Life in the 8th Air Force

Sunset at RAF Kimbolton in March 1944 features two B-17Fs belonging to the 379th Bomb Group. The 379th was considered one of crack units of the 8th Air Force, receiving two Presidential Unit Citations as well as leading the entire 8th Air Force in bombing accuracy while flying 330 sorties during the war.  

When we think of the 8^th Air Force and its contribution to the victory in World War II, we are naturally drawn to the dramatic stories of aerial combat that engulfed the continent of Europe from 1942-1945. The sacrifices of these men who flew into the cold blue against the best the Luftwaffe could throw at them day after day played a critical role in weakening Nazi Germany, and that story has been well told in both popular literature as well as movies such as Twelve O’clock High, Memphis Belle, and the new series Masters of the Air. Their stories ring with the terror of combat, the biting and deadly cold, of perseverance in the face of mechanical failures, flak, and German fighter planes to complete their mission of reducing German industry to rubble.

But when we look at the 8^th Air Force, one quickly learns that the flyers comprised but a small part of the vast organization that existed with the mission of putting bombs on German targets. And that the missions themselves comprised but a small portion of the men’s total army experience. Combat itself seems almost an aberration from the collective experience these men shared of life on an army air force base. We often hear the stories of what aerial combat was like, but rarely do we hear about the wartime experiences of these men away from combat, let alone from the ground support personnel who made those dramatic bombing missions possible. 

The story of life in the 8^th Air Force during World War II thus breaks down into two very separate experiences: that of the “flyboys,” who flew those dangerous missions and that of the “paddlefeet,” the nickname the flyers gave to the mechanics, technicians, sheet metal workers, parachute riggers, weather men, radio operators, photo interpreters, cooks, medics, and dozens of other critical support personnel that made those missions possible.

Ground crewmen of the 384th Bomb Group sit sweating out a mission amongst the mud of what became known as Grafton "Undermud," also known as Grafton Underwood. Eddie Picardo of the 44th Bomb Group remembered that "everybody who wasn't on duty including the civilians who worked on the base would rush to the field either by foot or bicycle to welcome the bombers back in. First you would listen for the roar of the engines then after you began to see them you started counting." Combat losses struck hard at everyone in the group, the ground crew feeling a deep personal responsibility for their ships and the crews who flew them.

          This book aims to synthesize these two very different wartime experiences into a cohesive whole to present a balanced portrait of life in the 8^th Air Force during World War II. What was it like living on an army air force base during the war? How were the bases constructed, laid out, and operated? How did the ground support personnel experience the war? What was it like back at the base ‘sweating it out’ while the mission was underway? What was it like being awake night after night, repairing damaged aircraft or patching together fractured men? How did the men live day after day in the barracks? What did they eat, what type of music did they listen to, and how did they deal with the loneliness of being away from home?

          How did these men find themselves in the Army Air Forces? What type of training did they receive, and what types of equipment did they operate? How did the men adjust to living in wartime England with its different customs and social mores? What was it like to go on a 48-hour pass in London? Why was alcohol and drug use so widespread yet so little discussed? How did our airmen interact with British women both on and off base? And how did these men grow such strong bonds of comradeship that held together for decades after the war? In seeking the answers to these questions, we will gain a deeper appreciation for the unspoken war behind the headlines and the movies, while gaining insights into how the WWII experience shaped and molded the character of the Americans of the 20^th and 21^st centuries.

Life in an Army Air Force barracks centered around the little coal-fired stove that sat in the center of the Nissen huts; the senior enlisted men often drew the cots closest to the stove but regardless of where you were, the barracks was almost always cold due to the shortages of fuel.  John Comer of the 381st Bomb Group said of his first night in one of the huts that "I doubt I ever spent a more miserable evening in my life. The dingy hut, designed for 12 men, was a dirty, dimly lighted, depressing place. It was bare except for 12 crude cots. A single low-watt bulb hung in the center of the building." Over time, the airmen settled in and made their barracks a home away from home. Here a group of enlisted men from Burtonwood Air Depot No. 2 enjoy a card game while one exhausted soldier sleeps clad in his leather jacket on his bunk. The mattresses themselves were called "biscuits" and described by another airman as "like a pillow in three segments and hard as hell." 

    Our World War II generation is rapidly passing from the scene at the rate of 131 per day, and estimates are now that barely 100,000 of the 16.1 million who served in the U.S. armed forces remain alive. Looking back on the war, Colonel Budd Peaslee of the 384^th Bomb Group wrote “the B-17s and B-24s will never again assemble into strike formation in the bitter cold of embattled skies. Never again will the musical thunder of their passage cause the very earth to tremble, the source of the sound lost in infinity, and seeming to emanate from all things, visible and invisible. The great deep-throated engines are forever silent. But on bleak and lonely winter nights in the English Midlands, ghost squadrons take off silently in the swirling mists of the North Sea from ancient weed-choked runways, and wing away toward the east, never to return. On other nights the deserted woodlands ring with unheard laughter and gay voices of young men and young women who once passed that way. Recollections of all these fades a little with each passing year until at last there will finally remain only the indelible records of the all-seeing Master of the Universe to recall the deeds of valor excelled by no other nation, arm, or service.”

The single most popular place for American airmen to go on leave was London, a bustling international city where soldiers could find sights to delight and astound on a nightly basis. This rare color view of Piccadilly Circus in London taken shortly after the war gives some sense of what a bustling place it was. John Paris of the 398th Bomb Group wrote that Piccadilly was "the Times Square of London, an amusement center and sin city all rolled into one. Now that most of the troops had left for France for the invasion, amusement and sin were plentiful and mighty cheap."  The Piccadilly Commandoes, London's irrepressible ladies of the night, "stridently competed for the attentions and favors of the reputedly wealthy Yanks," one airman remembered. "One of these ladies in her pitch outbid her competitors by promising that her fee of two quid included 'fun all the blooming noyte and breakfast in bed in the ruddy morning!" 

The COB's Diary: Three Patrols with the U.S.S. Pompano in 1942

 

War Patrol Diary of Torpedoman First Class Robert S. Ferris, U.S.N.

U.S.S. Pompano (SS-181)

Torpedoman First Class Robert S. Ferris and his wife Ruth (Axner) Ferris in a prewar photo dating from around 1940. Ferris' wife and two daughters were living on Oahu during the Pearl Harbor attack and were shipped back to the mainland in April 1942. Ruth returned home to Wichita, Kansas to stay with Robert's family and took a job working at the Boeing aircraft factory in Wichita until Robert returned home on June 6, 1944. Robert stayed in the Navy until 1953 having served 25 years: two years with the Army (1927-29) and 23 with the Navy (1929-1953). His first assignment in the Navy had been aboard the Saratoga but when he re-upped his enlistment in 1933, he did so on the condition that he be allowed to transfer to the Submarine Force. He spent the rest of his career in the boats.
(Image courtesy of Jamie Laurie, their granddaughter)

 

    Robert Southard Ferris was born September 9, 1909 in Kansas. He joined the U.S. Army in 1927 and served two years before transferring to the U.S. Navy where he spent 23 years, most of that time aboard submarines. He attended sub school in 1933 and was part of the commissioning crew of the U.S.S. Pompano when it was launched in March 1937. Ferris would stay with the Pompano until January 1943 and when he left, he was the chief of the boat as well as the last remaining member of the commissioning crew. 

    The outbreak of war on December 7, 1941 found Ferris aboard the Pompano en route to Pearl Harbor from Mare Island near San Francisco. While his wife and daughters worried, Ferris and the Pompano sailed for safety at Lahaina but a few weeks later, the Pompano was off on her first war patrol. Ferris would serve through three war patrols on the Pompano, sailing as far east as Formosa and even attempted to enter Tokyo Bay on their third patrol. 

    After the Pompano received new engines during a major overhaul in late 1942, Ferris was assigned to the Fleet Torpedo School at Pearl Harbor and served there for more than a year. He learned later that fall that the Pompano was lost at sea with all hands during its seventh war patrol. He arrived home in Wichita, Kansas on June 6, 1944 and then spent the remainder of the war teaching at the sub school in Groton, Connecticut. Ferris stayed in the Navy until 1953; he went into teaching and eventually moved to Tulsa, Oklahoma where he died in 1965. 

    Below are words and images from an extraordinary diary that Ferris kept during his three war patrols aboard the Pompano. Interspersed with the text are cartoons that Ferris drew depicting life aboard the submarine as well as additional images, both from Ferris' family and from the U.S. Navy, that provide additional context to his descriptions of life on patrol. 

    I present Robert Ferris' war patrol diaries with a deep thanks to his daughter Betty Lou Nelson who lovingly preserved them, and to his grand daughter Jamie Laurie who remembered my great interest in her grandfather's WWII service. 

Melvin L. Kliss of the 492nd Bomb Group

Melvin Louis Kliss was born January 6, 1922 to Louis and Cora Kliss of Long Beach, California. Kliss lived in Long Beach until he joined the Army Air Force in 1943. Long Beach was a fast growing town adjacent to Los Angeles- in the 1930s, it was an oil boom town, its prosperity hardly affected by the 1933 earthquake that leveled many buildings within the city. As the war began, more than 140,000 residents lived in Long Beach, thousands of whom would go to working in the aircraft or shipbuilding industries during WWII.  Douglas Aircraft Co. opened a massive airplane plant in 1941 that built C-47s, B-17s, and A-20s. The Calship yard opened on Terminal Island in Long Beach in late 1941 and eventually employed 40,000 workers. Long Beach also saw the deportation of thousands of Japanese residents in 1942, many of whom worked in fish canneries along the coast.

Melvin Louis Kliss registered for the draft on February 15, 1942; he was living with his parents at 1941 Dawson St. in Long Beach, California and was working for R.E. Campbell at 7^th St. and Bellflower Road in Long Beach. He gave his measurements as 6' 1” tall, 175 lbs with blue eyes, blonde hair, and a light complexion.

Sergeant Melvin L. Kliss, 856th Bomb Squadron, 492nd Bomb Group

Kliss was drafted and entered the service June 14, 1943 at Los Angeles, California. His residence was listed as Los Angeles Co., California, white, single with no dependents, completed 4 years of high school, and was working as a semi-skilled craneman at Calship the time of entry into the service. California Shipbuilding Corporation (Calship) operated a shipyard on Terminal Island in Los Angeles harbor during the war years building Liberty ships.

Trolley schedule to the Calship Yard
April 1943

Melvin Kliss received training as an aerial gunner and was assigned to a B-24 as a replacement air crew for the 856^th Squadron, 492^nd Bomb Group based at RAF North Pickenham. The 492^nd Bomb Group was part of the all B-24 Second Air Division and had a reputation as a 'hard luck' group. Sergeant Kliss arrived in England sometime in June 1944 as the right waist gunner on Replacement Crew R-14. This crew, also known as the Abernethy Crew, consisted of: Second Lieutenant Curtis A. Abernethy (pilot), Second Lieutenant Jack H. Stanton (co-pilot), Second Lieutenant Richard S. Krear (bombardier-navigator), Sergeant Alfred F. Childs (ball turret gunner), Staff Sergeant Percival G. Prince (top turret gunner), Staff Sergeant Willard E. Hoods (radio operator), Sergeant Ralph J. Carusone (left waist gunner), Sergeant Ralph F. Del Prete (tail gunner). This mission was flown without a navigator. This crew had flown two missions prior to the Kiel mission: aircraft factory at Magdeburg on June 29^th and a German airfield at Beaumont-le-Roger, France on July 4, 1944.

A typical B-24J from the 492nd Bomb Group

The 492^nd BG took part in mission 455 which was a mission that dispatched eight B-24 groups against harbor installations at Kiel, Germany. The group launched 34 ships of which 31 made it to the target; no enemy fighters were encountered on the mission but the mission suffered heavily from flak over Kiel; 100 of the B-24s sustained damage including Kliss' ship; B-24J-145-CO 44-40064 was damaged by flak and ditched in the English Channel. The B-24 had been built by Consolidated Aircraft in San Diego, California; no photo of the ship is available.

Melvin L. Kliss uniform grouping that I acquired over the summer; it includes his dress uniform jacket, wool overcoat, shirt, and Type A-4 flight coveralls. Other items not shown include his B-4 bag and an oxygen mask storage bag. Sergeant Kliss took part in three missions before his B-24 crashed in the North Sea following a raid against Kiel. Sergeant Kliss survived but was so badly injured that his combat career was over; two other airmen on his ship did not survive the ditching. His dress uniform features his sterling aerial gunner wings and three ribbons: Purple Heart, European Campaign ribbon with two stars, and a WWII Victory ribbon. On the left sleeve is one bullion stripe denoting six months of overseas service while on the right sleeve is a patch noting his armaments specialty. 

According to Lt. Stanton, engine No. 3 had developed an oil problem before arriving over the target and the prop had been feathered before the crew bombed their target in Kiel. The crew started to return with the formation, falling slightly behind, but about 30 minutes out from the German coast, engine No. 2 cut out. The crew was directed to toss any extra weight (guns, ammunition, etc.) in an attempt to lighten the aircraft and air-sea rescue was called. The ship had dropped to 5,000 feet and was about 90 miles from the English coast with the rescue boat 30 miles from their position when engine No. 1 ran away and cut out. An SOS message was sent out and the aircraft was ditched about 40 miles east of Yarmouth, England. Lieutenant Abernethy reported that the entire crew was in the designated ditching positions when the ship hit; the ship broke up quickly and the men were scattered about “most of us dazed or in shock.” 

The rescue boat arrived 15 minutes later, arriving at 12:50 P.M. Lieutenant Krear, bombardier, and Sergeant Del Prete, tail gunner, were listed as missing but the rest of the crew was rescued, all suffering bruises or fractures.  A group report attached to the MACR dated September 1944 lists Sergeant Kliss as “L.I.A.” with a date of July 6, 1944; not KIA or MIA; this means lost in action, or unable to return to duty due to injuries suffered.

This image shows a B-24 from the 492nd Bomb Group over Kiel on the July 6, 1944 mission that resulted in the end of Sergeant Kliss' combat tour with the 8th Air Force. 

Melvin Kliss was featured in the June 27, 1945 edition of Frances Langford's Purple Heart Diary, the heading of which read “Just Be Yourself, That's All a Vet Asks.” The Pittsburg Sun-Telegraph issue of June 27, 1945 reported that Sergeant Kliss was recuperating from operational fatigue at the A.A.F. Regional and Convalescent Hospital in Santa Clara, California. His episode was brought about by the traumatic nature of ditching his B-24 during the July 6, 1944 mission against Kiel. 

Lt. Krear was serving as the bombardier on Kliss' crew
and is listed as missing in action.
Pittsburgh Post Gazette July 25, 1944

Kliss thought it was a mistake for civilians to avoid discussing combat experience with returning veterans. “I'm afraid too many home folks are swallowing that tripe, and those dishing it out aren't helping us a bit. How do they know we don't want to talk about what we've been through? I know I do. Hell I don't want anyone to think I'm a problem child. This war has put a lot of things on my chest- things I couldn't put in letters. Talking about them now helps relieve me.” 

Melvin particularly scored those who, instead of listening sympathetically to their experiences, patronizingly switch subjects on them. “I guess they mean well. They probably think they're saving us from being nervous. But they're just making is more nervous than ever. When we feel like shooting the breeze, and common sense will tell you when we're in the mood, for Heaven's sake don't try to stop us. Nothing as important could happen to us for the rest of our lives. What else should we talk about?”

Melvin L. Kliss from his 2016 online obituary. 

Obituary published in South Bay Daily Breeze (Torrance, California) July 19, 2016:

“Melvin Louis Kliss passed away on July 13, 2016 at the age of 94. He was born to Louis and Cora Kliss in Long Beach, California on January 6, 1922. After attending school and spending his childhood in Long Beach, he joined the Army Air Force, 8th Air Force, 492nd Bomber group and served in Europe during World War II.

Mel met Ruth Stout a couple years after returning from the war and they were married in 1948, making a home in San Pedro. They raised two boys: Gary Melvin and Larry Louis Kliss. Mel worked for Southern California Edison for 37 years, and after retiring in 1985, he and Ruth spent their retirement years traveling and enjoying the sights of the world. Mel was an active member of Christ Lutheran Church in San Pedro serving in a number of different capacities. He was also a member of Mended Hearts Chapter 73, Long Beach, Peck Park Senior Center, Anderson Thursday Seniors and the San Pedro Elks Lodge. Mel is survived by his sons, Gary Kliss (Rayeann) and Larry Kliss (Jan), grandson Brian Kliss (Melissa) and twin great granddaughters Ava and Keira, granddaughter Tina Daniel (Ed) and great granddaughter Claire.

He was preceded in death by his parents, Louis and Cora, wife Ruth of 54 years, and brothers Clyde, Al and sister Dorothy. A Christian Memorial service will be held Saturday, July 23 at 3 pm at Green Hills Memorial Chapel, Rancho Palos Verdes.

Pub Politics: A Primer for American Servicemen in 1943

    The scene is a typical English pub at suppertime in summer of 1943. The usual crowd is in the pub, men and women alike: an English sailor and his father playing a board game, two tough-looking Scotsmen in uniform lean against the bar while two women sit nearby discussing the events of the day; a solitary man sits at a table reading the newspaper while behind him a group of neighbors play a game of darts. It is a calm sedate scene of wartime domestic tranquility.

The heart of English small town life, the "Pub." 

    Hollywood star Burgess Meredith, since 1942 a member of the U.S. Army, leans nonchalantly at the door surveying the scene approvingly when a sharply dressed U.S. soldier struts into the pub. “Get a load of this,” Meredith purrs with a knowing look as the soldier proceeds to insult the English father and son by saying that they're “playing a girl's game,” then strides to the bar and crudely flirts with the barmaid who is old enough to be his mother. “Hiya babe, whatcha doin' tonight,” he asks in a flippant New York accent after he strokes her chin with his finger. “Firewatchin',” she retorts coldly, “Whadaya havin'?” The disappointed soldier chides her, “You're one hep tomayta,” reaches into his pocket and flashes his stack of English bills, asks if the money is any good, and brags to the barmaid that “I've got a million of 'em.” The two Scotsmen (wearing kilts with their uniforms which are lined with ribbons) come into view and the serviceman calls them out with a whoop and sneers “Twenty years a chambermaid and never cracked a pot.” He spies the ribbons and asks the Scotsmen if they earned the ribbons for “good conduct.” One of the Scotsmen asks if the American likes being in England and the Yank says “I don't like it. Back home I have steak for breakfast, and there's six in the family and every morning we all have steak for breakfast.” As the American starts to make his exit, he claps the Scotsman on the shoulder and says, “Well Sandy, take care of yourself.” He looks down at the kilt, and acidly jokes “And keep your skirts clean!” By this point, everyone in the bar is looking at him in disgust. “Guess I better blow,” he says then disappears in a cloud of smoke. Meredith states that he had to do that as the soldier was “too bad an example,” and then proceeds to win over the pub with his own calm, quiet, and charming demeanor.

Burgess Meredith was the star of the wartime training film
entitled "A Welcome to Britain" which was released in late 1943
and became part of the regular orientation for
newly arrived American servicemen in England. 

    By the summer of 1943, the U.S. Army Air Forces in England had begun a rapid expansion that would eventually see nearly a half million airmen stationed on the island. While American servicemen and British civilians shared a common language, religion, and culture, old antagonisms and a fundamental lack of familiarity with English life (the last great migration of English to the U.S. predated the U.S. Civil War) presented a ripe opportunity for misunderstandings that could undermine the alliance American (and British) leaders hoped to form. Hitler's propagandists were already busy flooding the airwaves with commentary meant to rekindle old resentments and disagreements between the two countries. Seizing upon American resentment about WWI and the failure of many countries to pay their war debts to the U.S. to stoke American passions against England, German propagandists also asked the English why they were fighting to save “Uncle Shylock and his silver dollar.”

    The War Department and the Office of War Information in cooperation with the British Ministry of Information, made efforts to counter this German effort by publishing A Short Guide to Great Britain, and also collaborated on a 1943 film called “A Welcome to Britain” starring Burgess Meredith and Bob Hope. (see https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SyYSBBE1DFw ) “The first and major duty Hitler has given his propaganda chiefs is to separate Britain and America and spread distrust among them,” warned the introduction to A Short Guide to Great Britain. “We can defeat Hitler's propaganda with a weapon of our own: plain, common horse sense.”

8th Air Force commander General Ira Eaker (right) made a brief appearance at the beginning of "A Welcome to Britain." 

    “A Welcome to Britain” became part of the required indoctrination for every American serviceman who arrived in England upon its release in late 1943 and copies of A Short Guide to Great Britain were likewise distributed to each and every soldier. Copies of the booklet still remain relatively common and can be purchased on eBay in decent condition for roughly $20. My personal copy was inscribed by a airman attached to the 486^th Bomb Group, an 8^th Air Force B-24 outfit based at RAF Sudbury. The booklet has an intriguing but unexplained nugget drawn upon the interior map of Great Britain- a line labeled “back” is drawn with directional arrows from Le Havre, France around the southern horn of England to the Welsh town of Cardiff on the western coast of England with the date September 15, 1944, indicated a sea voyage of some sort from the continent back to England.

A Short Guide to Great Britain, 1942

    The intent of both the film and the booklet was to give incoming Yanks some basic rules for social navigation. “The best way to get on in Britain is very much the best way to get on in America,” the Guide stated. “The same sort of courtesy and decency and friendliness that go over big in America will go over big in Britain. They will like your frankness as long as it is friendly,” a point also emphasized in “A Welcome to Britain.” The primary message was to conduct yourself like a guest, and take care to not criticize. Don't brag about how the U.S. won WWI (“each nation did its share”) or how poorly the British did in the first years of WWII. “Remember that crossing the ocean doesn't automatically make you a hero.” And “NEVER criticize the King or Queen.”

    Another key point was that the “British are reserved, not unfriendly. On a small crowded island with 45 million people, each man learns to guard his privacy carefully, and is equally careful not to invade another man's privacy.” The film makes this same point as Meredith encourages the viewers to give the Englishmen time to warm up to you. The British also disliked braggarts and show-offs, and especially frowned upon well-paid American servicemen throwing their money around. “When pay day comes it would be sound practice to learn to spend your money according to British standards. The British 'Tommy' is apt to be specially touchy about the difference between his wages and yours.” The British reputation for toughness was also noted. “The English language didn't spread across the oceans and over the mountains and jungles and swamps of the world because these people were panty-waists,” the Guide chided. “Don't be misled by the British tendency to be soft-spoken and polite. If need be, they can be plenty tough.”

    The English countryside, while aged and picturesque, also showed the ravages of war. “Britain may look a little shop-worn and grimy to you,” the Guide stated. “The British people are anxious to have you know that you are not seeing their country at its best. The trains are unwashed and grimy because men and women are needed for more important work than car washing. British taxicabs look antique because the British build tanks for herself and Russia and hasn't time to make new cars.” Colonel Dale O. Smith, who led the 384^th Bomb Group of the 8^th Air Force for a year, recalled that upon arriving in England, he knew he was entering a “war zone” and not visiting a “nation at war.”

    Sergeant Eddie Picardo, a tailgunner in the 44^th Bomb Group, recalled an incident where he inadvertently ran afoul of the principals of pub politics. It occurred shortly after he arrived in theater and had been sent to Northern Ireland for ten days of 8^th Air Force-directed training. He slipped out of camp and found a local pub hosting a dance. He went in and soon was jitterbugging with a comely Irish lass. “Finally the music stopped and we found ourselves in front of the bandstand and on the bandstand stood a photograph of King George,” he wrote. “My Irish beauty held my hand and walked me up to the photograph. I thought she was going to flatter her king, but instead she looked at the picture and suddenly shouted 'You bastard' and spit on the picture. Instantly some guy threw a punch at her. I blocked it. A second later, someone hit me in the back of the head. The next thing I knew I had bodies under me and bodies over me and there we were with no passes in the middle of a political and religious firestorm between Catholics and Protestants. Catholic or not, it was a fight I wanted no part of.” (see Eddie S. Picardo's Tales of a Tail Gunner: A Memoir of Seattle and World War II, Seattle: Hara Publishing, 1996, pg. 146)

Meredith and an unnamed African-American soldier made a pitch for racial peace in "A Welcome to Britain." Meredith points out to the G.I.s that the racial divisions so much a part of life in the U.S. have no place in England. "The point is, we're not at home." 

    A final interesting aspect of “A Welcome to Britain” is late in the film when Burgess Meredith meets an African-American soldier on a train. The two men walk off the train in friendly conversation with an elderly Englishwoman from Birmingham who invites both soldiers to her home for tea. When the other soldier walks off to purchase some cigarettes, Meredith speaks right to the camera. “Now let's be frank about it. There's colored soldiers as well as white here, and there's less social restrictions in this country. That's what you heard: an Englishwoman invited a colored boy to tea, she was polite about it, he was polite about it. Now look, that might not happen at home, but the point is, we're not at home. The point is, too, if we bring a lot of prejudices here, what are we going to about them?” Meredith then spies General John C.H. Lee, head of the Services of Supply, and asks him to say a word about the issue of race. General Lee gives a short speech about the Army giving African-Americans an equal chance at real citizenship. “We're all here as soldiers, and everything we do, we do as American soldiers, not Negroes and white men, as rich or poor, but as American soldiers. It's not a bad time, is it, to learn to respect each other both ways.” Lee's progressive attitude on racial integration popped up again later in 1944 when he pushed for Eisenhower's headquarters to accept African-Americans as replacement infantrymen.

    After the General leaves, the African-American soldier offers Meredith a cigarette and takes one himself. Meredith then lights the other's man's cigarette while patriotic music plays in the background. It is a remarkably forward-thinking piece of film that may have helped plant some seeds that germinated in the Civil Rights movement 20 years later. At the very least it challenges some of the racial mores of the time.

William Hall Smith: Lead Bombardier of the 390th BG

One of the joys of collecting WWII Army Air Force uniforms is the opportunity it gives you to get to know the airman who once wore the jacket. A few months ago, I acquired an Ike jacket that once belonged to First Lieutenant William Hall Smith of the 570th Bomb Squadron, 390th Bombardment Group of the 8th Air Force. Smith served as the group lead bombardier while overseas flying B-17Gs. Along with the jacket came a pile of papers including about ten wartime letters from Lieutenant Smith (written to his parents), some post-war letters primarily centered on his re-entry to Penn State (and involvement with his fraternity Delta Chi), and a few wartime pictures. It was a tremendous grouping and with a bit more research, it told quite a story.

Lieutenant William Hall Smith

William Hall Smith was born March 27, 1923 at Meadville, Crawford Co., Pennsylvania to Clifford A. and Harriet L. Smith. William's father was a WWI veteran and worked as a bookkeeper; by the time WWII began, Clifford was working as the bookkeeper for the Pennsylvania State Soldiers' Home in Erie, Pennsylvania. William grew up in Erie and graduated from Strong Vincent High School with the class of 1940 (Strong Vincent was killed in action atop Little Round Top during the Battle of Gettysburg).

After graduation, William attended Penn State where he became deeply involved with Delta Chi and Army R.O.T.C. He registered for Selective Service June 30, 1942 where he gave his height as 5' 6", weight as 130 lbs, with brown hair and a light complexion. Shortly after beginning his junior year, he enlisted in the U.S. Army Air Force Enlisted Reserve with a deferment of service through January 1944, enough time (it was hoped) to allow him to complete his studies at Penn State. But it was not to be- it is unclear if he was called into service early or elected to go on his own, but he dropped out of Penn State in May 1943.

He was sworn into service May 17, 1943 and promptly shipped off to basic training at the Army Air Force Technical Training Command Basic Training Center at Atlantic City, New Jersey. William remained at Atlantic City for about a month before being shipped off to Massachusetts State College at Amherst, Massachusetts where he was assigned to the 58th Cadet Training Detachment for pre-flight training. Cadets were given an intensified course of both academics and military coursework. William remained in Massachusetts for about six months then went on to Primary Flight Training and Basic Flight; it is unclear where he went but he washed out of flight training at some point and was assigned to bombardier's school at Deming Army Air Field, New Mexico where he was a member of class 44-10. He started coursework in February 1944 and received 18 weeks of training which included 425 hours of ground school and 120 hours of in-flight training in AT-11 Kansan trainers. He graduated from Deming July 22, 1944, was commissioned a second lieutenant, and went home to Erie, Pennsylvania on furlough for about a month.

Deming A.A.F. Class 44-10 Yearbook

At the end of his furlough, Lieutenant Smith traveled by train to Lincoln Army Air Field in Lincoln, Nebraska but remained there only about a week before shipping off to Sioux City Army Air Field (Sioux City, Iowa) where he was assigned to the 224th Combat Crew Training School flying B-17s. At Sioux City, Lieutenant Smith was assigned to a new crew headed by pilot Donald R. Allen, and Smith would fly with this crew for nearly all of his missions in the E.T.O. The crew consisted of: Allen, pilot, Harvey Ainsworth, co-pilot, Russell B. Donahue, navigator (Smith and Donahue became close as would be expected as they flew in the same part of the plane), Smith as bombardier, William Edward Stovall, top turret gunner and engineer, Clovis B. "Toby" Ferguson, ball turret gunner, James O. Hillsman, radio operator, Keith L. Guthrie, waist gunner, and Robert W. Lambrecht, tail gunner.

The crew started training on September 6, 1944 and by late November and fulfilled all of the requisite requirements to be a fully trained combat crew. The crew graduated November 21, 1944 and departed the U.S. for service overseas on December 12, 1944. The crew flew a new B-17 along the normal route to England- first to Maine, then to Gander in Newfoundland, and then the long flight over the Atlantic Ocean to land in Scotland. Upon arrival in Scotland, the crew entered a brief course provided by the 8th Air Force as orientation for newly arrived combat crews and by Christmas they were assigned to the 570th Squadron of the 390th Bomb Group at RAF Framlingham.

Lt. Smith on leave, 1945

Smith's combat career commenced with perhaps the most memorable mission of his tour- the January 14, 1945 mission against an oil refinery at Derben, Germany. On this particular mission they flew a B-17G nicknamed "She Dood It" and found themselves in a tremendous battle with over 100 German fighters- an unusual event this late in the war. As related in the February 14, 1945 issue of the Erie Dispatch-Herald,  “Lieutenant William H. Smith, 21 year old B-17 Flying Fortress bombardier of Erie in one of the greatest air battles of the war had his first taste of combat when 8^th Air Force heavy bombers, striking at Nazi underground oil stores southwest of Berlin recently, were attacked by nearly 300 Luftwaffe fighter planes. For a full 30 minutes above the target, a swarm of Nazi fighters kept Lt. Smith, son of Mr. and Mrs. C.A. Smith (1226 West 6^th St.) and his Fortress formation under constant attack. Dogfights between Focke-Wulf 190s and American Thunderbolts and Mustangs raged about them. But Lt. Smith's Fortress bombed the target and returned home safely."

Derben was the first of 21 combat missions Smith would fly over the next four months; he was given special training as lead bombardier and led the group on a number of missions including February 26th (Berlin), February 27th (Leipzig), March 8th (Langendreer), March 9th (Frankfurt), and his last combat mission against Aussig on April 17, 1945. As lead bombardier, Smith would fly in B-17s equipped with pathfinder equipment known as Mickey; Jess Anderson generally flew aboard Smith's ship as the Mickey operator and oftentimes a command pilot (squadron or group commander) would fly in place of the co-pilot.

The "Allen" crew with William H. Smith in the back row left. Photo courtesy of 390th BG website.

With the war in Europe rapidly coming to a close (and the 8th Air Force being plumb out of targets), the 390th Bomb Group stood down the last two weeks of April and life became rather tedious for the flight crews. In early May, Smith participated in two non-combat missions delivering food to civilians in both Amsterdam and Utrecht in Holland. As he relayed in a letter home to his parents on May 4, 1945, "we went in at 270 feet and really got a good look. The people were all in the streets and on the roof tops waving at us. They certainly seemed glad to see us, with the exception of a few SS men we could see standing around. It really was a good feeling to be doing something good for a change." Smith included a clipping from Stars & Stripes which added that the bombers dropped 800 tons of "10-in-1 rations from tree top height. Grateful Hollanders using rocks and wood spelled out 'thank you' signs around the drop zones."

Lt. Smith's Ike Jacket

With the war in Europe over, Smith and his comrades soon started training for possible deployment to the South Pacific, but events soon also brought the Pacific War to a close. Smith was back in the states by V-J Day and was discharged at Sioux Falls Army Air Field in South Dakota on October 5, 1945. Within a week he was back on the grounds of Penn State completing his final year of college and rebuilding the fraternity. During his service with the 8th Air Force, he was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross (in May 1945), two Air Medals, a European-Middle Eastern-African Campaign ribbon with two stars, and American Campaign Ribbon, and the World War II Victory Ribbon. Details on Smith's post-war life were elusive; he graduated from Penn State in 1946, married Shirley Backes, had two children, and died August 9, 1988 at Bay Village, Ohio aged 65.

The Ike Jacket was in like-new condition when I acquired it but it was missing all of his insignia and ribbons; Smith's original Sterling silver bombardier wings were the only adornment on the jacket. Fortunately, the lot included two war time photos of Smith wearing the jacket and I was able to acquire replacement rank insignia, U.S.A.A.F. collar insignia, and period ribbons to restore the jacket to its wartime appearance. Interestingly, he was eligible to wear the Distinguished Unit Citation ribbon over his right pocket while assigned to the 390th Bomb Group- the unit had been recognized for its heroism during the famous missions against Regensburg and Schweinfurt in 1943). I added that ribbon as well as it showed in the wartime photos.

The lot included a few V-Mails; the idea behind the V-Mail was that it would be photographed in England, placed on microfilm, then sent to the U.S. where it would be printed and mailed. It represented an effort to cut down on the amount of freight necessary as the millions of U.S. servicemen stationed in Europe corresponded with their families. The letters in this collection were mostly traditional two or four page missives; V-mails were the exception rather than the rule. Another nugget I learned from Smith's correspondence was the APO system; with the 8th Air Force, APO 557 was for the 1st Air Division, APO 558 was for the 2nd Air Division, and APO 559 was for the 3rd Air Division. 

The lot also included a number of letters and telegrams that Lieutenant Smith sent while he was in England, including telegrams wishing his parents merry Christmas and a poignant Mother's Day telegram. The letters (due to wartime censorship) are rather vague as to what Smith was doing, other than to pass along the fact that he was alive and busy waging the war. He did take a great deal of pride in his bombing and stated that the bombing results of the 390th BG had been proclaimed the best in the 8th Air Force. Once combat operations ceased in late April 1945, his letters focused on the boredom of the men and the eagerness with which they all wanted to return home to the states.

Besby "Frank" Holmes at Pearl Harbor

Second Lieutenant Besby “Frank” Holmes had enlisted in the Army in March 1941, graduating from advanced flight training in November and immediately being shipped to Hawaii. He was assigned to the 47^th Pursuit Squadron, 15^th Pursuit Group based at Wheeler Field. On the morning of the attack, he was assigned to Haleiwa Field and had checked out in a P-36 the day before for the first time.

    We had been on a 7 day alert 24 hours per day. Everyone in the military forces had been restricted. Haleiwa was at the extreme north end of Oahu; Wheeler Field, which was right in the middle of Oahu, was our group's main base. Honolulu was on the other extremity of Oahu and that's where everybody from the three services went. We were going to have a fine Saturday night. We'd been restricted for 24 hours a day, but the teacher let the monkeys out.

    Nobody warned me about sweet rum drinks. One is fine, two is great, three is murder, and four is death. I don't know how many I had. I woke up the next morning with a horrible headache. I was down. All I could think about was getting up, going to church, getting Mass out of the way, putting my swimming suit on, getting out on a beach, and letting the sun bake the poison out of my body. I got up, got dressed, and went across the street to church. I had on a brown pin-striped suit and a green wool tie made by the Navaho Indians in Arizona.

    I was praying to God that my headache would go away when the first bombs fell. The church was open all the way around, for air circulation. I heard this whirring, whooshing noise. I thought, 'the stupid Navy! We called the alert off yesterday and they're still practicing.' The sexton ran out to the altar and whispered in the Irish priest's ear, but the priest didn't say any to the congregation. He just moved up the tempo of mass. I was having trouble following him. I couldn't stay with him in my missal. He didn't say anything about the bombs, but mass ended real quick. I walked outside and saw all the military trucks roaring up and down Kalakaua Boulevard. I thought 'what'd going on?'

    I darted across the street to the Royal Hawaiian and got up to the room. Johnny Voss and his cousin, the assistant manager, were so excited they were practically chasing each other around the room. In the middle of the table they had a little portable radio. The radio announcer was saying 'Don't get excited, don't get excited. The Japs have attacked Pearl Harbor but the Army has the situation well in hand.' And I thought, 'Dear God, if the rest of the Army feels like me, we're in trouble.'

    Fortunately, Johnny had the presence of mind to put his uniform on. I was still in my brown pin striped suit, We dashed outside, stopped the first car that went by (a little Studebaker Champion), and commandeered it. It was a civilian car. The guy said, 'What do you want, kids?' I said, 'we gotta get to our air base. We're both pilots.' He said, 'great,' moved over to the middle and said, 'you drive.' So I jumped in and drove. As we passed Pearl Harbor, the battle was in full force. I saw the Arizona's side blow out as we went by but we still didn't know what was going on. We were in a little fire engine red car; I don't know why we weren't strafed because it looked like a fire vehicle or something.

    We passed Pearl Harbor and drove up a hill to Wheeler Field, our main base. It was a shambles. There were 75 P-40s lined up on the edge of the parking ramp; they were all burning. We drove to my hangar but it was all aflame. As we drove up, the top just melted and crushed in. A big old sergeant saw me and said 'Lieutenant, I got an airplane for you to fly.' I said, 'Great, where is it?' Just by the hillside was a biplane with two cockpits. I don't even know what it was. It hadn't moved in the two weeks I'd been in Hawaii. The sergeant said, 'There it is Lieutenant, let's go.' And I said 'thank you very much, Sergeant, but I don't think I want to fly that thing.'

    I jumped back into the car and drove off from Wheeler, back to Haleiwa, which was 8-10 miles away. I drove through the gate we had left the afternoon before, but some idiot had put up a barbed wire fence. Well I didn't see the barbed wire fence and drove right through it. I said to this poor guy whose car we had commandeered, 'I'm so sorry, I'll pay for it.' He said, 'forget it Lieutenant, glad to help.' As I jumped out of the car, a big old line chief saw me. He grabbed me, handed me a parachute and a helmet, and said 'son, I've got an airplane that's ready to go.' Mind you, I'd only just checked out in this P-36 the day before. I had had one flight in it. He grabbed my shoulders with his big hands and got on my parachute. Someone ran up and handed me a naked .45. No holster, just a .45 pistol.

    We were running to the P-36 which was about 150 yards away, when I heard a boom, boom, boom. I looked around and saw the dust was spreading up around my airplane. I didn't like that at all. I looked over my shoulder and saw that a Val dive bomber was strafing my Curtiss Hawk. The Val was about 45 yards from me so I started firing at him with my pistol. One of the kids said, 'By God, you've hit him!' I emptied the pistol. I looked at the empty, smoking thing. I threw it up in the air and said, 'Got him! Hell, I hit the canopy.' I had seen the canopy craze but I thought, he's not on fire or going down. I said, 'Let's go and hide. I don't want to be caught out in the open.' We hid behind some bushes but the Val didn't come back. We picked up my parachute and helmet and went on out to the airplane. The Val hadn't touched it.

P-36 cockpit and instrument panel

    I got in the cockpit. The P-36 had a peculiar starting system; it had an 8 gauge shotgun shell compression starter. The charge was ducted into the bottom three cylinders of the radial engine. If everything was right, it would kick the prop over three revolutions. If you had the primer set, the mixture set, everything set, and your tongue was in the right corner of your cheek, maybe it would fire. I had six shotgun shells and fired five without getting the engine started. I had one left, so I jumped and handed it to the big line chief. I said 'you start it, I'm all thumbs.' It was a cranky starting system. He jumped in and started it; not sure if I said to myself 'damn him' or 'good for him.'

    When the engine started, the line chief began to jump out but I thrust him back into the cockpit. His eyes opened up to the size of saucers like I was going to make him fly the plane. I said, 'Sarge, just load the gun. Turn on the switches and turn on the gunsight. I don't know where the hell the switches are, and I've never loaded a gun in this plane.' He turned on the gunsight, put the circuit breakers in for the firing mechanism, and charged the gun. The P-36 was armed with a .30 and .50 caliber machine gun, which both fired through the prop. However, since we were at gunnery camp and .50 caliber ammo was too expensive to waste on gunnery training, I had just the one .30 caliber pop gun firing through the prop for my second flight in a P-36. That's how I went off to war over Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941.

    I took off and chased all over the island. It seemed like everyone on the ground who had a gun fired at me. I flew over Wheeler Field and Schofield Barracks first, as they were closest to Haleiwa. They were both a shambles. My next destination was Pearl Harbor, with Ford Island Naval Station in the middle. The damage was awesome. Huge ships were sunk and burning, fuel was burning, aircraft were burning, and hangars were burning. The antiaircraft fire that was directed at me was pretty intense, but fortunately, it was very inaccurate. I left the vicinity of Pearl quickly when I could find no enemy aircraft and I took a quick look at Ewa Marine Corps Air Station. It was much the same as Wheeler and Ford Island. Hickam Army Airfield was also beat up. Next, I flew over the Pali to Kaneohe Naval Air Station on the eastern side of Oahu. It was also beat up but not as badly as Pearl Harbor and the fighter bases around it. Men on the ground at Kaneohe fired at me. I thought that it was ridiculous that everybody on the ground was firing at me while I never saw a Japanese plane in the sky. Thank the Lord I didn't run into a formation of Zeros. They would have creamed me.

    I decided to return to Haleiwa and land. My whole flight lasted about 30 minutes. In my absence, some B-17s inbound from the U.S. had found our tiny little dirt field and had safely landed. They had no alternative as all the major airfields had been put out of commission. We had no tractors to tow the four engine bombers so we manhandled them underneath some tall trees. It was the best camouflage we could provide. An extended period of chaos ensued. Rumor after rumor circulated- a new air attack was imminent, it wasn't, a landing was about to occur, a landing was underway at Pearl, a landing wasn't underway at Pearl. I couldn't keep up with the rumors. Since all of the Army Air Corps fields on Oahu has been attacked and damaged except Haleiwa, all the operable P-36s and P-40s on Oahu came to our dirt strip. Additionally, numerous pilots who were senior to me (just about all of them) arrived. Naturally, my P-36 was taken away from me by one of the senior pilots.

Wheeler Field in the aftermath of the Japanese attack

    During the rest of the day, there was a lot of scurrying around doing things then undoing them. Then all the senior pilots spent that night in the cockpits of their assigned planes while junior pilots were sent to be beach guards. Johnny Voss and I were instructed that when, not if, we spotted the Japanese landing craft approaching the beach at Haleiwa, we were to fire our weapons, one .45 caliber automatic apiece, at them or into the air three times. That was the signal for all of our pursuit planes to immediately scramble and take off inland. A late rumor indicated that all the holes in Wheeler's runways had been filled in, so hopefully they would all be able to land safely.

    I trudged up and down my mile and a half of beach all that dark and lonely night, passing Johnny Voss every half hour or so. In the tropics and semitropics, the waves take on a luminescence that to my untrained eye, looking like the bow waves of landing barges. I must have seen a thousand waves I was certain contained troop-filled barges. Fortunately, no one fired a false alarm. If all 20 or so P-40s and P-36s had attempted a takeoff from that tiny dirt strip at night with no runway lights, taxi strips, or control tower, it would have been awful. Dawn finally arrived. There had been no further attacks. I cannot remember a more welcome sunrise.

Source: 

Hammel, Eric. Aces Against Japan: The American Aces Speak. Novato: Presidio Press, 1992, pgs. 5-10

Francis "Gabby" Gabreski at Pearl Harbor

Francis "Gabby" Gabreski was a 22 year old Pennsylvania native who joined the Army in 1940. He was a second lieutenant in the 45^th Fighter Squadron, 15^th Pursuit Group, Army Air Corps flying P-36s and P-40s while stationed at Wheeler Field at the time of Pearl Harbor. He later transferred to the ETO and as a member of the 56^th Fighter Group, scored 31 kills over the Germans. He ended the war as a POW and scored a further 6 ½ kills in the Korean War. His reputation follows as one of the finest fighter pilots to ever wear the uniform.

    I was lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling. I had a problem. Kay and I had had our first falling out the night before and I had to figure out how to handle it. Should I go to Mass at Wheeler chapel this sunny Sunday morning and seek some divine guidance on how to handle it? Or should I go straight over to Schofield, where I knew she would be attending services, and try to work things out right away? It was December 7, 1941, a little before 8 o'clock in the morning.

    I got up and went into the bathroom in our barracks to clean up and shave. At first, I didn't pay much attention to the roar of low-flying aircraft passing by outside. After all, this was an airbase here at Wheeler. But when I heard the rumble of explosions and the rattle of machine gun fire, I went to the window to see what the hell was going on. Just then a gray monoplane roared past the barracks. I could see its fixed landing gear and the red circles it carried for insignia. And the gunner sitting behind the pilot was firing away for all he was worth. I stood there in shock for a second until the truth hit me. That was a Japanese aircraft. We were under attack!

    Once I figured out what was happening, I started running up and down the hallway yelling at the pilots to get out of bed because we're under attack by the Japs. As the guys gathered in the hallway, I tried to make some sense out of what I'd just seen. We could hear explosions going off in the distance, so everyone crowded to the windows to see what we could see. The front of our building faced the airfield from higher ground. We could see smoke billowing from the airplanes burning on the flight line. There was black smoke coming from the hangars as well, but they weren't engulfed in flames. It also looked as if the airmen's mess had been hit. We pilots pulled on our flying clothes as quickly as we could and headed out the door.

    The flight line was about 500 yards from the barracks and a road ran between the two. To the left of the road, you could see the hangar line up on a slight rise. Everything was going up in flames. We got out the front door, and just as we were ready to get into our cars and head over there, another Japanese plane headed right for us and started shooting. All of us hit the dirt, some guys ducked under the barracks for cover. Others hopped under the cars. Fortunately, no one was hit. I decided to make my way to the flight line on foot, but I hadn't gone far before a car full of pilots pulled up and I joined them for a short ride. No one seemed to be in charge at the hangars, so we just pitched in where it looked like we could be most useful.

    The first thing was to try and separate the undamaged fighters from the ones that were on fire. I plunged into the work with the other guys. The heat and smoke were terrible. We would pull the chocks out from under a fighter's wheels and then push it for all we were worth until it looked as if the plane was a safe distance out of the way. Then we'd start on another one. We didn't have time to think about how dangerous the work was. Most of the fighters we saved were P-36s because the P-40s had been parked together in the most exposed position. All this time, the fires continued to burn in the hangars. At one point, someone noticed that all the refueling trucks were parked in there and in growing danger of exploding. But when we tried to start the trucks so we could drive them out, we found they were locked. What was worse, no one seemed to know where the keys were.

    Then the ammunition that was stored in the hangars began to cook off. Bullets were exploding in the fire and shooting every which way. It was chaos. We just had to leave the fuel trucks where they were. After about an hour, we had salvaged everything we could. Things that were on fire, like tires, we just left to burn themselves out. The only good thing about the situation was that the planes on the ramp contained no ammunition and very little fuel. That made it a bit easier to save the planes, though it also made them useless for the time being.

    Only 10 or 11 planes were ready, so Captain Tyler and the flight leaders looked over who was available to fly them and came up with a flight roster. Woody Wilmot must have read my eyes that I was eager to go, so he assigned me to fly number 4 in his flight. This was it. War was on, and I was going to do my part. I took it for granted that we would probably be getting into combat. Maybe I would shoot down an enemy plane. Maybe I would get shot down myself. I didn't expect to be killed, but I'll have to admit the thought crossed my mind. It didn't matter. The main thing was to attack the enemy. We had a mixed group of P-40s and P-36s; I got a P-36. I tried to keep myself calm as we climbed out together, heading south. In a few minutes, we were over Pearl Harbor. Boy, what a sight. Black, billowing smoke rose high into the heavens. I could see ships over on their sides, burning. It was a horrible mess.

Gabreski took the skies over Pearl Harbor in a P-36A similar to the one shown above. 

    We flew over at about 4,000 feet but by now everybody down there on the ground was so jittery that they fired on any airplanes they could see, including ours. We were high enough that small arms fire couldn't reach us, but they blasted away nevertheless. We could see tracers arc up toward us and occasionally a smoky burst of flak would explode nearby. Crazy Fred Schifflet, who was flying a P-40, decided he's go down lower so the people on the ground could identify us as friendly aircraft and stop shooting at us. I guess everyone makes foolish mistakes at one time or another. Anyway, he rolled out of formation and zoomed down across Hickam Field waggling his wings so everyone could see the U.S. insignias on them. The only trouble was the insignias in those days consisted of a blue disc with a white star on it and a red circle in the middle of the star. Forget the disc, forget the star. All the people at Hickam saw that red circle. They opened up with everything they had on old Fred: pistols, rifles, machine guns, probably even a few rocks and beer bottles.

    Almost immediately, Fred yelled over the radio that he had been hit. A little peevishly, Tyler ordered him to fly back to Wheeler. The rest of us steered clear of Pearl Harbor and continued to search the skies for another 45 minutes, but the Japanese were long gone. We never did receive any orders from the ground, so when our fuel started to get low, Captain Tyler led us back to Wheeler. I was pretty discouraged as I taxied to our hangar area. Pearl Harbor was a shambles. The other airfields had been damaged as badly or worse than ours. We had accomplished nothing. Then I caught sight of Fred's plane. It was so pathetic it was almost funny. The P-40 was full of small holes where it had been punctured by small arms fire. You could see where the bullets had hit the cockpit area, but luckily none of them hit Fred. The plane was junk, good only for salvaging parts to fix other P-40s.”

“Fred was already in the operations office when we arrived and he was complaining long and loud about the rude greeting he had received from the Hickam gunners. He didn't get much sympathy from us. What did he expect them to do under the circumstances after the pounding they had taken all morning? We spent a terse afternoon awaiting further instructions. The questions mounted. Had anyone located the Japanese carriers yet? Would they attack again? Worse yet, would they invade the island? No one knew anything except what we had seen. We stayed at the operations room until evening. A curfew was established at night. We were instructed to stay close to the phone and return the next morning with our sidearms, which were .45 caliber pistols.

    Once we began to disperse and the married fellows headed off to rejoin their families, I started to think about Kay. In all of the excitement of the day, I had hardly given her a thought, but now I was worried about her. I tried to call her at Colonel Bush's house, but I couldn't get through. It wouldn't have done any good anyway, since all of the civilians had been moved from Schofield to Honolulu during the day. She finally reached me by phone about 3 days later. It was a tense night for everyone because we had not idea that the Japanese task force had already turned around and was on its way back across the Pacific. We were worried about saboteurs or even a full scale invasion but the fact that the Japanese had done all the damage they intended to do.”

Source: 

Gabreski, Francis and Carl Molesworth. Gabby: A Fighter Pilot's Life. New York: Orion Books, 1991, pgs. 39-44