed to the Western United States and Latin America, from…

November of 1943 through April of 1944.

Entitled “Message From the Front”, these broadcasts pertained to American aviators – members of the Marine Corps and Army Air Force – who had been captured in the Southwest Pacific between early 1943 and early 1944.    

Transcripts of these broadcasts are among records in the National Archives and Records Administration’s “Records of the Foreign Broadcast Intelligence Service.” 

The “Message From the Front” broadcasts were transmitted at 0330 hours, albeit transcripts of the programs don’t specify if “3:30 hours” means Greenwich Mean Time, the Western time zone of the United States, or, Tokyo Time.  The transcripts are headed by a surname, presumably that of the person who monitored and transcribed the program as it was received and monitored, in “real time”.  These people were Berman, Bernstein, Hanson, Keller, Litwin, Roth, Sachter, Searl, and Teel.

Though varying greatly in content and length, the broadcasts follow a generally similar “script,” albeit with substantial variation.  They generally commence with an introduction covering political or social effects of the war on American Society, as a whole.  Sometimes, emphasis is placed on the contrast between the hardships endured by American soldiers and civilians, in contrast with the attitude – as it were – of American military and political leaders.  

Then, the broadcasts focus upon the POWs themselves.

In all cases, the bulk of the broadcast is devoted to a presentation of detailed – quite detailed; very detailed – biographical information about the Prisoner of War, and may cover such topics as the circumstance under which he was shot down and captured, the type of aircraft he was flying, and his biography, the latter including his education and civilian vocation.  In virtually every case the broadcast concludes with a recitation of highly personal, information about his next of kin, comprising names and addresses of family members – whether wives, parents, or siblings – the material, financial, or emotional challenges they’re contending with, and, other facets of their lives.

In some cases – disquieting to read; still disquieting to contemplate, even decades later – special focus is accorded to the physical, psychological, and emotional reaction of the POW to captivity, sometimes including quotations of statements allegedly made by the POW to his captors.

It’s conjecture on my part, but I suppose that the information in the “Message From the Front” broadcasts was extracted from transcripts of interrogation sessions endured by the POWs, then provided to officials in the Japanese media responsible for disseminating propaganda.  The original text was edited to varying degrees for maximum dramatic effect.

In that sense, a consistent and unsurprising facet of the broadcasts is the complete absence of information about American military technology or tactics.  Unsurprising, in that the purpose of the broadcasts was probably psychological warfare:  To influence public opinion and therefore contribute to a sense of demoralization.  If this was so, this rested on an extremely naive understanding of the nature of American society.  (At least, as it existed eight decades ago.  But, that’s another subject.) 

In terms of the Smith crew, “Message From the Front” broadcasts pertain to Sgt. Boykin (February 9, 1944), Sgt. Anagos (February 16, 1944), Lt. Chapin (March 8, 1944), and F/O Smith (on March 29, 1944).  There is no record of a broadcast concerning F/O Newland.

For the purpose of this post, two transcripts will suffice.

Here is the broadcast covering Sergeant Anagos, transmitted on February 16, 1944, as transcribed by “Roth” and “Teel”:

A MESSAGE FROM THE FRONT

Your subject for today is the Boeing bomber that flew on without a pilot.  Hello listeners, this time Radio Tokyo presents an eye-witness report from a member of the Japanese army press participating at a certain front in the New Guinea sector.  Yes, it is a very strange story.  It is worth coming under the category of believe it or not.  It is an unusual story for the outsiders but it is [stunning] news for no other person than Mrs. Phyllis Anagnos, whose address is eight-four-one-seven North Military Avenue, Detroit, Michigan.  Should it happen that Mrs. Anagnos is listening to this broadcast, radio Tokyo advises here to keep up [word].  It is so far from being good news, but a very depressing [two words] can be seen.  Well, she may feel easy that her husband Sergeant Theodore Anagnos is no by means dead.  Instead of ending his life, he has been taken prisoner by the Japanese forces, [and being a prisoner] of war, he cannot return to his beloved wife so long as America does not make unconditional surrender to Japan.  If Mrs. Anagnos wishes to see her husband, she had better write a letter to Mrs. Eleanor Roosevelt asking for help.  No doubt the sympathetic Mrs. Roosevelt might take it that she might be under the circumstances with the wife of [few words].  Mrs. Roosevelt [three words] cell every day at the White House wailing bitterly before President Roosevelt and insisting upon the release of Theodore Anagnos.  Well, wait a moment, Mrs. Theodore Anagnos is yet happy because her husband is enjoying good health at a prisoner’s camp of the Japanese Army.  One day he told a member of the Japanese Army [press], that he saw at a certain American movie show [three words] featuring Clark Gable.  He said Gable was [wonderful].  He went on to say I have a wife but to tell you the truth, I have [few words] how marvelous it would be if I could see [several words].  It is as if I am playing the very same role as Gable was in this film.  Sergeant Anagnos [few words].  Mrs. Anagnos can depend upon it that her husband is quite [jovial].  Radio Tokyo is not responsible for his relationship with [two words].  That is a matter for Mrs. Anagnos to conduct a cross examination of her husband in person, in the event he should come back to America.

[Remainder of commentary unintelligible.]

Here’s the broadcast covering Flight Officer Smith, transmitted on March 29, 1944, as transcribed by “Hanson”:

MESSAGE FROM THE FRONT

Once again we bring you information of the officers and men [seven words inaudible].

Radio Tokyo proposes to give you details that are not available from any other source.  Many of the folks back home are not told that a large number of their boys are being held prisoners of war in Japanese hands.  These boys are spending their daily life in an entirely different frame of mind – I say different in the sense that their outlook of life in general at the time when they sallied forth from the United States is no longer apparent.  Having become accustomed to their new environment, they have regained their presence of mind.  Yes, they have come down to earth.  They are now able to see through the realities of things in general.  Like an ancient philosopher, they have had an ample opportunity to reflect on the past and quietly analyze the present.

Here is the story of one of the men as brought to us by a Japanese Army correspondent.  His name is Richard Smith.  To be more concise, Richard Smith is a Second Lieutenant belonging to the Twentieth Bomber Squadron, and the Fifth Bomber Group of the United States Air Corps.  Smith is twenty-four years old and hails from Buffalo, New York.  The address is Seventeen Klaas Avenue, Buffalo, New York.  Second Lieutenant Richard Smith was a pilot at the time of his capture.

Anyone listening on this broadcast will be doing a great favor for Richard and his folks if he, or she, would notify Mr. Albert Smith, the father of Second Lieutenant Richard Smith, at Seventeen Klaas Avenue, Buffalo, New York, that his son is in good hands under the care of the Japanese army authorities.  The War Department at Washington may have listed him as missing, as they have done to hundreds of others.  But as far as Second Lieutenant Richard Smith is concerned, he is very much accounted for, and in good shape, as a prisoner of war of Japan.

One of the things that Second Lieutenant Richard Smith inquired of our Japanese army correspondent is whether or not there were other officers in active service who come from Annapolis.  By the way, I mean to add that Second Lieutenant Richard Smith is an Annapolis man.  He would like to know why it is that there were no other Annapolis men on the front line.  The officers that had come across were all reserve officers.  Second Lieutenant Smith is anxious to know whether it is the policy of the War Department at Washington to spare the services of all full-fledged academy men.  One can fully appreciate the complaint on the part of Smith of being placed on the front line while his colleagues are being given posts in [such safe] positions well to the rear.

Another point brought out by Second Lieutenant Richard Smith was the fact that there is too much favoritism given to the pilots over the ground troops.  One of his friends at Port Moresby was a member of the regular [crew].  According to Smith, the pilots are given two weeks furlough after serving two and a half months on the front lines; whereas, the ground forces are allowed but one week after four solid months of drudgery.

Here is a tip from Second Lieutenant Richard Smith to the young men back in the States.  “If you are ever counting on serving the United States Air Corps, stick to the flying end and steer clear of any jobs oiling and repairing planes, which one has no chance of flying [himself].”  Of course, as Smith would put it you are taking chances against one of the toughest enemies, the Japanese Zero fighter.  Whether you care to agree with Second Lieutenant Richard Smith or not, the fact remains that there is a wealth of difference between being a pilot and being just one of the boys in the ground force.

Another factor pointed out to our Japanese Army Correspondent by Second Lieutenant Smith that once you are sent out on the [word] front, there is no chance of knowing just what the score is.  It is common knowledge that the United States Army Air Corps is a fanatic stickler for the “hush hush” policy of keeping all things under cover.  I mean among the officers and men themselves.  According to Second Lieutenant Smith, he knows the name and rank of his squadron commander but he has yet to hear the name of his group commander.  Worse than that, he has never seen the face of his group commander.  None of his comrades seem to know for that matter.  Where is there any army that knows not the identity or the name of his superior officer?  Second Lieutenant Richard Smith is in dead earnest, as anyone can tell that he wasn’t telling a lie.  He really doesn’t know.  Here is the great American mystery of an officer who does not know, or rather, he is not told just who are his comrades even in [his adjoining fortress].

Asked why he could not become more intimate with the other officers, Second Lieutenant Richard Smith said that he had been warned by his superiors to avoid mixing with the other officers.  Hence, he had no knowledge as to the number or the designation or what had become of many of the officers once they [leave] [word or two].  The question naturally arises, “Why are the American air officers forbidden to associate with each other?”  The answer is simple.  It is the policy of secrecy.  The authorities are on pins and needles in trying to keep all information as to the personal losses from reaching the ears of the men.  Any divulgence of actual losses incurred by the United States Army Air Force [several words] would no doubt unbalance the morale of the rank and file.  So there you are.  It’s a mighty wise policy for a [word] which has lost quite a number of his valuable men to keep that information under a tight lip.  What chances are there for the people back home to know just what has become of their boys?  At least, the folks of Second Lieutenant Richard Smith can congratulate themselves on the fact that their boy is [quite safe and sound].

Though these two “Message From the Front” broadcasts were transmitted on February 16 and March 29, that fact does not imply that the POWs were still alive at that time.  Some “Message From the Front” broadcasts were transmitted on dates after the POWs to which they pertained were no longer alive. 

For example, 1 Lt. Joseph W. Hill (husband of Roberta Hill, of 602 Palmetto Ave., De Land, Florida) of the 70th Fighter Squadron, 18th Fighter Group, lost on August 26, 1943, while flying P-40F 41-19834

Captured and held captive at Rabaul, he was the subject of a broadcast on April 29, 1944.  Nearly two months before, on March 4 or 5, 1944, he was one of the 32 American and Australian POWs (19 USAAF, 5 USMC, and 8 RAAF) who were murdered during the “Tunnel Hill Incident”.  Lt. Hill’s flight school portrait, one of the thousands of similar images in the National Archives’ collection “Photographic Prints of Air Cadets and Officers, Air Crew, and Notables in the History of Aviation – NARA RG 18-PU”, appears below:

As for the Sunsetters, only one member of the Group survived captivity.  He was Major Willison Madison Cox, of Knoxville, Tennessee.  (3) 

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What then, of the Smith crew?

Akin to MACR 1423 for the crew of the 7th Air Force B-24D Liberator Dogpatch Express, covered in my earlier posts, “Upon An Endless Sea” and “Portraits of the Fallen: The Crew of the Dogpatch Express, in Photographs”, MACR 1087 (like many “early” (and not only “early”) Missing Aircrew Reports covering multi-place aircraft) carries neither the home addresses nor the names of the crewmens’ next-of-kin. 

The men are “anonymous”; they are simply names and serial numbers, without real identities.

However, akin to the crew of Dogpatch Express, it’s been possible to “reconstruct” nominal biographical information about these men.  This was done using War Department Bureau of Public Relations Press Branch Casualty List issued on 13 December, 1943 (from the United States National Archives) and especially – particularly – various databases at Ancestry.com.  Using these resources, the identities of the men’s next-of-kin, and wartime places of residence could be identified. 

So, briefly, this is who they were:

Pilot: Smith, Richard, F/O, T-186554
Mr. and Mrs. Albert R. [Died June 7, 1965] and Mary (Hellinger) Smith (parents), 17 Klass Ave., Buffalo, N.Y.
Mentioned in Buffalo Courier-Express December 14, 1943.  Mr. Albert Smith’s obituary appeared in the same newspaper on June 10, 1965. 

Co-Pilot: Newland, Otis Terrell, F/O, T-346
Born 1920, in Texas
Mr. and Mrs. Cam Alexander and Catherine C. Newland (parents), Joe L. Newland (brother), Route 3, Lone Oak, Tx.

Navigator: Chapin, Robert Dudley, Jr., 2 Lt., 0-671281
Born 1921
Lt. Cdr. and Mrs. Robert Dudley [May 20, 1876 – 1945] and Sara (Newton) [1882 – August 21, 1961] Chapin (parents); Linda Chapin [1907 – September 30, 1916] (sister), Cynthia (Chapin) Taylor (sister) [April 1, 1917 – September 12, 1982], 20 Huntington St., Hartford, Ct.

The above genealogical information about the Chapin family is by FindAGrave contributor C. Greer, whose memorial / biographical profile for 2 Lt. Chapin includes a photograph of his parents’ tombstone, on which the younger Chapin’s name is inscribed. 

Due to uncertainty about copyright, I won’t display the photo “here”!  Rather, you can view the image at this link.     

Radio-Operator / Gunner: Anagnos, Theodore, Sgt., 32503485
Born 1914, in Oregon
Mrs. Phyllis H. Anagnos (wife), 8417 North Military Ave., Detroit, Mi.
Mr. and Mrs. Speros and Evangeline Anagnos (parents), George and Peter (brothers), 1301 Hart Ave., Detroit, Mi.

Gunner: Boykin, Johnnie Rayford, Sgt., 18121719
Born May 27, 1922, in Swenson, Texas
Mrs. Berna Dean (Stephens) Boykin (wife) (Born July 28, 1925, Mountainair, N.M. – Died November, 1982)
Johnnie Dean Boykin (son; born August 18, 1943 – died 2007) Dexter, N.M.
Mr. and Mrs. Roy Hammel and Lillian (King) Boykin (parents), Lee Roy Boykin (brother), Hagerman, N.M. / 408 W. 6th St., Roswell, N.M.

Some Observations

Born in the 1910s and 20s, they were, unsurprisingly and typically, all “young” men, with Sgt. Anagos – born in 1914 – having been the oldest.

Akin to radio operator Johnnie Boykin (yet unlike pilot Smith, co-pilot Newland, and navigator Chapin) Anagos was married. 

Johnnie Boykin (assuming I’ve interpreted records at Ancestry.com correctly – well, I think I have!) became a father while overseas.  His son, Johnnie Dean Boykin, was born in August of 1943.  Only two and a half months old by November 3, 1943, father and son would never meet.  Johnnie Dean died in 2007, while his mother, Berna Dean, passed away in 1982. 

Though I have no knowledge of the numbers of sorties flown by the crew, their ranks (the pilot and co-pilot were Flight Officers) and the identical military awards received by each crew member (according to the ABMC website, each aviator was awarded the Air Medal and Purple Heart) suggest (?) that they were a relatively “new” crew, having flown – either as a unit, or individually – no more than ten combat missions. 

To signify that these men were more than “data”; more than mere names and serial numbers; more than statistics, here’s the one portrait I was able to find of a crew member: Sergeant Boykin.  His photograph and biography are among World War Two Records of the State of New Mexico, which can be accessed at Ancestry.com.

______________________________

The airmen’s names are memorialized on the Walls of the Missing at the Manila American Cemetery in Luzon.   

The ABMC website gives each man’s date death as December 15, 1945, which likely reflects a date arbitrarily established by the Army upon the closure of the postwar investigation of the crew’s fate.

______________________________

But, what of the impetus for this post – the photograph itself…?

Scanned at 1200 dpi, it’s shown below. 

The image has several notable qualities.

In a purely photographic sense, the picture is comprised of three “elements” that “balance” one another: 

B-25G 42-64851 captured in flight, in the right center. (2)

A glassily calm sea extending to the horizon, a vague curtain of clouds suspended above, in the distance.

And both significantly and ironically, the smallest element in the image: The Smith crew, in their raft, can be seen at center left, probably headed for Bili Bili Island.  Of particular note, the silhouette of the aviator on the right (it looks like he’s wearing his Mae West) is clearly distinguishable against the surface of a remarkably smooth sea. 

Whether by chance, skill, or both – unfortunately, the MACR doesn’t list the photographer’s name! – the combination of composition, focus, lighting, and perspective is remarkable. 

Given that neither the mainland nor the island are visible, the “direction” towards the horizon (as opposed to the direction of flight of the overlying B-25) is probably either to the north-northeast (so Bili Bili island is out of view to the “right”), or … south-southwest (thus, Bili Bili Island is out of view, to the “left”).

In this, the image is strikingly reminiscent of and similar to a photograph – below (in Lawrence Hickey’s Warpath Across the Pacific, from the Melvin L. Best collection) – showing the crew of Captain William L. Kizzire standing atop the rear fuselage of their B-25D Mitchell (41-30046 – Impatient Virgin) after their plane was ditched during a low-level attack mission to Boram Strip, near Wewak, a little over three weeks later: on November 27, 1943. 

As listed at both Pacific Wrecks and Warpath, the men are:

Pilot: Capt. William L. “Kizzy” Kizzire, 0-726787, Greybull, Wy.
Co-Pilot: 2 Lt. Charles G. Reynolds, 0-661563, Bridgeport, Oh.
Navigator: 1 Lt. Joseph W. Carroll, Jr., 0-665898, Dallas, Tx.
Flight Engineer: S/Sgt. Wilfred J. Paquette, 31127441, Northampton, Ma. (Killed while POW)
Radio Operator: S/Sgt. Roy E. Showers, Jr., 18075424, Pampa, Tx. (Killed while POW)
Gunner: S/Sgt. Fred D. Nightwine, 13085578, Slippery Rock, Pa. (Killed while POW)

Akin to members of F/O Smith’s crew, three members of Captain Kizzire’s crew – Sergeants Nightwine, Paquette, and Showers – were the subject of radio propaganda broadcasts, transcripts of which are available at Pacific Wrecks’ Radio Tokyo Broadcasts in English. (4)

______________________________

Finally, two photographs. 

First, an April 2010 image of Astrolabe Bay – looking east towards the Bismarck Sea – by Jan Messersmith, from his blog Madang – Ples Bilong Mi: A Daily Journal of a Permanent Resident of Paradise.  Perhaps the crews of the Sunsetters saw a vista akin to this – actually, strikingly beautiful – on the third of November in the year 1943.

Second, to close the story – though its ending will likely ever remain uncertain; it will probably never be fully “closed”  – the Smith crew, in their raft, floating between the New Guinea mainland and Bili Bili Island.    

I’m not in possession of Individual Deceased Personnel Files for members of the Smith crew, but considering that the definitive fate of the crew has never been established, I would suppose that those documents would offer little to resolve the men’s fate.       

Well, it may be a trite expression, but it’s true:  Times marches on – and it proceedes quickly. 

Now 2019, only twenty-four more years remain until the year 2043.  By then, a century will have transpired since the November day when crew of B-25G #850 flew into history.  It would be as predumptuous as it would be naive (and probably inaccurate, to boot, though it would be intriguing!) to predict the nature of “that” world, for who in 1943 could have predicted the nature of “our” world; of 2019?     

But, despite changes in technology, economics, and science, one constant will remain, and has always remained:  That of human nature.  And part of that nature is the need; actually very necessity, to remember the past and those who were part of it.

Notes

(1)  Pvt. Smith, a soldier in the 133rd Infantry Regiment of the 34th Infantry Division, was killed in action on January 28, 1944. He is buried at the Sicily-Rome American Cemetery in Nettuno, Italy, at Grave 56, Row 10, Plot I.

(2)  Well, enlarged, the serial number of the overflying B-25G seems to be 42-64851!  A check of the Aviation Archeology database (unfortunately inaccessible for some time), and a hunting expedition at DuckDuckGo reveal no information about this aircraft. 

Fortunately, a review of B-25s assigned to the 823rd Bomb Squadron, listed in Appendix III of Sunsetters of the Southwest Pacific, reveals the following for this aircraft: “Possibly flown overseas by 2 Lt. George J. Maturi crew.  (August, 1943)  Transferred to 4th Air Depot (January 8, 1944), Townsville, then to 822nd BS.”  The plane is consequently listed among B-25s assigned to the 822nd Bomb Squadron, specifically on February 26, 1944.  After a mid-air collision on August 1, 1944, the aircraft was transferred to the 376th Service Squadron for salvage.

In this 1200 dpi scan, the pilot is clearly visible, while the head of the gunner can be seen within the dorsal turret.  Other details of the plane – such as the plexiglass tail-cone, which seems to have been strangely truncated, and open to the air – are also evident.

(3) The pilot of B-25D 41-30118 (Elusive Lizzie / Miss America, covered in MACR 16113) Major Cox’s was shot down during a mission to Madang on August 5, 1943.  One member of his crew, S/Sgt. Raymond H. Zimmerman, was killed when the aircraft crashed. The four remaining crewmen were captured, and eventually murdered at Amron.  Portraits of Major Cox and his navigator, 1 Lt. Louis J. Ritacco (from Port Chester, N.Y.) are shown below.  Akin to the portrait of Lieutenant Hill, their pictures are from NARA’s “Photographic Prints of Air Cadets and Officers, Air Crew, and Notables in the History of Aviation – NARA RG 18-PU”.  

Flight Cadet Williston Madison Cox, Jr.

Cadet Louis James Ritacco

Major Cox’s loss is given notable attention in Garrett Middlebrook’s Air Combat At 20 Feet, the cover art of which I hope to (some day!) display in my brother blog, WordsEnvisioned, illustrating cover and interior art in books and pulp magazines from the 40s and 50s (and even more…).

(4)  Of the numerous members of the 345th Bomb Group – the “Air Apaches” – who were known to have been taken captive, eight survived the war. 

Listed by date of capture, they were:

McGuire, James, 1 Lt., 0-674314, Pilot (Grants Pass, Or.)
Captured March 30, 1945, while piloting B-25J 44-29350 (500th Bomb Squadron), covered in MACR 15450.

A remarkable and chilling photograph of Lt. McGuire’s B-25, on fire and diving towards Yulin Kan Bay, at the southern tip of Hainan Island, is shown below.  This image, from the collection of Samuel W. Bennett (via Kevin Mahoney) appears in Lawrence Hickey’s Warpath Across the Pacific.

The latitude and longitude coordinates given for 44-29350’s loss are listed in the 500th Bomb Squadron Mission Report for the March 30 mission, as 18-10-20 N, 109-33-00 E, but they’re not given in the crew’s postwar “fill-in” MACR, which was filed on 10 April, 1946, 

When plugging this location Google Maps, the location generated is about halfway between “Shendao” and “Jinmu Corner”, just off the point of land projecting west.

The 3-D aerial view below gives you a better idea of the crash location, which is identified by Google Maps’ red pointer.  Intriguingly, the location (of course, the coordinates should be understood as being approximate), appears to be at the very end of a breakwater / jetty projecting west into Yulin Bay, between Shendao and Jinmu Corner.

Here’s a closer 3-D view…

The elevated terrain to the west of the “Yalong Bay National Tourism Holiday Resort” (the dark color of terrain, compared to the light-colored low-lying terrain just to its west, may simply be an artifact of image processing) might correspond to the ridge visible behind the descending B-25, in the Bennett collection photo shown above. 

Finally, for completeness, here’s a map of Hainan Island…

________________

Lawlis, Merritt E., Capt., 0-432168, Navigator (Indianapolis, In.)
Muller, Benjamin T., S/Sgt., 18090388, Radio Operator (El Paso, Tx.)
Captured April 3, 1945.  Crew members of 1 Lt. William P. Simpson, from B-25J 43-27888 “Pensive” (500th Bomb Squadron), covered in MACR 14225.

________________

Shott, John, Cpl., 33421756, Tail Gunner (Aliquippa, Pa.)
Captured May 17, 1945.  Crew member of 2 Lt. James T. Lackey, from B-25J 44-30164 (500th Bomb Squadron), covered in MACR 14447.

________________

Hart, Ted U., 2 Lt., Oak Park, Il., 0-771709, Pilot (Oak Park, Il.)
Gatewood, Henry, 2 Lt., 0-812542, Co-Pilot (Holly Springs, Ms.)
Ehlers, Karl L., 2 Lt., 0-1017008, Navigator (Niagara Falls, N.Y.)
Beck, Theron Kenneth, Cpl., 15364114, Radio Operator (Louisville, Ky.)
Captured May 27, 1945.  Aircraft B-25J 44-28152Apache Princess”, (501st Bomb Squadron), covered in MACR 14524.

______________________________

A Digression: Missing Air Crew Reports and the Destiny of Historical Documentation

The historical importance of Missing Air Crew Reports has been apparent since the declassification of these records in the 1980s.  Though obviously of central use in resolving the fate of missing WW II Army Air Force personnel, the information in these reports extends to areas as military technology, aerial combat tactics, air-sea rescue, outdoor survival (in all manner of terrains and climates), escape and evasion, the experiences of POWs, war crimes, and even in a subtle way – perhaps inevitably, though indirectly – the postwar readjustment of veterans and military casualties to civilian life, and genealogy.   

As presented in my earlier post, The Missing Photos: Photographic Images in Missing Air Crew Reports, I was very fortunate in 2014 to have had the opportunity to examine Missing Air Crew Reports in their “original” physical – print – format, ultimately making digital copies of a small number of these documents: specifically, those MACRs which include photographs. 

Having first learned about MACRS in the mid-1980s, this was a marked change from the way I’d previously accessed and studied these documents.  That effort was first done using microfiche copies purchased from NARA, next through visits to the National Archives in College Park, and finally, in digital format, via Fold3. 

It was through latter format that I conducted the bulk of my research into these documents.  Ironically, though the nominal ability to access and study MACRs via Fold3 has been extraordinarily convenient (and hey, fewer road trips via I-95 – ugh! – to College Park) and productive (searching by MACR number, surname, or aircraft serial number is extremely useful), I discovered that the potential value of digitized MACRs on Fold3 is severely hampered by the quality of images of the MACRs, and, the design of the Fold3 MACR database. 

This problem was described by aviation historian Frank J. Olynyk in a 2012 post at the 12oclockhigh forum, which is worth reading in detail.

I can verify Mr. Olynyk’s observations.  

As he described, many Missing Aircrew Reports,are simply; completely absent from Fold3.  (An example: Try searching for MACRs 3500 and 3631, for B-24H 42-95064 (464th BG, 778th BS) piloted by 2 Lt. Edward J. Barres, or, search by the bomber’s serial number.  Good luuuck…!)  This is even true for reports far “higher” in the numerical sequence of the documents than the mid-3000 range.

In addition, the quality of some scans, primarily among low-numbered MACRs (and even among some higher numbered MACRs) is extremely poor – sometimes so much as to render some digitized MACRs to be, well, er, uh…useless. 

This is particularly ironic in light of Fold3’s company history, which states, “The concept for Fold3 is rooted in the company’s years of experience in the digitization business as iArchives, Inc.  Starting in 1999, iArchives digitized historical newspapers and other archive content for leading universities, libraries and media companies across the United States.

From the beginning, the iArchives team developed a unique understanding of the value of creating an online repository for the world’s original source documents.  Leveraging the proprietary systems and patented processes built for the digitization of paper, microfilm and microfiche collections, the management team made a strategic decision:  Use the iArchives platform to provide access to these historically significant and valuable collections.

Uh?  Okay.

Conjecture:  These problems seem to have resulted from two factors. 

First, the primary source material seems to have been the fiche version of the MACRs, rather than the original documents themselves.

Second, perhaps the low-numbered documents (er … um … I mean fiche) comprised the start of the learning curve by which the processors (who? where? when? how?) became familiar with procedures for digitization.  If so, once digitizing and data entry had been systemized, any poor quality scans eventuating from the initial efforts at scanning – of low-numbered MACRs – were never replaced by a “second round” of suitable, better quality images.  Similarly, errors or gaps from the processing of higher-numbered MACRs were likewise not corrected.

(Admittedly, conjecture on my part.)

What’s not uncertain is the potential – in terms of ease of searchability and quality of both images and information – that could have resulted from a better-designed and implemented effort at document processing and scanning.  Given what I observed of the physical quality of the original MACRs (they’ve held up very well over nearly eight decades) the original documents could have been (carefully; conscientiously) scanned at high resolution, and, in color.  Paralleling this, the database by which the MACRs are accessed could have been designed with an altogether different primary key (as per Mr. Olynyk’s suggestion), or, multiple primary keys. 

In this, I’m reminded of the database of the National Archives of Australia, or that of the Commonwealth War Graves Commission, which in terms of aesthetic design, ease of use, presentation of results to the user, and quality of digital files, are very, very (very) impressive.

While obviously Fold3’s MACR collection is only one of numerous repositories of digital documents available through that website (owned by Ancestry.com since 2010), not a stand-alone collection with a dedicated website, the potential held for something much better.  

In summary, though this digital resource is certainly valuable and useful, it is absolutely nowhere near what it could have been – in terms of quality, usability, and accuracy – had the design and creation of the product really been undergirded by measures of thought, planning, and quality control.

References

Books

Grover, Roy C., Incidents in the Life of a B-25 Pilot, AuthorHouse, October 19, 2006

Hickey, Lawrence J.; Janko, Mark M.; Goldberg, Stuart W., and Tagaya, Osamu, Sun Setters of the Southwest Pacific Area – From Australia to Japan: An Illustrated History of the 38th Bombardment Group (m), 5th Air Force, World War II – 1941-1946, As Told and Photographed by the Men Who Were There, International Historical Research Associates, Boulder, Co. (and) The 38th Bomb Group Association – (or) Albert A. Kennedy, Sr. (or) David Gunn, 2011

Hickey, Lawrence J., Warpath Across the Pacific: The Illustrated History of the 345th Bombardment Group During World War II, International Research and Publishing Corporation, Boulder, Co., 1984

Maurer Maurer, Air Force Combat Units of World War Two, Office of Air Force History, Washington, D.C. (Reprint from United States Government Printing Office, 1961), 1983

Middlebrook, Garrett, Air Combat At 20 Feet – Selected Missions From A Strafer Pilot’s Diary (A World War II Autobiography), Garrett Middlebrook, Fort Worth, Tx., 1989

“Message From the Front” – Japanese Radio Broadcasts from Tokyo to Western United States.  Transcript within Records of the Foreign Broadcast Intelligence Service

Aircraft Histories

B-25D 41-30018, at Pacific Wrecks

B-25G 42-64850, at Pacific Wrecks

Aviation Archeology

38th Bomb Group

38th Bomb Group

823rd Bomb Squadron, 38th Bomb Group

Missing in Action and Prisoners of War

Tunnel Hill Massacre

Japanese Military Installation at Amron, New Guinea

POWs at Amron, New Guinea

United States Defense POW / MIA Accounting Agency

Australian War Memorial

Alexishafen, New Guinea, Central Interpretation Unit (C.I.U.) Maps, at Australian War Memorial

United States National Archives

Records of the Foreign Broadcast Intelligence Service
Records Group 262, Entry 3, 530/17/11-13/00, Box 699.

War Department Bureau of Public Relations Press Branch Casualty Lists  of 13 December, 1943


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