Through the lens of the past, one can discern the present.
And from the vantage of the present, the nature of the past can become clearer.
Case in point, novelist, short story writer, and screenwriter Michael Chabon’s speech at the Hebrew Union College graduation ceremony on May 14, 2018. Akin to the aphorism about a “talking dog” – that far more startling than the poor quality of its speech is the mere fact that it’s even capable of talking at all – the most remarkable aspect of Chabon’s address was that – as much as its very content – it was given in a venue that was (is?) “Jewish”. Truly remarkable in his ignorance of Jewish history in general, let alone the history of the re-established nation state of Israel in particular, the animating ethos of Chabon’s talk can best be understood as the legitimation and praise – if not the moral imperative (in a Kantian sense) – of Jewish self-negation, both individually and collectively.
Here’s Chabon’s speech, which can be found at Rando Namo’s YouTube channel (uploaded May 21, 2018) under the title “Hebrew Union College Graduation Ceremony Clip”.
Michael Chabon’s peroration elicited numerous insightful reactions, impassioned as much as analytical (links are given at the end of this post). Perhaps the best is D.G. Myers’ Michael Chabon’s Imaginary Jews, from the Fall, 2008 issue of the Sewanee Review. Equally telling is Rabbi Ammi (Ammiel) Hirsch’s September 19, 2018 Yom Kippur Sermon: “From the Ghetto”, at Stephen Wise Free Synagogue. …
In these reflections of, and reflecting upon, Chabon’s speech I’m reminded of the lyrics to John Lennon’s 1971 facile Yoko-Ono-inspired-ode to collectivism, and, the jettisoning of human particularism, in favor of the nullifying pleasure of a soporific universalism: “Imagine“. I know I “heard” this song as far back as the early 70s (seriously! … even as a kid I found its airs of grandstanding moral nobility and near-pathological idealism to be disconcerting – though I didn’t know the words “pathological”, “idealism” and “disconcerting” back then!), but it’s true implications weren’t apparent until I viewed the 1984 movie “The Killing Fields”, in which the Lennon / Ono ode accompanies the film’s concluding scenes. It was here, through the cinema, that the banality, utter shallowness of thought, and especially the totalitarian brutality lurking behind the lyrics’ false sweetness was fully crystallized. For naively or intentionally, what this song was extolling was a mechanistic view of reality, the abolition of individual human endeavor, and, the suppression of all national identities, the results of which have been amply evident (and were ongoing even as the song was released in the midst of the (first?!) Cold War!) throughout the twentieth century, to the “tune” of tens of millions dead.
For your consideration, the lyrics follow:
Imagine there’s no heaven It’s easy if you try No hell below us Above us only sky Imagine all the people Living for today… Aha-ah…
Imagine there’s no countries It isn’t hard to do Nothing to kill or die for And no religion, too Imagine all the people Living life in peace… You…
You may say I’m a dreamer But I’m not the only one I hope someday you’ll join us And the world will be as one
Imagine no possessions I wonder if you can No need for greed or hunger A brotherhood of man Imagine all the people Sharing all the world… You…
You may say I’m a dreamer But I’m not the only one I hope someday you’ll join us And the world will live as one.
Then again, I’ve always felt the pop-culture – and not just the pop-culture! – fascination with The Beatles to be perplexing. (Blasphemy, blasphemy!)
Oh. Yes. Getting back to Michael Chabon’s speech…
Thinking about the ideological currents contributing to his thinking, I’m reminded of an essay that appeared on April 13, 1945, a month before the end of the Second World War in Europe, in the Indiana-based The Jewish Post, which is currently published as The Jewish Post and Opinion. Written by Bertram A. Rosenberg and entitled “A Soldier Checks Up on His Buddies to Discover What Kind of Future in Store for U.S. Jewry”, the essay takes the form of a series of vignettes, eleven in number. Through these, Rosenberg relates his observations of the interaction of Jewish soldiers in his unidentified unit with and among Jewish and non-Jewish soldiers and civilians in settings both military and civilian. He also presents comments made by Jewish soldiers – discretely recorded, I would think! – that were expressed in unguarded reflection about their perception of themselves, other Jews, and the political and military situation of the Jewish people “in general” during the war’s final year.
Of central note is the fact that absolutely none of the eleven incidents … musings … conversations (call them what you will) recounted below pertain to antisemitism as directly experienced by these soldiers. Though we have no way of knowing how random, representative,or dramatically selective is this “portrait” (I think it’s truly random), distinct themes emerge from Rosenberg’s essay: The degree to which the identity of these men was derived not through the prism of their own identity, ancestry, and heritage, but instead, from assumptions of how they assume others perceived them. … The degree to which some wish to consciously jettison or escape from any sense of identification with the Jewish people. … The attribution of antisemitism to the behavior of Jews themselves. … The ineffectiveness of educational efforts to impart a sense of Zionism, and, Jewish history. … Juxtaposed against these observations are a small few in which efforts towards a positive, confident, and assured Jewish identity are described. This is particularly so in the last vignette, in which a colonel in the Medical Corp admonishes his men: “We have nothing to apologize for. It is impossible now to elaborate upon two thousand years of religious faith, but enough to say that, you fool nobody, not even yourself, whim you deny your birthright.”
Rosenberg’s conclusion is ambiguous: “I hesitate to enforce an all-inclusive conviction. I am reminded of the story of the blind men, who attempting to describe an elephant, found different points of emphasis and drew pictures in accordance with their sensitivity of experience. I do know that U.S. Jewish youth needs a new, different, more militant type of manhood. Being a Zionist, I know of one such type, possibly all-inclusive.” He closes with words from his brother: “We, the Israelites, need a Jewish-American manhood, that understands its responsibilities, accepts them and perceives the pleasures of our tradition, not solely the difficulties of it.”
Here’s Rosenberg’s essay, which is as relevant in 2024 as it was seventy-nine years ago:
A Soldier Checks Up on His Buddies to Discover What Kind of Future in Store for U.S. Jewry
Bertram A. Rosenberg
The Jewish Post April 13, 1945
ONE Sunday morning I awoke with a mission. I was going to find out, the extent of Jewishness, among my buddies, to learn of their background, Jewish education, awareness of Jewish problems, closeness of Jewish associations, and so on.
“Crazy fool,” strange interlude number one within me spoke. “Crazy fool, leave well enough alone! Leave well enough alone.”
“After all,” strange interlude number two spoke. “After all upon the thoughts of these youth, representative of all sections of the country, will depend the sort of Jewish life that will be led in America. And if you want to have a part in the destiny of your people, you should know the ways of their lives.”
Herewith I wish to assure all aspiring psychiatrists who desire to send me letters of advice and treatment that through the judicious use of non-habit forming opium, laudanum, cocaine, 3.2 per cent beer, intravenous morphine injections, I have cured myself of the delusions of “strange interlude.”
A Tall Assignment
“This is a tall assignment I says to me, so big, so subject to untrue generalities, so unscientific, so devoid of a beginning or an ending, a “rishon or a sof,” that only you would undertake it. You will start from the middle of an ocean, longitude zero, latitude zero, and descend downward, losing air, choking for sense, finding yourself swimming in four directional current, going up, going down, and wondering when the lifeline of common sanity will snap. Being human, thus lacking the fundamental annual sense of good and bad, I went ahead regardless.
In writing of what happened, I decided that I would quote various incidents written down in my black book and let the reader draw his own interpretation of their meaning. As for me, I was definitely swayed by what I had noted. After just a cursory landing on the “island within,” the footprints upon the beach, told me what I wanted to know…
Incident I …
“I feel that there are three hundred and sixty pairs of eyes watching our movements,…”
Our Jewish group of 25 men out of a total assembly of 360, were lined up in military formation, to march over to visit the chaplain. We, the Jews, led the parade, we the twenty five, because our chapel for today was the nearest. A young Jewish soldier alongside me said:
“I feel that there are three hundred and sixty pairs of eyes watching our movements, watching our cadence, watching our smartness, watching … whispering … criticizing … of course this is the super imaginative phantasy of my eighth sense, but it is a concrete disturbance.”
Incident 2 …
“I’m roped in.”
Our group deported from the others and as we awaited entrance to the chapel, one of the Jewish boys hollered out to a pal of his in the Christian columns:
“I’m roped in.”
As an honest, manly extension of this, he might have said:
“Listen, you Christians, I’m not here because I want to be. I’m not one of these Jews. I’m roped in because we were ordered to be here.”
Incident 3 …
“Yep, it’s peculiar, well when my father-in-law dies, I will be free.”
Before going into the chapel, one John Smith explains to all of us:
“Yep, nobody believes I’m Jewish. Why when I was to be married, my father-in-law thought me a “goy.” Yep, it’s peculiar, well when my father-in-law dies, I will be free.”
Incident 4 …
“…when such a thing happens it is best to leave it alone,
to let it go,
to avoid all trouble,
to let the matter drop,
to act as if nothing happened.”
Suddenly one of the boys motions for all of us to assemble in a small circle. We go underground to listen.
“Listen, fellows. I have something to tell you. One of our soldiers in barracks got up today and read a poem, a soldier’s hymn, contents being that the Christians fight while the Jews buy bonds. Fellows, when such a thing happens it is best to leave it alone, to let it go, to avoid all trouble, to let the matter drop, to act as if nothing happened. After all aren’t there many jokes about the Jews we tell ourselves. I know this kid. He even says “Sam Goldberg is his best friend.”
Incident 5 …
“Some of you say that even if you don’t believe in religion, you should attend services to gain the respect of your Christian pals, but what respect have you gained by having your face slapped.”
One of the boys replies:
“Listen, fellows, you guys that say hush-hush this affair are cowards. When that fellow read his poem you had not time to rationalize, to debate the wisest course of action, because this was a stimulus to your emotions, it was a split second affair, and if you hid under your cover, plugged your ears with your fingers, or bent down to tie your shoe lace, or walked out of the room, then you showed physical and menial cowardice. You had no time to think, you had only time for your Jewish conditioned background to activate your reaction. It was as if a hot iron were touched to your hand. The resultant action is based on muscular reflex, conditioned by your experiences with fire and heat. Sure you hid under your covers. Just as you have been hiding ever since you understood you were Jewish. You have no pride in your Judaism. Some of you say that even if you don’t believe in religion, you should attend services to gain the respect of your Christian pals, but what respect have you gained by having your face slapped.”
Incident 6 …
“In fact, it is a shock to learn that twenty five years of Zionist propaganda, of current events of American English articles, of books, has not conclusively reached into the heart of Chicago … outlands of New Jersey … southern Florida hand-clapping Texas … cold Massachusetts.”
After chapel services a discussion initiated by the chaplain was held. The topic chosen was “Regimented Prayer.” From out of nowhere a disturbed soul asks:
“Chaplain, what is a Zion … a Zionism … a Zio –”
The chaplain jumps to the rescue and adds:
“A Zionist”
“Yes, sir.”
“A Zionist is a person who wants the Jews of Europe to find a home in Palestine. Although an American Zionist is one who does not want to go there.”
A second voice says:
“Isn’t a Zionist, one who wants to kick the Arabs out of their land?”
A bright, young man astounds the gathering, Klal Israel, with the important piece of information:
“Pierre Van Paassen’s book, “Days of Our Years,” has the answer to that.”
A third voice says:
“Isn’t Biro-Bijan a Zionist state?”
So it goes, wholesale uninformativeness. It surprises one. In fact, it is a shock to learn that twenty five years of Zionist propaganda, of current events of American English articles, of books, has not conclusively reached into the heart of Chicago … outlands of New Jersey … southern Florida hand-clapping Texas … cold Massachusetts.
Incident 7 …
“See, that’s what I mean.
It is that type of Jew, dirty, begging, conspicuous, that causes anti-Semitism.
I don’t blame the Gentiles.”
Last night three of us Jewish boys went to a show. While on the way, we were cautiously approached and stopped by a bedraggled, hunched over moth-eaten man whose face bore marks of Jewish suffering. At first we intended brushing him aside, but to test my friend’s reactions, I said:
“Let’s buy a paper.”
“All right,” said pal one, “but I have no change. Will a dollar bill do?”
The man nodded, “No.
“’Here’s a dime,” I volunteered. “Let’s give it to him and forget the paper.”
“No, thanks, boys,” the man hastened to say, “I sell papers.”
“Du bist a Yid,” I said in pidgeon Jewish.
“An alte Yid,” he responded.
My friends demanded a halt to the conversation, appearing embarrassed, and cautioning me to speak softly. When we finally were out of earshot, one said:
“See, that’s what I mean. It is that type of Jew, dirty, begging, conspicuous, that causes anti-Semitism. I don’t blame the Gentiles.”
Incident 8 …
“We had gone “over the hill” from GI chow, and were seated in a Jewish restaurant, awaiting the entree of chopped herring. Each of us had been supplied by the observant proprietor with a drip-pan placed snugly against the lower lip, Ubangi style, into which fell the tidal wave of anxious saliva. One of the more daring boys had secured a bottle of Canadian Club, and asked the proprietor whether we could make a toast, the answer being:
“If I can’t see it, can I see it?”
Which translated into good English, means:
“If I can’t see it, can I see it?”
We lifted our glasses to a position Just on the level with our eyes (seeing is believing).
“Rebenishelolam.”
“Rehenishelolam,” I repeated, “what’s that?”
“Oh,” he replied, “that’s the Jewish toast for drinking.”
“Do you know what that means?”
“No,” he answered, “but my grandmother always said it at home.”
“You’re mistaken,” I said, “the word is ‘Lechaiim,’ to health. You were calling upon the Lord’s name.”
Nevertheless, the Canadian Club tasted good. Indeed after awhile we were amazed to find that the proprietor had installed a revolving cuisine. Or so it seemed.
Incident 9 …
“What do you guys want to do, prove this is a Jewish war?”
One day after a very impressive chapel service, during which the chaplain read of the “Heroes of the Battle of the Warsaw Ghetto,” with the tune of the Young Judean version of “Adon Olam” ringing in our ears, we made our way back to our barracks. There my friend found an old harmonica and commenced to give out with all the Palestinian chants he and I knew. Anu Banu Artza, Avinu Malkenu, Hineh Matov … It was not more than three songs and two bars of “Yerushalyium” later, when the section chief, a Jewish lad, cautioned us to quiet. Revolt flared up within us, this Sunday, and we continued.
Again the section chief emerged from his shell, and cautioned:
“What do you guys want to do, prove this is a Jewish war?”
Incident 10 …
“Fine Jewish boys met death with a “Shma Israel” on their lips, and a Mezuzzah in their hands. And here in these very halls…”
Our camp had a very fine library. Well, this day I walked in intent on securing Ben Hecht’s “Guide to [sic] the Bedevilled,” or Ludwig Lewisohn’s “Breathe Upon These“, or Pierre Van Paassen’s “Forgotten Ally,” when I observed and promptly snatched, or should I say snitched a booklet, “Fighting for America,” put out by the National Jewish Welfare Board.
As I looked through this history of brave fighting Jews and feverishly scoured the “missing in action,” the “died for their country” columns, I was aware of a sniping over my shoulder. A voice inquired:
“May I read it next?”
One day later, the booklet was returned to me with an enclosed note.
“Dear Bert,
I showed this booklet to several Jewish friends of mine and the consensus of opinion was that it is a waste of valuable paper. Why do certain people insist upon separating us Jews into a distinct grouping? This showing of our differences results in special attention to us. We need less of this.”
I venomed. Fine Jewish boys met death with a “Shma Israel” on their lips, and a Mezuzzah in their hands. And here in these very halls…
______________________________
Here are covers of the books referred in the above vignette. They’re all from my library. (Yes, I like books.)
A Guide for the Bedevilled Charles Scribner’s Sons, New York, N.Y., 1944
__________
Breathe Upon These Ludwig Lewisohn Bobbs-Merrill, Indianapolis, In., 1944
__________
The Forgotten Ally Pierre van Paassen The Dial Press, New York, N.Y., 1943
__________
Fighting for America A Record of the Participation of Jewish Men and Women in the Armed Forces During 1944 The National Jewish Welfare Board, New York, N.Y., 1944
______________________________
Incident 11 …
“We have nothing to apologize for.”
At services today, a colonel of the Medical Corps was among the worshippers and was requested by the chaplain to give his greetings. This elderly, handsome, neatly attired officer spoke:
“Fellow Jews, I think that what I have to say will be a Testament of Faith. Mind you I’m not a Holy Roller, but what I have to say, I believe in. Don’t be ashamed of being a Jew. Many of the boys who come to the medical training school are ashamed of being Jews, they try to hide it. As for me, I have always found a great source of spiritual strength in my religion. I have a Jewish home and intend to bring up my little family as Jews. We have nothing to apologize for. It is impossible now to elaborate upon two thousand years of religious faith, but enough to say that, you fool nobody, not even yourself, whim you deny your birthright.”
These are just eleven incidents, but easily multiplied by four score and seven, that like organic pain, are symptoms of unhealthy disturbances in U.S. Jewish life. This is not news. But the Army Express carries one over the broad land, throwing unassortedly man upon man, given the opportunity for a study of altogether different unlocalized human beings from Maine to Florida, from Washington to Texas, from California to New York.
Draws No Conclusions
This, then is my stay of “GI Jacob,” as I found him. From these “Incidents,” can be drawn a pretty fair diagram of Jewish-American youth as Jews. I, for one, am a poor artist. I leave the color, strong lines, weak lines, emphasis of profile, to the Jewish socio-religio experts, who in their own accepted learnings, will draw it out as it affects them.
I hesitate to enforce an all-inclusive conviction. I am reminded of the story of the blind men, who attempting to describe an elephant, found different points of emphasis and drew pictures in accordance with their sensitivity of experience. I do know that U.S. Jewish youth needs a new, different, more militant type of manhood. Being a Zionist, I know of one such type, possibly all-inclusive.
One word then, before I leave, one thought, that my brother so ably writes, from an army camp somewhere in the world:
“We, the Israelites, need a Jewish-American manhood, that understands its responsibilities, accepts them and perceives the pleasures of our tradition, not solely the difficulties of it.”
Here’s the original article as it appeared in The Jewish Post…
Let’s return to 2023 and 2024.
What conclusions can we draw from the intersection of Bertram Rosenberg’s article of 1945 and Michael Chabon’s speech of 2018? The opinions about Jewish identity, and survival, versus the ideology of self-negation that Chabon espoused in his commencement address didn’t solely arise from within his (and I quite eye-rollingly admit, my) generation, or, spontaneously spring from the ideological aether of the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. They had already crystallized, and were felt and articulated in different ways decades earlier, having historical antecedents in events and philosophical currents – the impacts of which were perhaps initially unanticipated or unappreciated – that commenced far – centuries? – earlier.
As understood by Bertram Rosenberg’s anonymous Medical Corps colonel, an apology, however intensely felt, passionately articulated, and adroitly acted upon, cannot be the foundation for the the self-understanding of individuals, let alone the continued existence of a people and a nation.
To conclude, two videos:
November 3, 2023: “Pro-Palestinian protesters at 30th Street Station in Philadelphia call for Israel-Hamas ceasefire” (from The Philadelphia Inquirer)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
July 23, 2024: “Jewish Voices For Peace Hold A Sit-In On Capitol Hill Protesting Prime Minister Netanyahu’s Visit” (from Forbes Breaking News) (A bit of a typo there: Should be “Jewish Voice for Peace”. The organization, Jew-ish in name only, (big emphasis on the “ish” part) is a contemporary incarnation of the former Soviet Union’s Yevsektsiya.)
“plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose”.
Post Script
An ironic and unrelated afterword. Or two. (Or three.)
It’s odd.
Despite my opinions about Chabon’s Hebrew Union College speech and the ideology of his writing (as exemplified in his novel The Yiddish Policeman’s Union), I admit to really (truly!) enjoying the 2012 film John Carter, (based on Edgar Rice Burroughs’ serialized John Carter of Mars; see more at Archive.org) for which Chabon was one of the three screenwriters. Though the film was and continues to be overwhelmingly “panned” and pummeled by many viewers and critics, I felt it was genuinely evocative and strongly representative of science fiction as presented in the pulps of the early twentieth century, examples of which you can find at my brother blog, WordsEnvisioned. Plus, it was lots of fun.
Gadzooks, have six years gone by already? Updated on February 3, 2020, with an image of B-29 “Wugged Wascal”, I’ve (once again!) updated this post in this month of October, 2024. It now includes images of 1 Lt. Leonard Rifas, his crew, and the B-17 in which they were lost, “Miss D-day”. These images and related explanatory information were found at FindAGrave and Ancestry.. You can view them below.
* * * * *
Originally created on April 3, 2018, this post includes information about several casualties in the Army Air Force on January 9, 1945, among whom was Second Lieutenant Murray Karron, flight engineer on the B-29 “Wugged Wascal”. I’ve now updated the post to include two images of the “Wascal”, one from Steve Birdsall’s 1981 book Saga of the Superfortress, and another from Prentice Burkett’s The Unofficial History of the 499th Bomb Group (VH). These are the only images I’ve thus far found of this B-29 (42-24658).
Scroll down…
________________________________________
By its very nature, military activity – even when limited to action such as instruction and training; even when geographically distant from engagement with enemy forces in actual combat – has always entailed a solid element of risk and danger. One example of this appeared in The New York Times on February 15, 1945, through the publication of an obituary for Second Lieutenant George Greenfield (0-2070016), an Army Air Force navigator from the Bronx.
Killed in Bomber Crash Last Jan. 9 in England
Lieut. George Greenfield, navigator on a B-24, was killed when his bomber crashed in England on Jan. 9, the War Department has notified his family here. Lieutenant Greenfield was 22 years old.
Born in this city, he was graduated from Stuyvesant High School in 1941 and then attended the University of Indiana for two years, majoring in languages. He enlisted two years ago and was qualified as a pilot in the Air Corps, but later was transferred and graduated as a navigator at Selman Field, La. He went overseas at the end of November.
His parents, Mr. and Mrs. Philip Greenfield of 1180 Anderson Avenue, the Bronx; a twin sister, Jeanette; and two other sisters, Mrs. Paul Bergman and Margaret Greenfield, survive.
This Google Street view image shows a contemporary (2014) view of 1180 Anderson Ave.
Though there’s no Missing Air Crew Report for Lt. Greenfield and his crew (his MACR index card carries the simple notation “No MACR”), his record at the American Battle Monuments Commission provides the “clue” by which the incident of January 9, 1945, can be identified: He was a member of the 706th Bomb Squadron of the 446th Bomb Group, with the Aviation Archeology database revealing that a B-24H Liberator of that squadron (42-95306, “RT * S”, nicknamed “Dragon Lady” and piloted by 2 Lt. Andrew J. Puschock, Jr.) was lost in an accident at Whittlesford, England on that date.
Though the records of the 706th Bomb Squadron, and, any Accident Report filed after the incident would certainly list the plane’s crew, only limited information is currently available about the other casualties in this incident. Aside from Lt. Puschock, who is buried at Arlington National Cemetery, another fatality is known to have been 2 Lt. Robert Wallace Allen, presumably the bomber’s co-pilot, who is buried at the Cambridge American Cemetery, in Cambridge, England (Plot B, Row 5, Grave 54).
Lieutenant Greenfield’s name appeared in the “In Memoriam” section of The New York Times on December 1, 1945. Born on December 1, 1922, his name appears on page 335 of American Jews in World War II. His sole award is the Purple Heart, suggesting that the Puschock crew – perhaps a newly arrived crew, as implied by his November arrival in England – may have flown fewer than five combat missions prior to the accident on January 9. He is buried in the Cambridge American Cemetery, near Lt. Allen, at Plot B, Row 6, Grave 54. His matzeva, photographed by Skip Farrow, is show below:
Another aspect of this news item is more subtle, almost “hiding in plain sight”: The single-bladed propeller on Lt. Greenfield’s cap was the emblem of World War Two Army Air Force aviation cadets, suggesting that his portrait (a very good portrait) was an image in his family’s possession which was donated to the Times.
Some other Jewish military casualties on Tuesday, January 9, 1945, include…
Killed in Action – .ת.נ.צ.ב.ה. –
Boyaner, Frank, Major Canadian Dental Corps Mrs. Hazel Olive Boyaner (wife) Mr. and Mrs. Don and Kaylia Boyaner (parents) Born Saint John’s, New Brunswick, Canada, 3/23/25 Brookwood Military Cemetery, Surrey, England – 56,D,9 Canadian Jews in World War II– Part II: Casualties – 12
Carp, Paul Iban, Lt. JG, 0-184815, Purple Heart United States Navy Possibly lost while serving as a member of a liaison team aboard a French escort vessel Mr. Joseph Shepard Carp (father), 2738 SW 20th St., Miami, Fl. Miss Clare Schwartz and Mrs. Ruth C. Rosow (sisters) Graduate of Harvard University Tablets of the Missing at North African American Cemetery, Carthage, Tunisia WW II Memorial Honoree Record by Ruth C. Rosow (sister) Jewish Floridian 3/2/45 American Jews in World War II – 82
______________________________
Cohen, Clarence, Cpl., 36895289, Gunner (Central Fire Control), Air Medal, Purple Heart, 2 missions United States Army Air Force, 20th Air Force, 500th Bomb Group, 883rd Bomb Squadron Mrs. Bettie (Nettie?) Romanoff (sister), 7454 Wykes St., Detroit, Mi. Also 693 Alabama Ave., Brooklyn, 7, N.Y. MACR 10903; Aircraft: B-29 42-24657 (“Mustn’t Touch”; “Z square 45”), Pilot: Capt. John J. Charters; 11 crewmen Aircraft presumably ditched; no survivors
Corporal Cohen’s Superfortress, Mustn’t Touch, was lost during a mission to the Musashino Aircraft Works and Nakajima Aircraft Engine Factory near Tokyo. There is little (and will forever be little) definitive information about the plane’s loss, seemingly attributable to mechanical problems with the plane’s engines necessitating ditching in the Pacific Ocean roughly half-way between Saipan and Japan. As summarized in Missing Air Crew Report 10903: Shortly after take-off, his aircraft developed mechanical problems. During climb-out the #1 engine was leaking oil, and puffs of black smoke were coming from the #4 engine. At 16,000 feet his aircraft feathered the #1 engine propeller and began to abort the sortie. Last visual contact was at a geographic location of 28 degrees 10 minutes north and 137 degrees 30 minutes east, at 0315Z. Last radio contact, at 0410Z, stated they had lost an engine and were going to ditch in the ocean, approximately 900 nautical miles north of Saipan. No survivors were ever found, and he was declared killed in action one year later.
Corporal Cohen and his fellow crewmen are memorialized on the Tablets of the Missing at the Honolulu Memorial, in Honolulu. His name appears on page 290 of American Jews in World War II.
This below image of the nose art of Mustn’t Touch is from Tom McNamara’s flickr photostream, while the second image – Army Air Force photograph 64276AC / A39219 – taken on Saipan in November, 1944, shows the aircraft before the application of nose art. (The soldiers in the foreground, from an engineer battalion, are drilling holes for dynamite charges during construction of an airstrip at Isley Field.) Of technical interest, the image clearly shows the tail cannon characteristic of early B-29s, which weapon would eventually be deleted from the Superfortress due to its slow rate of fire, and, the difference between the trajectories of its 20mm shells, and, those of the twin tail-mounted co-axial 50 caliber Browning machine guns.
______________________________
Cohen, Louis, PFC, 39558749 United States Army Air Force, 77th Air Service Group, Headquarters Squadron Died (non-battle) on Tinian Island Mrs. Betty G. Cohen (wife), 1318 S. Cochran Ave., Los Angeles, Ca. Born 1911 No number on MACR index name card National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific, Honolulu, Hawaii – Section Q, Grave 662 American Jews in World War II – 41
Frenkel, Boris Mikhailovich (Френкель, Борис Михаилович) Senior Sergeant [Старший Сержант] U.S.S.R., Red Army, 63rd Cavalry Division Radio Operator in Valentine Mk IX tank Born 1925 Probably buried at Zámoly Village, Fejér County, Hungary Memorial Book of Jewish Soldiers Who Died in Battles Against Nazism – 1941-1945 – Volume IX – 307 [КнигиПамятиевреев–воинов, павшихвбояхснацизхмомв 1941-1945 гг – Том IX – 307]
______________________________
Hertz, Joseph, Cpl., 32794422, Tail Gunner, Air Medal, Purple Heart United States Army Air Force, 5th Air Force, 345th (“Air Apaches”) Bomb Group, 500th Bomb Squadron Mr. and Mrs. Haney and Selma L. Hertz (parents), Arnold (brother), 120 Hopkins St., Brooklyn, N.Y. Born Austria, 1920 MACR 16290; Aircraft: B-25J 43-36187 (“Man of War”, or, “Man-O-War”); Pilot: 2 Lt. James O. Buffington, and five crew members
Man-O-War was struck by anti-aircraft fire during bombing and strafing mission over Luzon, crash-landing south of the city of Angeles.
Cpl. Hertz, Lt. Buffington (Peru, Indiana), and, Bombardier / Navigator 2 Lt. Vernon C. Buchanan (Indianapolis) were killed in the immediate crash of the aircraft, while three crew members survived the loss of the plane. The latter were Co-pilot Capt. Richard T. Thompson (Delta, Michigan), Flight Engineer Cpl. Bernard R. Dunnavant (Victoria, Virginia), and Radio Operator T/Sgt. Walter J. Nelson (Union City, N.J.)
Thompson and Dunnavant, both very seriously injured and unable to move, remained at the site of the wrecked plane. T/Sgt. Nelson, less seriously hurt, aided them to the best of his ability, and then attempted to reach Filipino civilians for further help.
During his absence, Japanese troops arrived at the scene of the wreck and murdered his surviving comrades.
Concealed by Filipino civilians from discovery by the Japanese – in the village of Delores Mabalacat – Sgt. Nelson was turned over to a band of Filipino guerillas, and, eventually joined by Sgt. Nolan W. Huddleston of the 387th Bomb Squadron, 312th Bomb Group, returned to American forces by January 23.
The five casualties from Man-O-War are are listed as having been awarded the Air Medal and Purple Heart, with Lt. Buffington having received two Oak Leaf Clusters, suggesting that they had flown between five and ten combat missions prior to January 9. They are listed on the Tablets of the Missing at the Manila American at Fort Bonifacio, Manila.
FindAGrave includes a record for WW II Army Air Force veteran “Walter John Nelson”, who died in 2013 and is buried at the Brigadier General William C. Doyle Veterans Memorial Cemetery in Wrightstown, New Jersey. This biographical record seems (?) to “fit” information about T/Sgt. Nelson of Man-O-War, with the exception that the record is for a Corporal – and not T/Sgt. – Nelson.
The 500th Bomb Squadron Mission Report for the 9 January mission (extracted from the 500th Bomb Squadron’s Mission Reports encompassing August 1944 through August 1945, at the 345th Bomb Group) is shown below, with sections pertaining to the loss of Man-O-War outlined in red. This is followed by a series of Google Maps showing – at successively larger scales – the probable area (as denoted by the red oval) where Man-O-War crash-landed. This location was identified through information in Lawrence Hickey’s Warpath Across the Pacific, MACR 16290, and a map of Clark Field and Vicinity, at Pacific Wrecks.
Mission Objective; Mission Description.
______________________________
Details of the Mission: “Lt. Buffington executed an unexplained 180 turn from South to North and has not been heard of since.”
But, as recounted in Warpath Across the Pacific…
“Eight miles below Tarlac, 2 Lt. James O. Buffington pulled his plane from a loose formation and doubled back to hit a pair of trucks bypassed on the adjacent highway. Minutes later, hastening to catch up with his flight, Buffington and his co-pilot, Capt. Richard T. Thompson, saw two trucks sitting on the tracks just north of Dau Junction. Their initial attack was made from fifty feet and left three box cars blazing. But as they pulled off their run, a flak battery found thee range.
T/Sgt. Walter J. Nelson was in the radio compartment when the plane jerked suddenly. Glancing forward, he saw a fire blazing in the cockpit. “This is it. We’re going down!” his mind screamed at him. Only seconds separated Nelson from possible death and he used them well. He released the emergency escape hatch, then braced himself against the transmitter, using a parachute for a head cushion. The plane jarred violently as the belly furrowed a rice paddy. A low earthen mound ripped off a wing and spun the plane into a tight loop, pitching Nelson through the open hatch.
When he awoke, the radio operator found himself on the ground next to the burning aircraft. Near the right nacelle lay Cpl. Bernard Dunnavant, the turret gunner, with one leg almost severed. Five hundred yards away sat two camouflaged bombers bearing the blood-red Japanese hinomaru on their fuselages. The ill-fated crew had come to grief on the very edge of Angeles South, one of the satellite airfields in the Clark Field complex.”
______________________________
The crew of Man-O-War.
______________________________
Luzon.
______________________________
Luzon, with Angeles and Mabalacat in the center of the map.
______________________________
The possible – general – crash location of Man-O-War: South of Angeles.
______________________________
A closer view of the possible crash site: An area bounded by the Angeles-Porac-Floridablanca-Dinaluphin Road (to the west), the Pasig-Potrero River (to the south), and MacArthur Highway / Manila North Road (to the east).
______________________________
Ioffe, Abel Abramovich [Иоффе, Абель Абрамович] (at Priekule, Latvia) 16th Lithuanian Rifle Division, 156th Rifle Brigade Mr. Avraham Yofe (father) Born 1922 Probably buried at Kuldiga County, Latvia Road to Victory – 281 (Name given as Yofe, Abel, Sgt.)
______________________________
Karron, Murray, 2 Lt., 0-868393, Flight Engineer, Air Medal, Purple Heart United States Army Air Force, 20th Air Force, 499th Bomb Group, 877th Bomb Squadron Mrs. Alyse (Cohen) Karron (wife), 1163 East 27th St., Brooklyn, N.Y. Mr. and Mrs. Louis and Tillie [11/10/53] Karron (parents); Evelyn and Jack (siblings) MACR: 10911; Aircraft: B-29 42-24658 (“Wugged Wascal”; “V square 3”) Pilot: Capt. Kimmel Parker Murphy; 11 crewmen Aircraft presumably ditched; no survivors Brooklyn Eagle 1/16/42 American Jews in World War II – 357 New York Times Obituary “In Memoriam” Section – 11/12/53
Old Newspapers
I’ve not been able to find a photograph of Murray Karron, but this is an image (not the best, but still it’s an image) of Murray’s fiancee and future wife, Alyce (Alyse?) Cohen, as published in the Brooklyn Eagle on January 16, 1942.
________________________________________
The loss of Lt. Karron’s crew in Wugged Wascal, piloted by Captain Kimmel Murphy, parallels that of Corporal Cohen’s: Target: Musashino Aircraft Works and Nakajima Aircraft Engine Factory. Reason for loss: “Operational difficulties”. Action: Ditching. Result: No survivors.
Oddly, the Missing Air Crew Report for Captain Murphy’s plane – lost after successfully completing its bombing-run – contains no statement specifically describing what actually befell the aircraft. Instead, information about the missing bomber is found in a document dated January 10, 1946 within MACR 10907, which covers the losses of six B-29s (recorded in MACRs 10903, 10904, 10907 itself, 10908, 10911, and 11220) from the mission of January 9, 1945.
The statement covering 42-24658 is as brief as it is enigmatic, simply stating:
The plane was last contacted by radio at 0908Z by Sergeant Irving R. Wirth, at 25-30 N, 146-30E. The report states that the aircraft is believed to have been ditched in the ocean as a result of operational difficulties [nature unspecified].
The coordinates 25-30 N – 146-30 E mark a location about 250 miles east of Iwo Jima, Volcano Isles. Another statement notes the search for the missing crew: Search started 1000 K 10 Jan 1945, to be continued until darkness or limited endurance of aircraft. Search will continue on subsequent days for as long as the 73rd Bomb Wing permits.
Like Corporal Cohen, Lt. Karron and his fellow crewmen are memorialized on the Tablets of the Missing at the Honolulu Memorial, in Honolulu. As for 2 Lt. Jack M. Danowitz (mentioned in the blog post covering 1 Lt. Arthur S. Goldstein), Major David I. Cedarbaum preserved a record (recorded by W.D. Bray) about Lt. Karron’s last flight – actually, far more informative than the MACR, albeit with the plane’s final location being incorrect – to which nothing further could ever be added:
The Airplane Commander was K.P. Murphy. They flew to the Jap homeland, dropped their bombs, and an hour away began to have engine trouble. They radioed the fire spread and they had to ditch, the plane being out of control. They were about 100 miles north of Iwo presumably when they hit the water. No rescue facility was ever able to locate anything of them.
________________________________________
From The Unofficial History of the 499th Bomb Group (VH), this picture shows the crew of Prentice Burkett standing before “Wugged Wascal”. Unfortunately, like all crew photos in the book, the men’s names are not given, but the five men standing at rear are likely Burkett and the crew’s other officers, while the six men in front are presumably NCOs.
________________________________________
Printed as a full-page image on page 138 of Steve Birdsall’s Saga of the Superfortress, this photograph, from the collection of Lawrence F. Reineke, is captioned, “The 499th Group’s Wugged Wascal near Fuji on January 9, with Captain Kimmel Murphy and his crew. A few hours after this photo was taken she crashed into the sea, less than seven hundred miles from Saipan.” This image also appears (in smaller size) in The Unofficial History of the 499th Bomb Group (VH).
______________________________
This is a very-high-resolution (600 dpi) scan of the “Wascal”, as seen in the above image. Even at this magnification the clarity of the image is remarkable, with structural details and the last four digits of the B-29’s serial clearly visible. More important, of course, are the eleven men inside the plane..
______________________________
Katz, Wolf, Sgt. (at Ginkunai, Lita) U.S.S.R., Red Army, 16th Lithuanian Rifle Division, 224th Artillery Brigade Mr. Chone Katz (father) Place of burial unknown Road to Victory – 290
Mirvis, Mikhail Borisovich (Мирвис, Михаил Борисович) Private [Рядовой] U.S.S.R., Red Army, 58th Rifle Division, 20th Tank Brigade, 45th Autonomous Motor Rifle Battalion Rifleman Died of wounds at Medical Facility of 45th Medical Battalion, 53rd Rifle Division Born 1924 Buried at Cemetery Number 80, Grave 1, Muzhla Village, Komarom-Estergom, Hungary Memorial Book of Jewish Soldiers Who Died in Battles Against Nazism – 1941-1945 – Volume II – 547 [Книги Памяти евреев-воинов, павших в боях с нацизхмом в 1941-1945 гг – Том II – 547]
Ples, Josef, WO 2C, W-336 (at Dunkirk, France) Czechoslovakia, 1st Czechoslovak Army Corps, 1st Armored Brigade Czechoslovakia, Lipník nad Bečvou, okres Přerov; 8/12/19 Cassel Communal Cemetery Extension, Nord, France – D,15 Zide v Ceskoslovenskem Vojsku na Zapade – 247
______________________________
Rifas, Leonard, 1 Lt., 0-771802, Bomber Pilot, Air Medal, 4 Oak Leaf Clusters, Purple Heart, 27 missions United States Army Air Force, 8th Air Force, 385th Bomb Group, 549th Bomb Squadron Born Chicago, Il., December 20, 1921 Mrs. Jeanette Rosalie (Rifas) Miller (sister) (12/21/14-7/21/04) 5125 N. Capitol St., Washington, D.C. Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Leo (1/15/88-1951) and Sarah Rieva (Kulvinsky) (3/21/90-3/85) Rifas (parents) Bertram E. “Bert” Rifas (brother) (10/27/24-11/12/11) 1216 Broadway, c/o Commonwealth, Kansas City, Mo. Aircraft: B-17G 44-6100 (“Miss D-day”) 10 crewmen – no survivors MACR 11718 Tablets of the Missing at Cambridge American Cemetery, Cambridge, England American Jews in World War II – 113
Half-way ‘round the world from the loss of Mustn’t Touch and Wugged Wascal, another bomber – 8th Air Force Flying Fortress Miss D-day, piloted by Lieutenant Leonard Rifas – was lost in circumstances as enigmatic as those two bombers: The aircraft vanished during a short flight from an emergency landing strip in France, to the 385th Bomb Group’s base at Great Ashfield, England. Though the bodies of two crewmen were found by Air/Sea Rescue, the other eight crewmen remained (still remain) missing. There were no survivors.
As stated in Missing Air Crew Report 11718: Aircraft 44-6100, returning from operational mission to Frankfurt, Germany on 8 January 1945, landed at emergency landing strip, A-70, Laon-Couvron, France. Radio message was received at station 155, that this aircraft had been given clearance on the afternoon of 9 January 1945, but due to weather conditions on the continent it was believed that clearance had been cancelled, as no further contact was made by either A-70 or station 155.
The bodies of two of the crew frozen together in a life raft [2 Lt. John W. Skoff, bombardier, and S/Sgt. Lowey I. Boyd, ball turret gunner] were picked up at 50 – 40 N, 00 – 20 E, 13 January 1945, by Air/Sea Rescue and taken to New Haven Mortuary. [New Haven is located just east of Brighton, in southern England.]
Initially found at FindAGrave, where it was uploaded by Carolyn DeLoach, this image of Lt. Rifas and his crew was originally uploaded to Ancestry.com by “kochwayne” on January 18, 2014. The original source of this halftone photo is unknown.
“kochwayne” also added a smaller photo to Ancestry to serve as a name key to the crew portrait. Using that image as a guide and correlating the names thereupon to those listed in MACR 11817 yields the following list. Note that ball turret gunner Lowey Boyd is apparently absent from the photo.
Rear
Pilot – Leonard Rifas, 1 Lt., 0-771802, Washington, D.C. Co-Pilot – Charles M. Jones, 2 Lt., 0-1997859, Cincinnati, Oh. (? – Navigator – Robert G. Chandler, 2 Lt., 0-1997897, Framingham, Ma.) (? – Bombardier – John W. Skoff, 2 Lt., 0-717902, Joliet, Il.)
Here’s a nice close-up of the bomber’s nose art. Unfortunately, its individual squadron identification letter is unknown. The 549th Bomb Squadron history in AFHRA microfilm roll A0641 is strikingly anemic, only very briefly mentioning the plane’s loss on frames 391 and 392.
What happened aboard Miss D-day will never be known, but based on information in the MACR, no emergency calls were radioed from the aircraft during its brief flight, or if they were, such signals were not received. The fact that the bombardier (from the front of the aircraft) and ball turret gunner (from the plane’s aft fuselage) survived for a time in one of the plane’s two rafts, suggests that there may have been adequate time for the crew to at least gather in the radio room for a controlled ditching, probably somewhere between Boulgone, France, and Beachy Head, England. Though Lt. Skoff and S/Sgt. Boyd were found roughly – only – fifteen miles south of Eastbourne, in the English Channel (the location designated by thered circlein the below map), in mid-winter, in an open raft, those fifteen miles might just as well have been one thousand…
According to records at the 385th Bomb Group, Lieutenant Rifas completed 27 missions. For his first twelve missions, he served as co-pilot to Ted C. Findeiss. Commencing with the Hannover mission of October 26, 1944 he served as pilot, with nine of his fifteen missions in this capacity being flown in Miss D Day.
______________________________
Rosenberg, Jacob Joseph, EM3c, 2425767, Electrician’s Mate, Purple Heart United States Navy, USS John D. Henley (DD553) “0821: Two men [EM3c Jacob J. Rosenberg and F1c Kenneth Dowd Russell] fell overboard and were not recovered after a thorough search of the area.” (11-34 N, 159-14 E) Mrs. Sophia Anna (Rosenberg) Zitzer (sister), 16 Greenock St., Boston, Ma. Tablets of the Missing at Honolulu Memorial, Honolulu, Hawaii American Jews in World War II – 176
Rubin, Harold, S 2C, 8625065, Seaman, Purple Heart United States Navy, USS Mississippi Mr. Able Rubin (father), 1659 W. Euclid Ave., Detroit, Mi. Tablets of the Missing at Manila American Cemetery, Manila, Philippines American Jews in World War II – 195
References
Birdsall, Steve, Saga of the Superfortress, Sidgwick & Jackson, London, England, 1981
Burkett, Prentiss M., Capt., The Unofficial History of the 499th Bomb Group (VH), Historical Aviation Album, Temple City, Ca., 1981
Dublin, Louis I., and Kohs, Samuel C., American Jews in World War II – The Story of 550,000 Fighters for Freedom, The Dial Press, New York, N.Y., 1947
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
Leivers, Dorothy (Editing and Revisions), Road to Victory – Jewish Soldiers of the 16th Lithuanian Division, 1941-1945, Avotaynu, Bergenfield, N.J., 2009
Kulka, Erich, Zide Československém Vojsku na Západé, Naše Vojsko, Praha, Czechoslovakia, 1992 Loyd, Alwyn T., B-29 Superfortress in detail & scale – Production Version – Part 1, Aero Publishers, Inc., Fallbrook, Ca., 1983.
Sturzbecker, Russell L., The Roarin’ 20s: A History of the 312th Bombardment Group, U.S. Army Air Force – World War II, Russell L. Sturzbecker, Westchester, Pa., 1976
Canadian Jews in World War II– Part II: Casualties, Canadian Jewish Congress, Montreal, Quebec, Canada, 1948 Memorial Book of Jewish Soldiers Who Died in Battles Against Nazism – 1941-1945 – Volume II [Surnames beginning with К (K), Л (L), М (M), Н (N)], Maryanovskiy, M.F., Pivovarova, N.A., Sobol, I.S. (editors), Union of Jewish War Invalids and Veterans, Moscow, Russia, 1995 Memorial Book of Jewish Soldiers Who Died in Battles Against Nazism – 1941-1945 – Volume IX [Surnames beginning with all letters of the alphabet], Maryanovskiy, M.F., Pivovarova, N.A., Sobol, I.S. (editors), Union of Jewish War Invalids and Veterans, Moscow, Russia, 2006
I had always acknowledged my kinship with the Jews of Europe, but it was a watery-thin intellectual nod that I sent them. I had lived in a world – social, political, sexual – where I supposed that others took my Jewishness for granted as I did and made no fuss about it. The crosses of the Klan had burned in the hills near the town I lived in as a child, but they had not referred to me. When we did not laugh at the Klan we hated it because it menaced other people. I loathed anti-Semitism in the same way because it was a scourge for other people though not for me.
Now that stupid little man had stripped the illusion from my war. It was not, then, a game which we played with death in the sky. It was not all gallantry and white contrails against the blue. It was not an aesthetic experience sanctified by an unchallengeable political cause. Hitler was not a dragon with shiny scales to be slain by a shinier knight. There were no dragons, but only savage men and women burning the flesh of other men and women. And I was a Jew with someone’s spittle on my face.
Elmer Bendiner’s The Fall of Fortresses is an unusual book: Though a semi-biographical memoir and “meditation” – as described in the book jacket – about America’s air war against Germany during 1943, it shares a quality typical of most works of fiction, found in genres such as adventure, noir, romance, science-fiction, fantasy, seafaring, and more. That is, rather than being a arid recounting of combat mission after combat mission (after yet another combat mission); personality after personality (after yet another personality), within its final chapter, the book brings the reader to an event which – for some readers a fleeting moment; for other readers indelibly – suddenly knots together the implications of the author’s experiences, observations, and impressions into what is – if not a literary climax in the classic sense – than at least a deep and powerful revelation about the author’s symbolic and real place in the war against the Third Reich, and even beyond.
This occurs in the context (or, should I say after the context?) of Bendiner’s final mission, quite unlike the author’s telling of his 1943 missions to the German cities of Kassel on July 30 and Stuttgart on September 6. Instead, through awriting style which smoothly melds together descriptions of events, personalities, and aerial surroundings into a vivid whole, he presents the memories (probably backed up by references to a dairy, correspondence, and archival reference(s?)) of his experiences during the 379th Bomb Group’s mission to Bremen on Monday, November 29, 1943.
While this mission held the same potential for danger, drama (and death) of mid-July and early-September, it was for his crew after the fact, somewhat unremarkable. Bendiner and (obviously) his crew returned to England, his combat tour completed, the central question of his life no longer the “if” of survival but the certain “what” of the future. Then after the mission, comes a realization.
That night, emotionally drained, he entered the 379th’s Officers Club, trying to come to terms with the awareness that he would no longer have to live by day-by-day, facing each mission with the anticipation of the next mission:
“I drank a scotch and soda. I do not recall another time throughout the war that I drank alone. I usually drink to keep in step or to ease the flow of talk. That night of the alert I must have been groping for words to say to myself, desperate to find something to do while the others slept the uneasy sleep that waits for the glare of a flashlight, for the grumbling and the whining, and the start of a new mission in the deadly cold sky.
“Would I wake at that summons, turn over and go back to sleep? Would I haunt the mess and the flight line like a damned ghost? How stupid, how cruel to let me stay alive and safe among those who are still hostages to death. No surgeon would leave an amputated limb near the living patient. It should be taken away, put out of sight, allowed to regenerate a body as a worm does when it is severed.”
Then, he has an encounter with a Public Relations officer. (379th Bomb Group or 527th Bomb Squadron? Bendiner doesn’t specify.) The two converse, “…until he said quite suddenly, “You made it all the way. Not many of your people stick it out.”
Thunderstruck and at a loss for words, Bendiner leaves the club. “I was caught completely off guard. I had just been tasting the joys of exclusivity at a bitter time. I had condescended to talk to this paddlefoot, this unprepossessing paper pusher. I had been in and up and he had been down and out. It had been so kind of me to talk to him. Then in the twinkling of an eye he had pulled me down and thrown me out. I walked the dark and rutted roads around Kimbolton, clutching my coat as if caught in a chill wind.” More follows.
This is the solitary passage in The Fall of Fortresses pertaining to the author being a Jew, and the fact that it effectively and almost concludes Bendiner’s memoir testifies to the conversation’s significance and impact. Suffice to say that the late-1943 event and its implications obviously remained an undercurrent in the author’s consciousness at least through the 1980 publication of The Fall of Fortresses, and, I would deign to suggest, beyond.
Of Bendiner’s personal beliefs concerning being a Jew – whether in terms of a transcendent sense of peoplehood, belief, and what is quaintly called “religion” – I know absolutely nothing, for this doesn’t seem to have been the subject of his postwar writing, except for the curious comment in his Contemporary Authors biography that his religion “defies categorization”. However, even if Bendiner’s conversation with the anonymous P.R. officer eventuated in no outwardly visible transformation, it brought him to a realization about both his identity, and, the very nature of the war in which he was participating.
Even if, like some American Jews of his generation, that nature only crystallized decades after the fact. And many for others, never.
A central and continuing question, as relevant in 2024 as it was eighty-one years ago, and unquestionably and blatantly so since October 7, 2023 (22nd of Tishrei, 5784) – though it has always been obvious, even in the “best” of times – is whether the conditions of Jewish acceptance, existence, and survival can ever be taken for granted.
A definitive answer to that question remains pending.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On an unrelated note…
The 8th Air Force’s mission to Bremen of November 29, 1943, is the subject of numerous posts pertaining to Major Milton Joel, commander of the 38th Fighter Squadron of the 55th Fighter Group, who along with four other 55th FG and one 20th FG Lightning pilots, was shot down during that mission. (The Major and his plane have never been found.) Bendiner’s comments about, “A frontal system, visible in a line of towering stratocumulus, lay between us and Bremen. We passed over the clouds and noted the edge of the front on the thermometer that tracked the outside temperature,” “a solid blanket of clouds beneath us,” and, “We bombed Bremen through the overcast and the flak,” amplify passages in 55th FG Mission Reports, Encounter Reports, and Missing Air Crew Reports about the pervasiveness of cloud cover over the continent that day. This figured into errors made by both USAAF and Luftwaffe fighter pilots about the location of fighter claims and losses on this mission.
Elmer Bendiner stands before the nose of Flying Fortress “Tondelayo” (B-17F 42-29896, squadron identification marking “FO * V“). Photo from Silvertail Books.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Here is the passage in its entirety:
My twenty-fifth came on November 29. It was our second visit to Bremen in three days. We climbed through soup and emerged into a blue sky lit by a sun that shed no warmth. The chill ate into my ribs and goaded my frostbitten toe to ache with the memory of its earlier insult. I scrunched my arms into my sides, barely lifting them to chip the frost from the window. There were about 150 planes in our parade; other formations were en route elsewhere to north Germany. (We looked brave out there, but with the Schweinfurt losses still in headlines our chiefs dared not send us beyond the reach of P-47s and the Mustangs which were appearing for the first time in our theater, though without wing tanks that would make the difference in later months.)
With our fighters fanning out around us and above us we looped far out over the North Sea before turning to make our run to the target. A frontal system, visible in a line of towering stratocumulus, lay between us and Bremen. We passed over the clouds and noted the edge of the front on the thermometer that tracked the outside temperature. It began to rise, though it was still no more than sixty below zero Fahrenheit.
As we turned toward the target the windows frosted into dazzling snowy pinpoints of light, blinding the view. In the nose Bob and I could barely see blue sky and distinguish the shapes of fighters. Ours or theirs? We could not tell. We tracked them with our guns but did not fire.
We could not know it at the time, but the cockpit was then in real trouble. The window defroster had failed in the stress of the frontal passage. The engines may hum, the props spin, all the intricate nerves of a plane may function superbly, but the failure of a simple defroster can prove fatal.
In that bitter cold of 25,000 feet in November over the North Sea, Bohn had to open his window and put his head out to see where he was going. In a hurricane of lacerating cold he had to keep from blinking so that his tears might not freeze his eyes shut.
We saw a German pop up through a solid blanket of clouds beneath us. It was an ME-109. Bohn saw him, too. We watched him far out, maneuvering for a head-on attack. He was coming in. Bohn called us on the intercom and his voice was strained. Bob turned to me his eyes blazing. He banged a fist on his gun. Was it jammed, or what? He pushed me aside to try my gun, though it could not be swiveled far enough to catch the oncoming fighter in its sight. There was no click, no chatter. The gun was dead. Bohn called again and again to fire. Our plane was silent. Our guns, in that brief passage from cold to warmer, moister air, had frozen.
I turned to look at the other planes of the formation. Not a tracer flew. The Messerschmitt came on. He was well within range now and we had not a gun to stop him. Could he then rake the formation, burn us to the ground, because the damned sky had made us impotent as hens mesmerized in the presence of a fox?
Then we noted that no lights were playing along his wings where we knew his guns should be firing. He came through the squadron up ahead and no planes fell. He passed us at our level, and Bohn, who had a better view than I had, says he waved. Bohn says he had a black mustache; he saw the enemy that clearly at the moment when a meteorological happenstance imposed a truce. An inversion – with cold air below the clouds and comparatively warm air above – had momentarily sealed his guns.
I do not recall the enemy’s mustache or his farewell wave, but I saw him turn and plunge downward into the gray rolling clouds.
Minutes later in stable air the guns thawed. We could again be as murderous in our defense as need be. We bombed Bremen through the overcast and the flak. On the way home German fighters came up in force. They and the flak knocked out of the sky thirteen of our planes carrying 130 men. I was not among that number, and it had been my twenty-fifth.
I smiled when I was congratulated. I got off a letter to Esther. That night and all the next day I felt curiously disembodied. I was there and not there. I walked the same roads I had always walked. I slept where I had always slept, but all was changed. I was not part of my crew. I watched them go about their work and their preparations in my absence. They would talk about getting together with me sometime if… We would see each other in London, New York, Minneapolis, Boston, if…
I no longer shared that highly charged existence in the shadow of the if. I would learn to live as I had once lived without that omnipresent, stimulating shadow. True, I had never forsaken my childish belief in invulnerability, but nevertheless the if had always been there, on the other side of my plane’s window, peeking from behind Esther’s picture, within the envelope of her letter. I became attached to it. I felt that somehow the conditional lent a distinction to life. One must indeed be hungry for distinctions to develop a fondness for that grinning, gap-toothed conjecture of death.
I confess, nevertheless, that I had grown accustomed to that presence as the eleventh member of the crew, and I would miss him along with the others. The feeling of impending separation grew keener on the evening of November 30. The field was alerted. My crew would fly and I would not. I had been offered a job at Wing Headquarters, helping to design missions for others. It would have meant a captaincy and a job in a world of pleasant mess halls, staff cars and jeeps, with just enough time in an airplane over Britain to collect my flying pay. I had turned it down for a chance to go home, see Esther, meet my daughter and, pending assignment to some other war, live the life of those who need no poppy in their buttonhole to assure survival.
I was sure that I wanted such a life as any sane man would. A part of me was sane and had sane desires. A better-organized army would have rushed me off the base within the very hour I had completed my twenty-fifth. I should have vanished as definitively as those who die or resign from combat. Perhaps my decision to forgo the promotion and opt for home had upset some part of the machinery. In any case I had been told that I was not to go home for a while at least. I would have to do a stint of teaching navigation to neophytes in Northern Ireland.
“Ireland?” echoed Joyce and her mother in a concerted wail of disbelief. I had gone to see them in the afternoon to say goodbye. To the Woffords of England, Ireland was the utmost edge of the world, a place of terrible exile. I scuttled their sympathy with laughter and rolled Joyce’s farewell kiss upon my tongue. Then I came home to the field, the alert and a sense of desolation.
I remember the bar in the officers’ club. The wood was blond and highly polished. It ran the entire length of a very long wall, or so it seems to me in recollection. A mirror was hung behind it on which was pasted a collection of decorous breasts, legs and toothy smiles. There was a crude cardboard facsimile of our emblem – crossed bombs and death’s head.
Blackout curtains covered the windows. No one sat at any of the tables near the stoves. The place was cold, as I remember, and empty. I do not think there was a soul there except myself. Someone must have been tending bar, but I do not recall a face or a name or a word that was exchanged. I think there was a yellow light over the bar, but most of the room was in semidarkness.
I stood with my foot on the rail. I drank a scotch and soda. I do not recall another time throughout the war that I drank alone. I usually drink to keep in step or to ease the flow of talk. That night of the alert I must have been groping for words to say to myself, desperate to find something to do while the others slept the uneasy sleep that waits for the glare of a flashlight, for the grumbling and the whining, and the start of a new mission in the deadly cold sky.
Would I wake at that summons, turn over and go back to sleep? Would I haunt the mess and the flight line like a damned ghost? How stupid, how cruel to let me stay alive and safe among those who are still hostages to death. No surgeon would leave an amputated limb near the living patient. It should be taken away, put out of sight, allowed to regenerate a body as a worm does when it is severed.
I do not remember a man coming into the bar, but there he was next to me. I have forgotten his name. He was a PR man – an information officer. I had known him slightly, and occasionally given him a bit of color to adorn a press release. He was a mild-mannered man, one of many I had known on the field as I knew the color of the bar or the turn of the road. Until that moment he had been part of the scenery but had not participated in my world. I flew and he walked. I was on familiar terms with death and he pecked items out on a typewriter as I do now. I was an arrogant snob. I was part of an elite. He was an outsider. Still, I was civil; I made talk.
I believe he bought me a drink, but I am not sure. He had done a squib on my completing my missions, he said, and I nodded appreciatively. His face was a pasty white, as I remember it, but I do not trust myself because I have carried his face so long in my mind that it is the worse for wear.
We were oppressively alone in that bar. The alcohol had diminished me to a point below anything I had known. My spirit had collapsed like a dishrag. Inside my throat I could feel tears drip as from an abscess. Yet we talked of God knows what. We talked until he said quite suddenly, “You made it all the way. Not many of your people stick it out.”
I hope to God I did not nod my head or let my hand shake. I know I could not speak. I think he knew I could not speak, and that staggers me with shame thirty-five years later. I put my drink down. That I do remember. I do not think I looked at him. I wish now that I had, that I had seen his face clearly. I cannot tell whether he smiled or smirked or gloated or peered dully at me through his glasses. I will never know. I took my trench coat from the hook on the wall. I recall that I did everything slowly. I put on my crushed airman’s hat and walked out.
That is what happened. A plethora of rationalizations followed at once and have continued for thirty-five years. The event came so suddenly upon me, so unexpectedly, that I could not think of any of the thousand witty, savage, blunt things to say or do that have leaped to mind ever since. I was caught completely off guard. I had just been tasting the joys of exclusivity at a bitter time. I had condescended to talk to this paddlefoot, this unprepossessing paper pusher. I had been in and up and he had been down and out. It had been so kind of me to talk to him. Then in the twinkling of an eye he had pulled me down and thrown me out. I walked the dark and rutted roads around Kimbolton, clutching my coat as if caught in a chill wind.
I had always acknowledged my kinship with the Jews of Europe, but it was a watery-thin intellectual nod that I sent them. I had lived in a world – social, political, sexual – where I supposed that others took my Jewish-ness for granted as I did and made no fuss about it. The crosses of the Klan had burned in the hills near the town I lived in as a child, but they had not referred to me. When we did not laugh at the Klan we hated it because it menaced other people. I loathed anti-Semitism in the same way because it was a scourge for other people though not for me.
Now that stupid little man had stripped the illusion from my war. It was not, then, a game which we played with death in the sky. It was not all gallantry and white contrails against the blue. It was not an aesthetic experience sanctified by an unchallengeable political cause. Hitler was not a dragon with shiny scales to be slain by a shinier knight. There were no dragons, but only savage men and women burning the flesh of other men and women. And I was a Jew with someone’s spittle on my face.
I do not pretend that I was a victim of a pogrom. I agree that, living in the same century as Auschwitz, I ought not to mention my little encounter. And it would have left no mark on me if I had not been rendered so vulnerable by a false sense of security derived from the battlefield where death creates the splendid illusion of brotherhood.
None of this was clear to me as I left the bar. It has taken me thirty-five years to begin to understand that nameless PR man. He probably shrugged when I walked out, confirmed in the view that Jews are hypersensitive and unpredictable and that they can’t tell a compliment from a kick in the ass.
I spent the night somehow between the officers’ club and my hut. I no longer remember whether I woke when my crew left. I must have said goodbye again though I had already said as much the night before. Still, to think that I had not would shame me more than my performance at the bar.
Here’s the Book
Bendiner, Elmer S., The Fall of Fortresses, G.P. Putnam’s Sons, New York, N.Y., 1980
We would have to ditch, take our chances against riding down with the plane straight to the bottom of the Channel, and take our further chances on being picked up by friends, not foes, at sea. I argued for that proposal. Everyone knew it was a personal matter with me. I could see no other way to get home to my wife and shortly forthcoming child before the war’s end. I might grow old while my child grew up.
“Poor Benny – he’s got to see his kid.” Real sympathy poured over the intercom disguised as mock tears. Bohn supported me from the start. Mike and Duke pitched in, and the others followed cheerfully.
I accepted such sacrifices without a qualm. I was young then. Would I now try to persuade others to make so risky a choice on my account? Not likely.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This “second” excerpt from Elmer Bendiner’s The Fall of Fortresses covers the ditching of Tondelayo in the English Channel while returning from the 379th Bomb Group mission to Stuttgart on September 6, 1943. Bendiner weaves together his correspondence to his wife, what seems to have been postwar correspondence or personal conversations with his pilot, Bohn Fawkes, perhaps historical records from the 527th Bomb Squadron, and certainly his own memories, into a fast-moving and crisply detailed historical tapestry that captures the mixture of fear, tension, humor, and matter-of-factness inherent to a situation and event where survival was problematic. And, if problematic for one, then ten times more problematic for the crew of a heavy bomber.
In this regard – and viewed from an even higher perspective, whether of time or (quite literally!) altitude – any perusal of official records or serious historical works pertaining to the WW II air war (let alone later conflicts), specifically in terms of the survival of aircrews lost at sea – whether through controlled ditching or mass bailout – will readily reveal how problematic was the survival of airmen during such events. The USAAF’s Missing Air Crew Reports and most any of R.W. Chorley’s series of books covering WW II Bomber Command Losses are replete with accounts of such events – some heart-rending; many sad beyond words and thought; many others inspiring; a tiny few perhaps humorous – that leave one wondering about the unpredictable intersection between training, skill, bravery, and fate. (Yet, in Judaism there is no such thing as “fate”. There I momentarily and theologically digress!) Still, whether you prefer “fate” or fate, all things held equal, repeated training, preparation, and familiarization with both an aircraft’s design, and personal survival gear, could certainly make a difference in the probability of an airman’s survival at sea, whether via bailout or ditching.
Specifically mentioned or alluded to in Bendiner’s story are (of course) pilot Bohn Fawkes, anonymous co-pilot “Chuck”, flight engineer Lawrence H. Reedman, and tail gunner Michael L. Arooth. Of these four men, let alone the entire crew, it seems that the only individuals hurt or injured were Bendiner (unspecified), “Chuck” (wounded in his leg by 20mm cannon fire) and Arooth (badly gashed his head during the ditching.).
The videos below elucidate aspects of survival at sea in terms of successfully ditching a B-17, and, the rate of aircrew survival during such events. Note that the final section of “B-17 Bomber Ditching Survival Rate? Not Good” is “Strong Seasonal dependency on Rescue Stats”. This seems to be borne out by the ditching of the Fawkes’ crew in mid-summer (everyone survived), versus the ditching of the Leonard Rifas crew in mid-winter of 1945 (no-one survived).
Here’s “Ditch at Sea and Live in a Boeing B-17 (1944-Restored)”, at ZenosWarbirds.
“Ditching in water was a fact of life for stricken aircraft in World War 2, from the frozen white tops of the North Sea to the shark infested waters of the South Pacific. “Lt. Reynolds.” played by veteran actorArthur Kennedy(Lawrence of Arabia), is copilot on a B-17 that ditches at sea. He survives by pure luck, but the rest of the crew is lost due to a lack of preparation. When he gets his own ship, Reynolds vows his crew is thoroughly trained in B-17 ditching. He gives them the straight dope, step by step.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And, here’s “B-17 Bomber Ditching Survival Rate? Not Good”, at WWII US Bombers.
Topics of the video: Causes of Ditching Ditching Vs. Bailout Range of Bomber VHF communications Air Sea Steps for aircraft in Distress Crew Ditching positions Gibson Girl Usage Air Sea Rescue Stats for the B-17 and B-24 Bombers % of Rescues per month Strong Seasonal dependency on Rescue Stats
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Elmer Bendiner stands before the nose of Flying Fortress “Tondelayo” (B-17F 42-29896, squadron identification marking “FO * V“). Photo from Silvertail Books.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tondelayo early in her short-lived combat career – during the summer of 1943 – as seen in Army Air Force photograph 60509AC / A45870.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Unfortunately, I’ve no idea of the specific (or approximate) location in the English Channel that marks the undersea resting place of Tondelayo. By definition there’s no Missing Air Crew Report for this incident, and the historical records of the 527th Bomb Squadron I believe only commence in October of 1943. C’est la vie.
And thus, Elmer Bendiner’s account of the mission:
Stuttgart lies some five hundred miles inside Germany. A heavily loaded B-17 flying at a moderate altitude – say, seventeen thousand feet – in formation, zigging and zagging in evasive action, might be expected to make the round trip but would land with fuel tanks perilously close to empty. There would scarcely be a gallon to spare for a foolish mistake or a bit of horseplay.
The mission was being led by Brigadier General Robert Travis. I had nothing against the General before Stuttgart because I knew very little about him except for his legendary talent at poker. After Stuttgart many of us had a great deal against him. He added to our anxieties – or at least to Bohn’s – from the very inception of the mission by announcing his intention of following a newfangled theory developed by someone at Bomber Command. A great deal of fuel was being wasted by climbing to altitude with full tanks, it was reasoned. Why not climb at a later point when the tanks would be lighter?
My second-lieutenant pilot could have told the General why not, but he wasn’t asked. To fly in the thin upper air a plane needs the added strength of its superchargers. If those superchargers are out of order it is best to realize that incapacity when you are over friendly territory and can drop down to a lower altitude and head for home. It is not wise to wait until one is at altitude over enemy territory to find that you cannot stay in formation.
Travis, untroubled by such technical considerations, led us across Europe at ten thousand feet until we were close to Tubingen, from which we would turn onto the target. Then he began to climb steeply and we followed him. Our superchargers worked. The record does not show whether others failed, because how can one distinguish in the fall of a Fortress the various ingredients of disaster – enemy flak or 20-mm. shells or rockets or simple mechanical failure?
We were flying low and on the outside of the formation. Travis and his lead group were in view ahead of us. As we rounded Tubingen I noted clouds moving across the Black Forest. Outside my starboard window the Neckar River was still plainly visible snaking its way to the target.
Stuttgart lay before us in checkered sun and shadow. It was close to noon. The flak came up, but not too heavy. Then as we neared the target white clouds capriciously intervened. Bob had no concerns; he would drop on the leader’s bombs. But those clouds must have disconcerted Travis’s bombardier, all set as he was to fix the primary target on the cross hairs of his bombsight. Could he switch at an instant from visual bombing to instruments?
We read the answer in the spectacle of our lead group passing over the target with bomb-bay doors wide open and no bombs falling amid the furious black flak.
Travis was going around for another try, and the formation would wheel behind him. All very well for Travis and the happy few at the hub of that wheel. They could describe a nice, tight circle. But to us on the outward rim it meant a fearsome strain to keep up with the formation, and a serious drain of gas. We had to fly perhaps an extra forty or fifty miles at full throttle, using gas at very nearly the rate required for a takeoff, just to keep our position in the formation.
We could have come in closer to the hub, shortening the radius of the swing and saving considerable fuel, but we dared not slip under the open bomb-bay doors of Travis and his group. His bomb bays, like ours, were loaded with incendiaries. (This too seems odd, for ball bearings and the machines that make them do not burn.) The incendiaries were ingeniously packaged in clusters with a timing device so set that, at a predetermined distance below the bomber that hatched them, the firebombs would spread out and cover a wider area.
No one could be sure just when those incendiaries would tumble out, their clusters flying apart. We swung out in a wide arc. Why the General did not close his bomb-bay doors is yet another unanswered question of the city.
On the second time around, the incendiaries fluttered down, and smoke billowed up in black clouds from the city.
As we turned away from the target the Luftwaffe made its belated but emphatic appearance. Fighters came at us head on and blazing. Bohn was one of those pilots who believed ardently in evasive action. (There are some contrary schools of thought, which declare that it is better to fly straight and level as if on parade, following the model of the Light Brigade.) As the German planes came at us from high out of the sun, Bohn pushed Tondelayo to climb and pitch. This seemed to throw the attackers off momentarily. But they – or others like them – came at us again, three or four abreast. Bohn recollects that he saw a puff of smoke from the engine of one of the German fighters and in response nosed Tondelayo into her dance. In retrospect he much regrets that he did not accurately interpret the puff as an indication that the German pilot had cut his throttle and was waiting for us to come down from our jump while he slowed his run at us. He caught us cold and raked Tondelayo from nose to tail.
When he left us one of our engines was on fire; our copilot of the day, Chuck, had had his leg torn by a 20-mm. shell; the oxygen lines in the rear of the ship had been cut, and the oil-pressure gauge was down to zero because our oil line had been severed.
Now, it is the oil pressure that enables the pilot to change the pitch of the propellers. And if the pitch cannot be changed the propeller stands like a rigid paddle in the teeth of hurricane winds. If it spins without lubrication the friction can build up enough heat to melt metal. Then the propeller blades might turn into a deadly missile and slash the frame that held us. Our own propellers were poised like axes against us.
It was clear that we could not stay in formation. To put out the fire in our engine we would have to work up an airspeed of at least 235 mph. We could have done so only in a dive. (We had been at that deadly extremity before.) In any case we would have to drop to lower altitudes with half our crew deprived of oxygen. (We had been there before as well.)
At the first lull in the fight we waved away our wing man and dived until the fire was out.
Now we can pick up the letter to my wife.
…We had to drop out of formation and fight our way across Europe by ourselves. As it developed, we didn’t so much fight our way out as sneak out, running for every cloud cover we could see. The spot decision right then was up to Fawkes. He could have asked for a course to Switzerland. The lovely snowy, blue-and-white peaks of the Alps were plainly visible, towering almost up to our altitude, although quite a way off….
I must interrupt again. Technically it was up to Bohn, but not actually as it turned out. Bohn was our commander – and a very good one, which is to say that he almost never gave an order. We talked this situation out, weighing the pros and cons as if we were civilians around a table. While we talked we flitted from cloud to cloud over Europe. I had given Bohn a heading, but he could scarcely keep to it while chasing clouds. I had to follow every twist and turn he made, altering our headings accordingly and still aiming for England by the shortest route.
It was plain from the most casual glance at our fuel level, at our ground speed, at our low altitude and at the distance we had to go that we could not make it back to Kimbolton. We had three choices to discuss. We could head for the Alps, where we would be interned for the duration. (General cheers over the intercom.) Choice number two: we could bail out over France. We all carried civilian passport pictures. (I liked mine because I had borrowed a very un-Army, tweedy jacket for the purpose.) We could hope to land amid the French Resistance and follow their lead to the Channel coast, where we might thumb a ride on a fishing boat. Our intelligence captain had described this alternative as an easy walk across occupied Europe for which we were well armed with a snapshot and a .45-caliber pistol. (Dead silence for that option.)
Last possibility: we could fly as far as our fuel would permit. I told everybody I was sure we could reach the Channel. We would have to ditch, take our chances against riding down with the plane straight to the bottom of the Channel, and take our further chances on being picked up by friends, not foes, at sea. I argued for that proposal. Everyone knew it was a personal matter with me. I could see no other way to get home to my wife and shortly forthcoming child before the war’s end. I might grow old while my child grew up.
“Poor Benny – he’s got to see his kid.” Real sympathy poured over the intercom disguised as mock tears. Bohn supported me from the start. Mike and Duke pitched in, and the others followed cheerfully.
I accepted such sacrifices without a qualm. I was young then. Would I now try to persuade others to make so risky a choice on my account? Not likely.
We knew then that our co-pilot’s wounds were superficial, but would not Switzerland have seemed the safest bet for him? We could have made a case for internment. Why didn’t we?
Back to the letter:
…Bohn asked for a heading home and I was glad of it even though with fighting and one thing and another I was a bit vague as to our precise position at the time. We dived down into the loveliest, heaviest cloud imaginable and stayed in it as long as possible, while I feverishly worked away to establish our position and improve on the course I had originally set. The cloud gave out, and for a time we sailed at low altitude over the grain fields, forests, towns and rivers of France. Some of these checkpoints seemed to bear out my theoretically estimated position and some of them contradicted it. It was beautiful country; it seemed to be of a different color from that of England or Holland or Belgium.
We were playing hide-and-seek in the clouds over France. And in the open spaces our gunners were anxiously watching for German fighters who were looking for us but who miraculously failed to see us before other clouds came up to hide us. However, ground radio was tracking us and we had to shift course to clear what I thought would be heavy flak areas. We could see flak on both sides of us, largely to signal fighters, we thought….
At this point I must refer to Bohn, who remembers clearly an incident which I recall only dimly. We had been flying through cloud for some time when he asked me where we were. He says that he could see no way in which I could be sure of anything. And he was right, of course. I had followed our zigs and zags as best I could, but how could I be certain in that fog to which we clung? Then I had my answer from the Germans. The gray-white nothingness was punctured by black flak explosions all around us. “Ah,” I said, “Rouen.” We both laughed.
…Just before we crossed the coast Fawkes called up and suggested that anyone who didn’t want to take his chance in the water could still jump. None of us did. I could see water ahead, but we ran up along the coast to avoid a large seaport and heavy coastal flak. Duke, our radioman, was sending out an SOS and asking radio stations to take a fix on us. They did and he reported it to me, but it seemed to me to be way off. And Duke asked for another, which was just as bad. I realized then that no one in England knew where we were. I gave Duke our estimated position, but he couldn’t get it through….
Actually the British shore stations were asking us to move some thirty miles north where they could get a proper fix on us. They did not know it, but they were asking men to fly without wings. When we crossed the coast we had only one engine working, and in a B-17 that is a few minutes away from none. I gathered a few of my belongings – a chart of the Channel coast, which I folded and slipped into the pocket of my coveralls, a pencil or two, my gloves (gauntlet types that were more elegant than warm) and Esther’s picture. Then I clambered out of the nose, up the hatch behind Bohn, and through the bomb bay to the radio room.
…We were over the sea now and our four engines ran out one after another. When I left the nose, two of them were already motionless—a most disconcerting thing to see in an airplane. Back in the radio room we all took our previously assigned positions, bracing ourselves for the shock. I crouched behind the radioman’s armor plating and talked to Mike, who was crouched next to me. Up to the last minute Mike retained his faith in Tondelayo and couldn’t believe we would really have to ditch. He asked me whether we were headed toward England. I said we were but I knew we couldn’t make it. We chatted like that, looking up through the open hatch to the great, gray, swirling clouds, wondering how near the water we were and when the shock would come….
As we dropped closer to the sea Bohn turned to our copilot and asked him whether he had ever landed a plane in water. Chuck shook his head. Would he like to? No. With the last bit of power in Tondelayo Bohn maneuvered to land along the crest of a wave. To hit a wave broadside is very like flying into a stone wall. We skimmed the crest, then sank into the trough of a mountainous wave. We sank, then rose, buoyed by empty gas tanks.
From the cockpit Chuck saw his fondly crushed pilot’s cap in the hatchway leading to the nose and seemed about to try to fish it out. Bohn recalled looking at him doubtfully as if to say, “You’re on your own.” No window in the cockpit of a B-17 is made to allow a grown man to wriggle out of it unless he is in the extremity of desperation. Both Bohn and Chuck made it to the wing.
Someone should have pulled a lever to release the dinghies from the fuselage. No one had. Bohn quickly scanned the directions on the metal plaque above the wing. He pulled the appropriate lever as per instructions, but nothing happened. He and Chuck pulled, twisted and clawed the dinghies out, then started the inflation, which should have been automatic. Could it have been ten seconds or thirty? None of us remembers how long it took to climb out.
…We lit lightly at first and only a bit of spray seemed to come in. Mike stood up, and we all yelled to him to get down. But it was too late. After skipping along the water the ship finally plunged, throwing Mike forward so that he gashed his forehead. Then the green-gray water rushed in. I felt nothing so much as surprise. In drills there had been nothing to suggest such a torrent of ocean running through our airship. I tried to stand, but the force of the water knocked me down, and when I did get up, some of the precious things I had gathered were floating.
Everyone was on his feet, everyone excited and clambering toward the hatch, everyone shouting that there was plenty of time and to keep calm. Mike stood next to me and I saw that his head was bleeding badly. A piece of floating B-17 had clipped me and scratched my forehead. For an awful moment I thought that Mike and I, who were wedged in a corner, would never get out. Mike finally managed it. By that time the water was up to my chest and rising rapidly. Our bombardier, Bob, was still in there. I hoisted myself up on one side while he made for the other. I remember that I failed to make it the first time and I could hear Mike hollering outside, “Where’s Benny?” Then I clambered out. The wings were already under water.
I clung to the fuselage for a second or so and watched Fawkes and the others, who had extracted one of the rubber dinghies and were maneuvering it away from the wings of the sinking plane. Then I plunged into the water. The dinghy was scarcely more than a stroke away from the ship. But I had overlooked one detail that might have proved disastrous. I had neglected to inflate my Mae West….
Actually the dinghy must have been farther off than a swimming stroke or it would have been sucked down by Tondelayo. Obviously a participant in an event is not the most reliable witness when it comes to precise measurements. On the other hand, the raft could not have been too far off, because I have never been a good swimmer and for that occasion I was wearing a full flying suit and boots; my pockets were stuffed with map and pencils, Esther’s picture and odd bits of paraphernalia I thought I might need.
…I clung to the raft while Larry, our engineer, kept shouting, “Hold on, Benny, hold on” – as if I thought of doing anything else or going anywhere else just then. When I turned around Tondelayo had vanished; our dinghy and the other one holding the rest of our crew were the only things left on an apparently limitless sea. After a bit of floundering about I managed to hoist myself into the tossing dinghy. All this took much less time to live through than it does to record.
The Channel was as rough that day as it ever gets, and the swell was dark, towering and fearful to look at. It was worse to feel. We became violently seasick. That is, all except Bob and one gunner, who increased our miseries by remaining obtrusively and volubly high-spirited. There is, however, a measure of providence in the seasickness that plagues the shipwrecked. First, it gives them something to do which relieves the monotony; second; it makes death almost welcome.
Before giving way to utterly abandoned retching and writhing we paddled with our hands toward the other dinghy so that we could lash the rafts together….
Dinghies are equipped with oars, but we could not find them. Eventually they turned up at the very bottom of a heap of tightly stowed, largely unworkable gadgetry.
…In between spasms, when I could lie with my head back and not feel too sick, I could watch the endless seascape and the barren sky. Bob was cranking our portable radio frantically but in vain, because we had lost the kite to raise our aerial; we knew then that we could send no signal at all.
From time to time Larry would bail out some of the water that swept over us in salty waves whenever we thought we might begin to dry out in the sun. Larry would bail a little, get sick, bail some more and get sick again. I tried to help, but as soon as I’d lift my head I’d vomit. I was no help at all. For five hours we tossed like that and in my lucid moments, I would speculate on the direction of our drift. It was impossible to tell with any certainty. I knew what winds had been prevailing all afternoon, but there was much I did not know. In one lucid moment I looked down at the few things I had brought with me. One of these was my Mercator’s Chart. Now, darling, there is nothing quite so useless on a broad ocean as a Mercator on a raft that one cannot steer. I finally threw it overboard.
Toward the end of the afternoon we were all resigning ourselves to spending a night on the water. I, at least, was convinced that no one in England had any idea of where we were. Earlier we had seen a flight of bombers, but they were very high and no one aboard could possibly have seen our signals. It was a little more than five hours after we ditched that we sighted a squadron of fighters. Larry had the flare pistol out and ready to shoot. Duke shouted that they might be Germans. Some of us told him to shoot and others yelled at him not to.
Here I must point out a rare phenomenon. Bohn said, “Fire.” When Larry hesitated Bohn said for the one and only time in my memory, “That’s an order.” Bohn told me later that he was positive they were Spits by the sound of them, which we had heard minutes before we saw them. Actually when we spotted them they were headed like a flight of arrows to England and no one in our position – climbing and sinking amid monstrous waves – could say whether their silhouettes were German or British. They were mere specks and shadows and I could see in them neither friend nor foe. Bohn’s ears for machinery were far subtler than mine. And I am grateful to them.
…Larry fired. The fighters were already past us, but one blessed pilot was looking back for an unknown but providential reason. We watched the fighters fly on and then noted that one peeled off, and the others followed.
They came in low over the water toward our flare – a magnificent affair of parachutes, red balls of fire and smoke like a Fourth of July celebration. Those Spitfires were the most meaningful, beautiful things I have ever seen. They swooped down and circled above us. Sick as we were, we stood up, waved and yelled at them, and came very near to upsetting the dinghies altogether. One of the Spits circled high above us to radio our position while the others continued to make passes over us by way of sustaining our morale. It was wonderful. We would cheer and laugh and get sick again, then laugh some more. I have never been so happy and so miserable at the same time.
After a while the Spits left us, but we felt certain that help would be on its way in no time at all. After a while another Spit did come out….
I am reminded by my pilot that it was not a Spit but a Mosquito.
We set off another display of fireworks and he too came over to circle above us. We were very glad to have him and we were sure that we were practically saved, but the sun set and the swell seemed to grow more ominous and still there was no rescue. We knew that our guardian plane would run out of gas soon. After a final pass he left us. The moon came up, big and yellow over the water. It was a lovely night, cold but full of stars – a few of which I fruitlessly recognized – but, lovely night or no, we continued to be sick. We strained our ears listening for motors. We saw lights where there were none. We told each other that we were sure to be rescued that night. But I think that each of us acknowledged to himself that it was unlikely.
We had been in the water about nine hours when Mike suddenly shouted that he saw a light. Fawkes saw it, too, when we rode the crest of a swell. We sent up another flare and then waited. Then we heard the dull throb of a motor, and a beam of light reached out near us but not quite on us. Dinghies are pitifully small things to spot on an ocean. We fired another flare, this time into the wind so that it fell back directly over our heads. The beam swung around and picked us up. Then while the light came nearer a terrible thought struck me and most of the others, I suppose: What if the vessel were an enemy ship? To have traveled all that distance across Europe alone, to have dived Tondelayo into the sea, to have spent nine agonizing hours on a raft, all to avoid capture and then to be picked up by the wrong ship – that would be too bad. We shouted and soon heard someone answering. “Ahoy,” said a voice behind the light. Apparently our collective Minnesota, Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, Texas and New York accents made themselves known, and the voice answered jubilantly, “OK, Yanks, we’re coming.”
We clambered aboard the boat, fumbling awkwardly up the swaying rope ladder. There were a dozen happy angels dressed in blue RAF uniforms and turtleneck sweaters saying, “Bloody good show,” and cinematic things of that sort. They had hot soup and dry clothes ready for us. I couldn’t swallow the soup and, since I paused on deck for one last mighty heave of what was still in my innards, I came down too late for the clothes. But I stripped to the skin and they wrapped me in warm fleecy blankets….
While Bohn and I lingered on the deck we thought we saw a great hulk move out of the sea perilously close. Bohn tapped the shoe of the captain on the deck above us and gestured toward it. “We’ve copped it,” said the captain quietly, but he was wrong. The apparition was another British rescue launch, and together we headed home. The German shore batteries tossed a few shells in our direction, but they were not too serious about the effort.
…It was a long voyage home and we dodged minefields all the way. The skipper told us that we had drifted from our original position some twenty miles off the French coast to well within the patrol lanes of the Germans and in easy shelling distance of their coastal guns. By morning we would have been in enemy hands.
When we hit the coast town of Dover there was an ambulance waiting at the end of the stone walk. But Bendiner had no pants, nothing but a couple of blankets. I was panicky. I had read much about this town and it hurt my dignity to think that I would make my triumphal entry pantless. But I did. I clambered up the ancient stone steps of the wharf, clutching my blanket and looking like a refugee from a raid on a Turkish bath. It was very embarrassing. Those who were hurt were taken to a hospital. The rest of us – the cut on my forehead had thoroughly healed – went to the local officers’ barracks of the Royal Navy, where gold-braided commodores served us rum and scotch, hot soup and bully beef. They fussed about us and sought in a thousand ways to make us happy. But still I had no pants. At last some kind lieutenant dug up an outfit for me and I regained my dignity. As a matter of fact he provided civilian clothes for me – slacks and a sweater – so that for that night and the next day I felt like a civilian and looked like Don Budge….
***
Bohn, although a mere second lieutenant, was commander of the crew and therefore shared the quarters – and the razor – of the Admiral of the Port of Dover. He woke on the following morning to see the Admiral staring out to sea. That dignitary invited Bohn to join him for a morning dip in the Channel, then, hastily recollecting the circumstances, added, “I suppose not.” Bohn confessed during our day of rehashing the events to a slight twinge of embarrassment over the fact that he had not been the last to leave Tondelayo in keeping with his position. I told him of the commander of the Royal Indian Navy who testified at a board of inquiry, “I did not leave the ship. The ship left me.” That cheered Bohn.
On the following day, after we saw our co-pilot at the hospital and said a cheery farewell all around, our operations officer flew down to bring us back to Kimbolton. This time the groundlings had rolled our bedding and gathered our personal possessions into pathetically small packages suitably tagged. We unpacked and rejoined the living.
… I expect that shortly we will be shipped off to spend a quiet recuperative week at a seaside resort. Some of the boys who have been watching me furiously pounding away have become curious, and I have shown them most of this letter. They are now anxiously waiting for the last page to roll off the press so they can find out whether or not they were saved.
All my love, ELMER
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This truly remarkable image, Army Air Force photograph 71149AC / A14028, shows Bohn Fawkes’ crew (with the exception of co-pilot “Chuck”, recovering in hospital) at Kimbolton on September 7, 1943, the day of their return to their base. As described in Bendiner’s account, all are wearing British clothing. At the center of the photo, focused – perhaps – on writing an account of their experience, is (probably) Lt. Fawkes. Fourth from right is Lt. Bendiner, while seated at far right with bandaged head is Sgt. Michael Arooth.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The “quiet, recuperative week” mentioned by my young self did not come at once. We were being handled according to the latest authoritative study by Eighth Air Force psychiatrists. A crew that had had a very rough mission a month or so earlier had been dispatched to a “flak house” for rest and rehabilitation. They came back rested but scarcely rehabilitated. They had used their week off to mull over their collective past and unpromising future. On their return they announced their unanimous decision to quit the war. They would not fly combat again together or singly. It was not mutiny, merely combat fatigue.
Colonel Mo was taking no chances with us. He and a few psychologists who had been studying combat crews to see what ordinary creatures would do under extraordinary stress decided on a policy well known to everyone who has tried to train young equestrians. If they are thrown, toss them into the saddle at once. If they have escaped a broken neck they must be encouraged to try again.
Unfortunately, Kimbolton was socked in for ten days after Stuttgart, and the dark memory of the ditching seeped into our bones while we trudged through the mud to the mess hall or down to the line to accept without joy Tondelayo’s replacement – a plane named Duffy’s Tavern.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Not every WW II Army Air Force aircraft was bedecked with elaborate nose art, some planes simply bearing a nickname and nothing more. Such is the case of B-17F 42-31040 DUFFY’S TAVERN (otherwise known by its squadron code FO * A), seen here at Kimbolton on November 11, 1943, in Army Air Force photo B-71044AC / A11536. The plane’s nickname was doubtless inspired by – going by Wikipedia-ology – the CBS and NBC radio program of that name, which was broadcast between 1941 and 1951.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The recollection of Tondelayo sinking through green depths to the bottom of the Channel worked upon us. We saw our flesh within her skeleton, bloated, rising and sagging with ghastly swells, skin shredding in the eternal wash. Images teased us like sea-green sirens stirring an invitation to madness amid the autumnal swish of the fields around Kimbolton.
We did not describe to each other the atrocious look of death we ten might have worn within the twisted wreckage where our names, lettered on the metal frame, would serve as tombstones and where the flying limbs, swelling breasts and much venerated crotch of Tondelayo would be raped by pulsing tides and left to lie derelict.
We did not speak of her or the sea or of ourselves. I waited for a cablegram from Esther that would make me a father and seduce me from such visions. No message came for me.
We did hear from the void, though. Bohn had a note from Johnny, courtesy of the Red Cross. It was written in a breezy, wish-you-were-here mood from a Stalag Luft. He had floated down to earth safely but landed among people who did not recognize the war as a game. Rendered mindless by the rain of bombs or perhaps by earlier horrors, they spoke of lynching the bomb crews who came to earth. Johnny was rescued by German airmen who, in 1943, saw him as a member of their fraternity. They understood the bombing and the killing of total strangers in ways that a civilian could never appreciate. They installed Johnny safely in a POW camp where the war was quite tolerable, it seemed. He was out of it at last.
I cannot now recall whether there were any who envied him.
We came to know Duffy s Tavern. It was no more than a soulless collection of B-17 parts. We inhabited it as if it were a furnished room. It was serviceable but no more. And this despite some energetic efforts to pretend that it had a spirit. Duffy himself, our flyer-turned-publican, broke a bottle over its wing and we drank to it in a mood of abstracted gaiety.
We ourselves had chilled the beer for that celebration by flying a case or two up to altitude – undoubtedly the most expensively cooled beer ever consumed. I watched myself celebrate. As I recall, we all seemed to have an air of odd detachment. We said and did familiar things, but I, at least, sat far back in my head, which had grown to the size of earth and heaven. I beheld myself with bemused interest while I waited word from Esther and my child.
On the sixteenth of September we piled into Duffy’s Tavern and headed for Nantes to take yet another whack at the impervious submarine pens. We made it back with only minor damage. I believe that our nerves then had been insulated by a sheath of ice so that they carried no messages of pain or fear. Perhaps we could have finished our missions or even done many more in that strange condition, operating by mechanical reflex, beyond or beneath sensation.
However, the day after we came back from Nantes we were shipped to Blackpool as if we were machine parts that had been chipped and needed to be overhauled. We did not work our passage across England but rode as so much functionless freight. I did not regard as a luxury the situation of a passenger on a free ride. I chafed at it.
When our plane rolled to a stop and the engines were cut we leaped out on the hardstand at Blackpool. The sky was cloudless, full of the possibilities of combat. I slung my musette bag over my shoulder and waited for the others. They emerged from the waist of the plane carrying something. They gathered in a circle around whatever it was. I elbowed into the group and saw at our feet our ball-turret gunner, Leary, the youngest of the crew. His hands clutched empty air. His eyes rolled back beneath his lids, exposing a fish-white vitreous. His shirt was pulled away from his trousers, and the belt pinched the skin of his belly purple. His neck and face were splotched.
“Keep him warm … give him air,” people shouted.
Bohn and Mike were kneeling at Leary’s side. Bohn was trying to take hold of Leary’s tongue to keep his airway open. Someone asked for a coat. I took mine off and handed it to Bohn, who covered Leary. Then some RAF groundlings tore up in an ambulance and loaded Leary aboard a stretcher. He too vanished as had our waist gunners on the Kassel raid, and as Johnny had earlier. Now Leary was asserting, with purple epileptic emphasis, that he would fly and fight no more. He was to go home, we learned later that day. And so he did and lived to become a cop in Philadelphia.
The rest of us, left to refresh ourselves amid the delights of Blackpool, felt our throats constrict with Leary’s. We commingled our fears in long unspoken dialogues, inarticulate as the plop and twang of the lobbing of our tennis balls on the clay courts.
My mind’s eye sees Blackpool as fully inhabited yet deserted like a beach resort out of season. The shops have merchandise in the window left over from a summer that has passed. Chill winds blow scraps of dead newspapers across the boardwalk. A soft malaise hangs in the air around the red-brown brick of the crenellated pseudo-Gothic castle that is the scene of our rest and recreation.
The pubs are warm and cozy, but the conversation is like the fluttering of the dead newspapers on the boardwalk. There are pretty girls in the pubs. I see them clearly, but I think I was restrained by thoughts of Esther’s labor and the impending arrival of my child. Who would screw in the presence of his baby?
Bohn had his own inhibitory mechanism, and so we talked with tennis balls, plunking the gut of a racket, plopping on the clay, until we had talked ourselves out.
When we mentioned the war we talked as civilians and strategists do, as if it were all a matter of grand movements by armies and navies, of encirclements and flanking maneuvers, of siege and statistics. The U.S. Army was battling its way inland from Salerno. Montgomery’s Eighth Army was inching up the Calabrian toe. Field Marshal Rommel was flooding northern Italy with German troops to replace the wavering Italians. We could not know that Rommel even then was conspiring with the Oberburgomeister of Stuttgart to overthrow Hitler, unlock the concentration camps, construct a liberal facade and lead the Western world against Russia. If we had known, would we have spared Stuttgart to save the promising Oberburgomeister? And would we in Blackpool, concerned with our own drowned Tondelayo and with our odds for survival – would we have discussed such fascinating matters with the animation we can so easily muster now after thirty-five years of civilian life? I doubt it, for war is not a matter of news bulletins. It is the image of oneself inside a plane at the bottom of the sea. It is the face of an epileptic seizure. It is that shameful zest that death gives to life. It is not, assuredly, grand strategy.
Our conversation was confined to tennis sounds and the swish of curling waves on a bleak strand. We rode in a horse-drawn buggy with girls whom we caressed abstractedly. Photographers sold us snapshots of ourselves, the whereabouts of which I do not know, but I fancy that they still blow endlessly across the boardwalks of Blackpool.
It was on the last day of our rest and rehabilitation that a cablegram arrived telling me that I had a daughter. The information came complete with the usual statistics such as weight, as if she were a prize fish. Whether it was an error of transmission or my addled brain, or my unfamiliarity with babies, I do not know, but I cabled back to ask whether “14 pounds 6 ounces was good weight for one so young.” We drank to her and to Esther. The crew – or what was left of it – felt, and still feel, a proprietary interest in that daughter because it was for her sake they had chosen to take their chances with the sea rather than fly to the safety of Switzerland.
I wrote my daughter a letter and another to my wife, wore fatherhood as a poppy in my buttonhole, and climbed aboard a plane sent down to fetch us home to Kimbolton.
Three days later we were over Emden, where a German battleship we had not expected to find in the harbor tossed up something like a rocket. We brought home Duffy’s Tavern with gaping holes in wing, nose and fuselage. It was my seventeenth completed mission. Counting all the false starts and aborts it was very likely my fiftieth venture into battle. Half the original crew were no longer with us – though Mike would soon return. Three quarters of the original squadron were missing or dead or had withdrawn from combat.
I had a third of the way still to go to the magic number of twenty-five. All the military portents spoke of a bloody autumn to come.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Presumably because he hailed from the Bronx, and, pre-war was employed as a reporter for the Brooklyn Eagle, a brief account of Elmer Bendiner’s experience in September of 1943 appeared in that newspaper, albeit over a year later: On December 6, 1944. Here’s the article as published in the Eagle, and, a full image of page 22, on which it appeared. As to why this news item appeared so long after the fact is a matter of conjecture.
The Eagle typically reserved its latter – or very last – page(s) for items covering news information about servicemen, or, casualty lists. This article was found via Tom Tryniski’s Fulton History website.
Old NewspapersOld Newspapers
Ex-Eagle Reporter Crashes in Channel To Escape Nazis
The Brooklyn Eagle
December 6, 1944
The Flying Fortress Tondelayo was in a jam. She had just raided Stuttgart from a British base and a combination of head winds and dirty weather generally had taxed her gasoline supply to the limit.
Navigator Lt. Elmer S. Bendiner, a former Brooklyn Eagle reporter, who lives at 2664 Grand Concourse, the Bronx, and Capt. John E. Fawkes of Minneapolis, the pilot, went into a huddle.
To bring her down in Switzerland meant internment for the duration. A landing in France, then in German hands, meant capture. There wasn’t enough gas to take her back to England. The only chance was a crash landing in the English Channel off the French coast.
The radio was out of commission and the copilot was wounded. Lieutenant Bendiner was hurt, too. But for six hours the gallant crew of the Tondelayo tossed on the angry Chanel, seasick and hoping against hope for rescue, while shore guns tried their best to sink the Fortress.
But the rescue party reached them after darkness and the entire crew was taken back to their base.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Next post, Elmer Bendiner’s final mission, and, his quiet revelation.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Here’s the Book
Bendiner, Elmer S., The Fall of Fortresses, G.P. Putnam’s Sons, New York, N.Y., 1980
Here’s Another Book
Freeman, Roger A., The B-17 Flying Fortress Story: Design – Production – History, Arms & Armour Press, London, England, 1998
Guess what? – Another book!
Forman, Wallace R., B-17 Nose Art Name Directory, Phalanx Publishing Co., Ltd., North Branch, Mn., 1996
…there had been not just one shell but eleven of them in the gas tanks – eleven unexploded shells where only one would have sufficed to blast us out of the sky with no time for chutes. It was as if the sea had been parted for us. Even after thirty-five years so awesome an event leaves me shaken. But before Bohn finished the story there would be both more and less to wonder at. He spun it out.
Elmer Bendiner stands before the nose of Flying Fortress Tondelayo (B-17F 42-29896, squadron identification marking “FO * V“). Photo from Silvertail Books.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Elmer Bendiner’s writing of The Fall of Fortresses during the late 1970s doubtless presented him with a literary quandary: How should an author structure his book so that it presents a picture of aerial combat that’s historically accurate in its recounting of history, events, and personalities, and at the same time is intellectually and emotionally compelling. One way would be by recounting the events of each of his twenty-five missions, whether “routine” or singularly memorable, in chronological order, which could lend his book a rote, dry, repetitive air. Another way would be by focusing on those particular missions or events – few in number – which by their significance and unusual nature left indelible impressions upon the author. It’s by following the latter course that Bendiner created his memoir, and in this, three particular missions stand out: A mission to Kassel, Germany on July 30, 1943; a September 6, 1943 mission to Stuttgart, and on November 30, 1943, Bendiner’s final combat mission, to Bremen, Germany, on November 29, 1943.
It’s those three flights that – excerpted from his memoir – will be presented in this series of posts. First, though, it’s time to introduce Elmer Bendiner’s crew.
The Crew of Tondelayo
To begin, here are the very few photographs of Bendiner’s fellow crew members that I know of. The first two come from The Fall of Fortresses.
Here’s his pilot, 2 Lt. Bohn Edgar Fawkes, Jr.
And, his bombardier, 2 Lt. Robert Lawrence Hejny
From Ancestry.com, here’s the 1934 Austin (Texas) high school graduation portrait of “Larry”: T/Sgt. Lawrence Harris Reedman, the crew’s Flight Engineer
Having started with Fawkes and Hejny in Tondelayo’s “nose”, we’ll symbolically work our way back to Tondelayo’s “tail”: And so, fittingly, here are some pictures of tail gunner T/Sgt. Michael Louis Arooth.
This undated image of T/Sgt. Arooth is Army Air Force photograph 78761AC / A8882. The date of the photo is unknown, but given that he’s wearing the Air Medal, Distinguished Flying Cross, Distinguished Service Cross, and particularly the Purple Heart (he was wounded on July 30 and injured on September 6), the picture was presumably taken at or near the end of his combat tour.
This picture of T/Sgt. Arooth is from the WW II Uncovered Facebook Page (9/29/20) and shows the Sergeant making a radio broadcast, location unknown.
Unfortunately, I don’t have the source of this image, but I’m certain the picture also shows T/Sgt. Arooth. Given that Tondelayo is adorned with several swastikas denoting victory claims over German fighters (unlike in the picture with Elmer Bendiner, where it seems to bear none), the picture was obviously taken before the bomber’s loss on September 6, 1943, during the latter part of its service in the 527th Bomb Squadron.
At the U.S. Militaria Forum, here’s another picture of Sgt. Arooth, probably taken when he was training in the United States.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
If I have any criticism of The Fall of Fortresses, it’s this: Given that Bendiner’s personal records, diary, and letters, and doubtless photographs survived the war, it’s a pity that more of his personal photos weren’t included in the book. Other than the pictures of Fawkes, Hejny, and the author, the memoir is entirely absent of images of the author’s family, the rest of his crew, B-17s, or Kimbolton. It’s a pity. What was G.P. Putnam’s Sons thinking???
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This photograph, Army Air Force picture C-71023AC / A11454 (it can be found at Fold3 and the American Air Museum in Britain, as UPL 41323), shows Tondelayo and (at least some of) Bendiner’s crew, at the 379th Bomb Group’s base in Kimbolton, England.
Fold3 contributor patootie63 has two entries at listing the names of the men in the photo.
One entry states: “Could be Carnal’ crew : Lt Walter Flower Carnal (pilot) was born on dec 1st, 1918 – passed away on july 28th, 2010 (POW on 14 oct 1943, flying aboard 42-3269 “Picadilly Willy”) Lt William S Davidson (copilot) POW Lt Morris Konier (navigator) POW 1 Lt Leslie M Gross (bombardier) KIA on oct 14th, 1943 T/Sgt Leonard Frederick Cruzan (radio) POW – was born on dec 16th, 1919 – passed away on june 30th, 2014 – Sgt Norbert Stephen Jost (engineer) was born on nov 19th, 1919 – passed away on july 8th, 2002 POW S/Sgt Donald S Sherman (ball turret gunner) was born on nov 29th, 1920 – passed away on june 1st, 1945 POW S/Sgt Nick G Rukavina (right waist gunner) KIA on oct 14th, 1943 S/Sgt Monico R Rodriquez (left waist gunner) POW S/Sgt Milton M Fisher (tail gunner) POW”
The above caption is hyperlinked to four men in the photo. In center rear is Bohn Fawkes, while in front row second from left is S/Sgt. Monico Rodriquez, fourth from left is S/Sgt. Donald Sherman, and fifth from left is Sgt. Arooth.
(The above entry also states that the photo was taken on July 12, 1943. Which makes sense, given that the bomber was lost in early September.)
And the other: “This is Fawkes’ crew : 2Lt Bohn E Fawkes Jr (pilot) 2 Lt Charles A Mauldin (co-pilot) born on sept 2nd, 1919 – passed away on feb 17th, 2007 2 Lt Elmer S Bendiner (navigator) 2 Lt Robert L Hejny (bombardier) born on jan 5th, 1920 – passed away on aug 5th, 1985 T/Sgt Frederick J Reinhard (radio operator) T/Sgt Lawrence H Reedman (engineer) T/Sgt Walter J Gray (ball turret gunner) S/Sgt Harry L Edwards (right waist gunner) S/Sgt John A Leary (left waist gunner) T/Sgt Michael Arooth (tail gunner)”
In Fold 3, the above caption is hyperlinked to three men in the photo. Second from rear is Elmer Bendiner, in center rear is Bohn Fawkes, and at far right front is (again) Sgt. Arooth. The above crew list also accompanies the photo as it appears at the American Air Museum in Britain.
So, in light of both of patootie63’s entries, we have identities in the crew photo for Elmer Bendiner, Bohn Fawkes, Michael Rodriquez, and Michael Arooth. However, based on the Fawkes’ crew list as presented in patootie63’s “second” entry (just above), which is repeated at the American Air Museum in England, and a reading of The Fall of Fortresses, the actual Fawkes’ crew – at least, those men with whom Bendiner flew his missions, and/or are mentioned or alluded to in his book – is listed below. The men’s names are accompanied by their ranks, serial numbers, names of next of kin, wartime residential addresses, date of birth, and (alas) inevitably – this being the year 2024 – date of death. This information is derived from a deep perusal of Ancestry.com, and, FindAGrave, the latter evident via the hyperlinks. In this manner, I was able to find definitive information about all but three men: Radio Operator Frederick Reinhard, Ball Turret Gunner Walter Gray, and replacement Waist Gunner Henry J. Edwards.
An observation: Remarkably, though two members of this crew (waist gunners Herring and Stockman) became POWs, and one man (Michael Arooth) was wounded and injured, every man listed below survived combat, and, survived the war. The last surviving crew member was Charles Augustus Mauldin, who died at the age of eighty-seven in 2009.
Their Names
Pilot: Fawkes, Bohn Edgar, Jr., 2 Lt., 0-410814 Mr. and Mrs. Bohn Edgar (6/12/92-2/8/46) and Inez E. (1893-1959) Fawkes (parents) 2426 Irving St., Minneapolis, Mn. Born Minneapolis, Mn. 9/2/19 – Died 2/17/07
Co-Pilot: Mauldin, Charles Augustus, 2 Lt., 0-794438 Mr. and Mrs. Charles “Charlie” (9/16/83-1/1/30) and Ethel Charity (Dutherage or Duthridge) (8/31/91-8/22/81) Mauldin (step-parents) 2310 6th Ave., Columbus, Ga. Born in Mississippi; 5/5/22 – Died 6/1/09
Navigator: Bendiner, Elmer Stanley, 2 Lt., 0-797240 Mr. and Mrs. William (Wilhelm) [7/31/25] and Lillian (Schwartz) Bendiner (parents) 2664 Grand Concourse, Bronx, N.Y. 187 North Ocean Ave., Freeport, N.Y. Bertram, Evelyn, Lawrence, Marvin and Milton Bendiner (brothers and sisters) Born Scottsdale, Pa.; 2/11/16 – Died 9/16/01 Brooklyn Eagle 12/6/44
Bombardier: Hejny, Robert Lawrence, 2 Lt., 0-734342 Mrs. Dorothy Mae Webster (wife); Married 1/26/44 – Divorced 9/3/81 Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Anton (3/19/87-1965) and Elizabeth M. (Spinler) (1901-1994) Hejny (parents); Barbara, Daniel, and Raymond (sister and brothers) 1808 East 7th St., St. Paul, Mn. Born Pine City, Mn.; 1/5/20 – Died 8/5/85
Flight Engineer: Reedman, Lawrence Harris, T/Sgt., 18089373 Mr. and Mrs. Samuel “Sam” (4/7/89-5/21/74) and Sarah D. (Rosenthroh) (9/15/91-6/27/75) Reedman (parents) Miss Lilian Charlotte Reedman (sister) (2/8/11-6/18/98) 2515 North Stanton St., El Paso, Tx. Born St. Louis, Mo.; 2/12/17 – Died 3/29/08
Radio Operator: Reinhard, Frederick W. “Duke“, T/Sgt., 32338340 (Is this him?) From New York, N.Y. Born 1916
Gunner (Ball Turret): Gray, Walter J., T/Sgt. (33301215?) (According to a memorial at Fold3, T/Sgt. Gray, was born in Pittsburgh, Pa., in 1920.)
Gunner (Waist): Herring, George Edwin, Jr., S/Sgt., 19002595, Gunner (Waist) POW – Stalag 9C (Baz Sulza) From California Born Oklahoma City, Ok., 12/9/19 – San Bernardino, Ca., 5/11/92
Gunner (Waist): Stockman, Herbert James, Jr., 16109833 POW – Stalag 17B (Gneixendorf) Mrs. Murial L. (Stoll) Stockman (wife), 1626 Evans, Detroit, Mi. – Divorced 7/9/46 Mr. and Mrs. James W. and Estella (Hopwood) Stockman (parents) Born New Castle, Pa.; 2/29/16 – Died 1/18/00
Gunner (Tail): Arooth, Michael Louis, T/Sgt., 31128966 Mr. and Mrs. Salem and Dora Mary Arooth (parents); George, Louis, Peter, and Ruth (brothers and sister) 26 Lorenzo St., Springfield, Ma. Born Springfield, Ma.; 7/31/19 – Died 2/15/90
Post 7/30/43, Herring and Stockman were presumably replaced by:
Edwards, Henry J., S/Sgt.
Leary, John Anthony, S/Sgt., 13028387 Mrs. George F. Lehman (aunt), 2111 66th Ave., Philadelphia, Pa. Born Philadelphia, Pa.; 2/3/23 – Died 9/16/99 Separated from active service Feb. 2, 1944, at Tilton Gen. Hosp., Fort Dix, N.J.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So, we’ll start with the mission of July 30, 1943, which was triply and dramatically significant.
First, the B-17’s wings were struck by eleven 20mm cannon shells fired by attacking Me-109s or FW-190s, none of which, though effectively embedded in the plane’s fuel tanks, failed to explode. (Otherwise Bendiner probably would not have survived to write his memoir, I wouldn’t be bringing you this set of blog posts, and you wouldn’t necessarily be visiting this blog.) The very nature of the damage incurred bythe plane, and the actual reason that the several cannon shells failed to detonate, was only revealed to Bendiner during a get-together with Bohn Fawkes in Tarrytown, New York, probably (given the year The Fall of Fortresses was published) in the late 1970s.
(I once encountered a YouTube video about this incident, but the URL has since slipped through my pixels and spreadsheets.)
Second, the B-17’s oxygen system was damaged during the fighter attack, eventuating in the plane’s radio operator, ball turret gunner, and both waist gunners experiencing anoxia, with the waist gunners parachuting from the aircraft.
Third, tail gunner Michael Arooth was wounded and also anoxic, yet remained at his position and continued to defend the bomber. This is the incident for which he received the Distinguished Service Cross, as issued in European Theater of Operations U.S. Army General Orders No. 61 of September 10, 1943. Here the text of Arooth’s award citation, as found at Hall of Valor: The Military Medals Database:
The President of the United States of America, authorized by Act of Congress July 9, 1918, takes pleasure in presenting the Distinguished Service Cross to Staff Sergeant Michael Arooth (ASN: 31128966), United States Army Air Forces, for extraordinary heroism in connection with military operations against an armed enemy while serving as Tail Gunner in a B-17 Heavy Bomber of the 527th Bombardment Squadron, 379th Bombardment Group (H), EIGHTH Air Force, while participating in a bombing mission on 30 July 1943, against enemy ground targets in Germany. On that date, Sergeant Arooth’s B-17 was attacked by a large force of enemy fighters. During the course of these determined attacks, Sergeant Arooth destroyed three enemy airplanes and, while firing his guns, was wounded by an exploding cannon shell. His left gun was jammed by enemy fire, his oxygen supply line was broken, and the interphone system was inoperative. The pilot was forced to use violent evasive action, and several members of the crew, thinking the airplane was out of control, bailed out. When this occurred, Sergeant Arooth gave up his attempts to reach his emergency oxygen system, returned to his one remaining gun, and continued to fight off enemy attacks. Without oxygen, and with his leg shattered and bleeding, Sergeant Arooth, displaying extraordinary heroism and with complete disregard for his personal safety, remained at his post and defended his airplane and crew with his one good gun. When this gun jammed he skillfully repaired the malfunction, resumed firing, and destroyed his fourth airplane. The extraordinary heroism, coolness, and skill displayed by Sergeant Arooth on this occasion reflect high credit upon himself and the armed forces of the United States.
In the hands of a skilled writer, any of these events could serve as the basis for a chapter (or two), yet Bendiner seamlessly wove them together into a single story. Or, chapter, to be precise.
As for myself, my first encounter with this chapter of Bendiner’s book sparked an interest in obtaining the Missing Air Crew Report (MACR) covering the loss of the plane’s waist gunners, whose full names are not given in Bendiner’s text, with one name is misspelled. (“Herrin”, not the correct “Herring.) I was at first puzzled a few decades ago when an inquiry to NARA revealed that there was no MACR pertaining to this event. Only later did I learn that the time frame of the incident – the summer of 1943 – was coincident with the Army Air Force’s implementation of the use of these documents, this event bureaucratically “falling through the cracks”, as it were, accounting for the absence of a MACR. However, the American Air Museum in Britain revealed that the events in this story occurred aboard Mystic, officially known as B-17F 42-5820. As you can see from the crew list above, both Herring and Stockman survived as POWs. They were apparently replaced by S/Sgts. Henry J. Edwards and John Anthony Leary.
Mystic did not finish the war. The plane was lost during a mission to Gelsenkirchenon August 12, 1943, after having been transferred to the 526th Bomb Squadron as LF * C. It was piloted by 2 Lt. Kurt W. Freund, with seven of its ten crewmen surviving. Having crashed near Leinersdorf (11 km north of Ahrweiler) its loss is covered in MACRs 1359 and 2340, and, Luftgaukommando Report KU 21.
So, here’s Elmer Bendiner’s chronicle the events of eighty-one years ago:
“This is all we can do for you now.”
The following morning we were up again in the cold predawn to find ourselves a broken family. Tondelayo was being fitted with new props. The colonel had commandeered our gunners for his lead ship – a tribute, of course. Bohn was to replace Mike in the tail position, as was the custom when the colonel took over. And since Dutch, the group navigator, would be riding with the colonel, I was fobbed off on a squadron lead.
Johnny was assigned as co-pilot with still another crew. We had been operational for almost two months and we had lost seventy-five percent of our original crews. Replacements were arriving, but as Arnold reminded Eaker, we had to salvage what we could. To some Johnny must have looked salvageable.
We do not know precisely what went on inside the cockpit of Johnny’s plane on the mission that day. Some said they saw the plane slip back and drop below the formation with one engine smoking, then blazing. Four chutes opened, they say. I was not there, because the plane on which I rode that day developed one of those mechanical symptoms that used to afflict us in Johnny’s time. Again the cockpit asked me for a heading home, and after five hours we made it back to Kimbolton for coffee and the anxious tally of our wild geese. They came in across a sweep of sky still brilliant in the late afternoon.
I look over my time sheet that has been so scrupulously kept by some company clerk, and I am incredulous. One day follows another in the list of battles. There should have been time to savor and digest our fears. If on a Wednesday one watches other men die and sees one’s own death foreshadowed, it does not seem fitting to watch a similar deadly dance on Thursday and again on Friday and again on Saturday. Such a schedule can make the most awesome event a dull routine and turn battle into a business. If some morning at my present age I saw my friend and neighbor killed or if I felt the whoosh of a bullet pass my head I should want some time to think and then to scream before I faced a similar ordeal. But in those days we were too young to scream and thoughts were easily put off by the exhilaration of death’s presence. Now I can see that death is pallid and often ugly, but I confess it did not seem so then. And so we went up morning after morning in that gentle July, and on the thirtieth of that month we came to a strange milestone on the road to Schweinfurt.
It was a return visit to Kassel. We had been in action for four days running. At 0530 we were gathered in the briefing room, its bustle and its tensions as homey as a country kitchen, so quickly does the shocking become familiar. I do not remember fatigue. I had slept soundly and waked to the usual electric glare. I had bolted the usual eggs which seemed to coat one’s teeth and tongue with fine sandpaper. I had scalded my throat with coffee and smiled at myself picking a poppy. Between a yawn and a sneeze I read our fate in chalk on the battle lineup.
I do not mean to say it was a routine like a ride in the subway betwixt sleep and waking, staring at faces and behinds that are different and yet the same day after day. It would distort the reality and stretch words out of joint to pretend that it could have been so dull. In a subway the imminence of death is conjectural, problematic. In the briefing room it was certain, fierce, palpable and stimulating.
We ten in Tondelayo circled over Yorkshire, warming ourselves in the sun at eleven thousand feet, above a gray expanse of cloud. We crossed Felixstowe heading southeast at 0730, according to the map that has grown old with me for thirty-five years.
We climbed to our bombing altitude, 24,000 feet, over the North Sea and hit the Belgian coast close to the Dutch border. Out the port-side window I could see the Scheldt winding into Holland, and out the starboard window lay Bruges. It was then that our own P-47s and the RAF Bostons waggled their wings and went home. It was 0801, I noted in my log. A scribble nearby I take to mean that there were fighters. They had swarmed up from Woensdrecht Airdrome. Actually some B-26s had preceded us in the hope of drawing them off. I do not know whether those bright-yellow-nosed spitting wonders had risen to the bait of the B-26s and then gone down to gas up in time for us. Perhaps they had wisely sent up only a few to greet our decoys and held the rest in reserve for the main show.
In any case there they were, buzzing up at us from an airfield right on course. This was ideal for the Luftwaffe, because almost all of the fighters’ flying time could be spent in combat. In the previous April the Luftwaffe had fitted auxiliary fuel tanks to its fighters, which gave them perhaps two hours of high-speed, high-altitude flying time. On the day we went to Kassel the German dispatchers displayed their ingenuity by having their fighter squadrons hedge-hop from station to station along our presumed course.
Some came from Lille and arrived in time to give us trouble east of Brussels at 0817. Others came up from an airfield near Poix, too late to catch us on the way in but in plenty of time to ambush us on the way out. Some came from Brittany and Normandy and refueled at Lille.
At 0836 we were south of the Ruhr. We had weathered three heavy fighter attacks. Most of them came in from the rear of the formation, often four abreast. We in the nose felt their presence and heard the ping of shrapnel, but it was Mike who saw most of the action on the way in. Being a tail gunner is a lonely job. “It’s a good spot for praying,” Mike had said once. “You’re on your knees all the time.” The only spot that’s worse is the ball turret, where the gunner is wrapped around his gun like an anchovy or a fetus in a womb too small.
The tail usually saw more action than the belly. “The fuckin’ Germans must think all tail gunners are stupid,” Mike used to say. They came in again and again, firing, turning bottoms up and slipping away.
From Gladbeck and Cologne swarms of FWs and MEs shot up and barreled through our formation. Near Remagen I noted the fall of two enemy fighters. I fired at those arrows in the sky, but I knew that I was merely making noise to let them know we were alive on the port side. Bob’s gun kept up a ceaseless chatter and the top turret pounded like a jackhammer inside my head. Then quite suddenly the fighters vanished and left us to our bomb run and the accompanying flak. We came up on Kassel from the south. I peered over Bob’s shoulder and saw the city. We were rocked by flak. Still the motors ground on. There could be no evasive action. We would fly unswervingly through a sky of angry black shell bursts.
The bomb-bay doors of the plane ahead of us swung open. I watched the bombs tumble out helter-skelter at first, then straightening to a purposive plunge. When ours were gone, lost in the black smoke far below, Bob called out that the doors were closed and Bohn banked Tondelayo sharply to starboard. As we headed north and then west for home the flak slackened off and the fighters came back. They had been gathering all morning. It had been one hour and eleven minutes since we had entered Europe, and the Germans had had time to assemble a massive fleet of fighters, gassed up and ready.
It must have been somewhere near Recklinghausen that disaster struck. Mike called in to say he was hit in his right hand and left leg. Then followed a jumble of static and for a while we couldn’t raise him at all. Tondelayo was being knocked about the sky. Actually Bohn was climbing, diving and making corkscrew patterns in a crazy choreography designed to unsettle the fighters, who were pressing in from all sides. I kept my mind on the zigzag line we were taking across Europe. When I tried to stand, my feet slipped from under me. I clung to my desk and the gun, waiting for the attack to subside. When at last Mike came on again his words were jumbled and he sounded as if he were calling from a painfully long distance.
We drove across Germany trying to keep up with the formation, which had a ragged look, with gaping holes where planes had been. I had seen two of the group go down. The formation was turning more to the south in a beeline out of Germany, when we became aware of an alteration in the sound of flight. When Larry in the top turret eased up and when Bob’s guns stopped momentarily, Tondelayo seemed unnaturally quiet. The roar from the waist was missing. No one sang out to claim a kill or warn of fighters coming in. Bob and I looked at each other across the tops of our masks and he opened up his mike, ripping into my headset, “Bombardier to waist gunners, bombardier to waist gunners. Come in, come in.” Silence. Tondelayo climbed and plunged. “Stockman, Herrin, come in, Goddammit. Come in. Do you read me? Duke, come in. Bombardier to radio. Duke, come in.”
Tondelayd’s motors whined. Then came Mike’s voice, vague, blurred, with an odd calm: “They’re gone. Gone.”
We were 25,000 feet above Germany and they were gone. One imagines a switchboard operator saying, “Sorry, sir. They’re gone.” At the time the word itself with its nonsensical associations filled my head and left no room for irony. They had gone four miles down to the patchwork of farms I could barely see. Fighters were swarming about us, coming in at three, four, seven and eight o’clock where our guns were silent. Now and then we thought we heard a long burst from the tail, but that was all.
Bob disentangled his headset and oxygen hose. He lurched past me. His face was neither sad nor scared. I realized that he was in a rage. He went up the stepway to the cockpit. We were still in formation. I put down my pencil, unplugged my oxygen hose and my headset. I chucked my helmet aside and clambered after him. Behind the cockpit Bohn pointed to a green oxygen bottle, into which I plugged my hose like the antenna of an insect. We ducked under the turret, which was rattling in uninterrupted air-shattering streams of fire that had the sound of panic. We passed through the bomb bay along the narrow steel catwalk, past the racks that had held the bombs, and into the radio compartment. Duke was gone. We went into the waist, where blasts of cold air bit into my face. Herrin and Stockman were gone. Their masks, still attached to the oxygen outlet, flapped against the metal wall. The door had been jettisoned. Through it we stared at windy space. As Tondelayo banked and rolled I could see the distant, detached world below. Then I saw Duke. He was sitting on the floor, one leg dangling beyond the open hatch. Bob and I pulled him in across the floor past the waist ports, where the wind howled as in an arctic blizzard, where one could see the silvery wings of our enemies curvetting and spitting sparks.
The floor of the fuselage was torn in spots, the metal peeled back. Multicolored cables were in shreds. We sat Duke up in the radio room and looked to see whether he was bleeding. He was untouched, but his eyes were dreamy and he wore a smile of absurd serenity.
There was no oxygen in the rear of the plane. Mike had seen the waist gunners as they jumped, driven by lack of oxygen to illusions of impending disaster. Mike had watched their chutes open. One of them had barely cleared the horizontal stabilizer. Mike himself did not know whether the plane was actually going down. In any case there was nothing he could do about it. His arm and leg were torn and, though he was not in pain, he was groggy. He must have felt the cold, because the wires that hooked his electric suit had been cut. With his good arm he had changed the belt of ammo in his gun and eased his nerves by firing. He recalls seeing a Messerschmitt. He waited until it was two hundred yards from us, just the point, he thought, where the German would open up and blast us out of the sky. Mike let go a stream of fire that caught the fighter. It turned yellow and red, nosed upward, then spun in.
Bob hooked Duke to an oxygen bottle and stayed to take care of Mike as best he could. I hurried down to the nose, told Bohn the situation and began to work out a heading home. We had to drop to an inhabitable altitude regardless of the dangers of straggling in enemy skies. I remember looking at my watch, the minute and second hands whirling as unconcernedly as if I were on a street corner waiting for Esther. I looked out the window and, without seeming to grasp the significance of the phenomenon, noted that the propeller on engine Number Four was rigidly stationary. It had been feathered, disconnected to keep it from tearing the engine out of the wing. Black smoke streamed behind it. I drew a course that would take us across Holland dodging the flak zones listed in my flight plans. I hoped the information was reliable. I did not know. I only pretended to know. The plane dropped closer to the land. When I identified the Willems Canal in Holland, I called the cockpit to correct our heading. Our formation was above and ahead. We were alone. Mike’s gun rattled, but I did not know whether he was firing at something or to keep himself awake. The top turret answered with a roar. But then came the blessed moment when I could tear off my tin hat and my mask and breathe real air. The plexiglass of the nose had several gaping holes. We had one man wounded. We were missing two others. But we were going home. We were going to drink something hot. We were going to sleep in a bed.
The ball-turret gunner, undoubtedly anoxic as were the others in the rear of the plane, could not easily raise his turret to extricate himself without hydraulic pressure, and that had been lost when the lines were severed. Curled up in Tondelayo’s steel ball, impotent, Leary had survived because he could not follow the waist gunners out of the plane. He was barely nineteen years old, the youngest in the crew. I do not know how he withstood that torture wrapped within himself, powerless amid bullets and explosions, oppressed by the realization that at any instant he might be spattered to a mass of ugly tissue, like a cat run over on the highway. That might happen to any man in the crew, but the rest of us had the illusion of motion, of elbow room to give us security. There was nothing that Leary could do about his fate. He was as powerless as a rivet in his ball turret. He had been reduced to a neuter.
We could have brought up the ball turret by hand and released him, but we needed his gun as we needed Mike’s. When we reached the North Sea and saw the gliding shapes of friendly P-47s we brought him up. I calculated an ETA and gave it to Bohn. His voice was as even as if we were sitting on our bunks. “Roger. Thank you, Benny.”
With flares rising like Roman candles we came to Kimbolton. We bumped to a halt on the grass where we had come before when our brakes were undependable. We were late, but we were home. Mike was not badly hurt, according to our cheerful obstetrician.
“Our waist gunners are gone,” we told the debriefing officer.
“Are what?”
“Are gone.”
“What?”
“Gone.”
This battle is distinguished by a postscript which was appended some thirty-five years after the event. Bohn and I were sitting on a porch in Tarrytown, New York, on a summer evening. We were rehashing the war as ex-warriors have done since civilization invented wars. We were not seeking to dress our memories in cinematic glories or dissolve them in an alcoholic haze as veterans do. We were seeking rather to collapse the wind out of nostalgia, to see the war plain. We were trying to mount our recollections on pins so that we could study them in various lights from various angles. We were seeking to approximate an objective account of what we had seen and done.
We were reconciling scrawls from our respective logs. For example, after a raid on Münster Bohn had written: “This will make a lot of Dutch Nazis.” He no longer remembered what that meant. And I had scribbled on that day the one word “Eindhoven.” I had forgotten why. We looked at a map and saw that Eindhoven was a Dutch town not far from the German border. At the ground speed of those antique planes we flew it would have been perhaps ten minutes from Münster.
Our memories fed each other. As we talked, the scrawls unlocked cobwebbed files in our minds until at last the two comments made sense. Münster had been cloud-covered, and our formation had turned away from the target. The bomb-bay doors of our group leader were open. So were ours. Suddenly the undercast rolled away, revealing a flat green and tawny countryside. I recognized the pattern of rivers and canals. When I saw the formation prepare to bomb I yelled into the intercom that we were over Holland. As I yelled the bombs fell, and I noted that we had hit Eindhoven. It was then that Bohn had summed up in his log the political consequences. (Incidentally, I have subsequently talked with several Dutchmen who graciously forgave us, but then, none of them was under our bombs at Eindhoven.)
In any case it was in this search of the past that we came to the Kassel raid and the disappearance of our waist gunners. Over Bohn’s face came a characteristically odd, slightly mischievous grin. “You remember,” said he, “that we were hit by twenty-millimeter shells.”
That was not a singular experience for us, I pointed out. But these had hit our gas tanks, he recalled. That did indeed stir something in the archives of my brain. Somewhere I had even made a note of shell holes in gas tanks. I reflected on the miracle of a 20-mm. shell piercing the fuel tank without touching off an explosion.
Now Bohn licked his chops so that I could see that a revelation was on the verge. It was not the case of an unexploded shell in a gas tank, he said. It was not so simple a miracle. At the time Bohn too had thought it was no more than that. On the morning following Kassel, while I slept late and missed my breakfast, Bohn had gone down to ask our crew chief for that shell, as a souvenir of unbelievable luck. Marsden told Bohn that there had been not just one shell but eleven of them in the gas tanks – eleven unexploded shells where only one would have sufficed to blast us out of the sky with no time for chutes. It was as if the sea had been parted for us. Even after thirty-five years so awesome an event leaves me shaken. But before Bohn finished the story there would be both more and less to wonder at. He spun it out.
Bohn was told that the shells had been sent to the armorers to be defused. The armorers told him that Intelligence had picked them up. They could not say why.
The professorial captain of intelligence confirmed the story. Eleven shells were in fact found in Tondelayo’s tanks. No, he could not give one to Bohn. Sorry, he could not say why.
Eventually the captain broke down. Perhaps it was difficult to refuse a man like Bohn the evidence of a highly personal miracle. Perhaps it was because this captain of intelligence had briefed so many who had not come back that he treasured the one before him as a fragile relic. Or perhaps he told Bohn the truth because it was too delicious to keep to himself. He swore Bohn to secrecy.
The armorers who opened each of those shells had found no explosive charge. They were as clean as a whistle and as harmless. Empty? Not quite, said the captain, tantalizing Bohn as Bohn tantalized me.
One was not empty. It contained a carefully rolled piece of paper. On it was a scrawl in Czech. The intelligence captain had scoured Kimbolton for a man who could read Czech. The captain dropped his voice to a whisper before he repeated the message. Bohn imitated that whisper, and it set us to marveling as if the revelation were fresh and potent, not thirty-five years old and on its way to being a legend. Translated, the note read: “This is all we can do for you now.”
Here’s the Book
Bendiner, Elmer S., The Fall of Fortresses, G.P. Putnam’s Sons, New York, N.Y., 1980
Here’s Another Book
Freeman, Roger A., The B-17 Flying Fortress Story: Design – Production – History, Arms & Armour Press, London, England, 1998
“…the anonymity of war is as terrible and profound as that of chessmen tumbled into a box when the game is over.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Time moves forward, inexorably. With it, the memory of the past flows along paths that sometimes meet, sometimes diverge. On one – the course typical of men and nations – lies forgetfulness. On the other, the memory of historical events may continue, but will be softened, if not altered, if not irrevocably distorted, by the shifting winds of politics, ideology, and sometimes the exuberant tides of irrationality that unexpectedly break upon – and even emerge from within – all civilizations. And thus, whether by one man or many, the centrality, impact, and memory of historical events having the greatest and most transformative impact for any given generation, will not be so (can memory ever be so?) for later generations. Regardless of an event’s magnitude, intensity, impact, or power.
But, regardless of the fallibility of human memory and entirely independent of man himself, facts remain, irremovably cemented into the fabric of time.
Certainly and obviously central to the twentieth century, and having indirect influence upon the events of this 21st century, have been the “Great War” and the Second World War, which some historians have considered to be the opening and closing phases of a single, much larger historical interval. Inevitably, both of these awful conflicts have given rise to an incalculably vast body of literature, both fiction and non-fiction. Naturally, many of these works were produced by veterans of these conflicts, either in the years immediately following their military service, or, several decades later, when they were better able to reflect upon the past as they entered retirement, by which time they’d gained perspective on their experiences, the memories of which were no longer as jagged or emotionally impactful as in their youth.
I’ve read many books of this nature, as I’m sure you have also.
They vary in quality as much as all men vary: in perceptiveness, literary skill, recollection of facts, sentimentality, honesty, candor, and tact. In that regard, below, quite randomly listed, are the titles of books penned by (and in a few cases about) Jewish aviators who served in the Allied air forces in the Second World War, some of whom I’ve mentioned or alluded to in prior posts. I take for granted that an equal and perhaps greater number of titles covering the experiences of Jewish servicemen in the ground and naval forces could be found (I know of a few), but that’s beyond the scope of this post.
In terms of this list of titles, immediately apparent is the fact that some were privately published, some released by vanity presses, and others by mainstream, well-established publishers. (Notably, in light of the enormous technological and logistical changes in the nature of book publishing over the past few decades, the less-than-stellar reputation once accorded to vanity presses I think is truly no longer (un)merited.)
Prisoners of War…
…In Europe
A Measure of Life, privately published, 2002 By Herman Lewis Cranman, (Herschel Eliezer Kranman), 1 Lt., 0-692478, Bombardier/Navigator, 34 missions 512th Bomb Squadron, 376th Bomb Group, 15th Air Force Shot down July 14, 1944 in B-24H 41-28920, piloted by 1 Lt. James H. White, 11 crew members … 10 survivors Plane-in-Squadron identification 33 / D // Nickname “Big Marge” Missing Air Crew Report # 6958, Luftgaukommando Report ME 1791 POW at Stalag Luft 3 (Sagan) and Stalag 7A (Moosburg) Born Savannah, Georgia, March 14, 1924 – Died April 2, 2017 Mr. and Mrs. Philip (7/20/03-1/23/95) and Jeanne (Litman) (3/7/04-9/13/78) Cranman (parents) 406 East 50th St., Savannah, Ga. Name not listed in American Jews in World War II
Goldfish – Silver Boot – The Story of a World War II Prisoner of War, Fortis Publishers, 2010 By Harvey Stanley Horn, F/O, T-131675, Navigator, 5 missions 772nd Bomb Squadron, 463rd Bomb Group, 15th Air Force POW 3/20/34, Stalag 13D (Nuremberg) Born Brooklyn, N.Y., 12/15/13 Mr. and Mrs. Louis and Esther Horn (parents), 1218 41st St., Brooklyn, N.Y. Also 82-15 Britton Ave., Elmhurst, N.Y. Casualty List 4/26/45 Aircraft B-17G 44-6377, piloted by 1 Lt. John H., Lincoln, 10 crew members – all survived Aircraft nickname “Pretty Baby’s Boys” Missing Air Crew Report 13050 Name not listed in American Jews in World War II
The Eleventh Passenger, Vantage Press, 1996 By Joseph Millman, Sgt., 32222070, Ball Turret Gunner, Purple Heart, 2 missions 747th Bomb Squadron, 456th Bomb Group, 15th Air Force Shot down February 17, 1944 Severely wounded; repatriated on SS Gripsholm in February, of 1945 POW at Stalag 9C (Bad Sulza) Born in Poland, January 12, 1920 Mr. and Mrs. Jacob and Rose “Reizel” Millman (parents), 1164 47th St., Brooklyn, N.Y. Rhea, Reva, and Libby (sisters) Name appeared in Casualty Lists on 4/22/44, 6/8/44, and 2/16/45; also in P.M. Daily 2/16/45 Aircraft: B-24H 42-52286, nickname “The Little Joker” Piloted by 2 Lt. Harry W. Bessler; ten crew members – four survivors Loss covered in Missing Air Crew Reports 3078 and 6330 … and Luftgaukommando Report ME 878 Name does not appear in American Jews in World War II (Like for so many other men…)
Joe Millman and his wife Bella, during the reunion of the 456th Bomb Group in June of 1996. (My photo.)
Joe’s dog tag, in Luftgaukommando Report ME 878, via NARA.com
Herb P. Flyboy – The Journey from World War II Pilot to German POW, privately published, 2005 By Herbert Irwin Pearlman, 1 Lt., 0-824859, Bomber Pilot, Air Medal, three Oak Leaf Cluster, 26 missions 526th Bomb Squadron, 379th Bomb Group, 8th Air Force Prisoner of War February 9, 1945 Born Bronx, N.Y., February 22, 1922 Mr. Albert N. Pearlman (father), 3236 Tibbett Ave., New York, N.Y. Casualty List (Liberated POWs) June 13, 1945 Pilot of B-17G 44-6119, “LF * A”, “White Lightning” Aircraft loss covered in MACR 12337 and Luftgaukommando Report KU 3677 Name found on page 403 of American Jews in World War II Maxwell Field Class 44-C; assigned to 526th Bomb Squadron 10/28/44
His Silver Wings – I Came of Age during World War II, June R. Ehrlich, Vantage Press, 1993 (Paul Ehrlich) Paul was the pilot of B-24J 42-50675 “X7 * F” / “Bold Venture III“, of the 788th Bomb Squadron, 466th Bomb Group, which crash-landed (itself) in England on December 25, 1944. The entire crew survived, the incident being covered in MACR 11256. This incident is the subject of the following video…
My Private War – Liberated Body, Captive Mind: A World War II POW’s Journey, Norman Bussel, Pegasus Books, 2008
Sitting It Out : a World War II POW Memoir, David K. Westheimer, Rice University Press, 1992
Fighter Pilot – Aleutians to Normandy to Stalag Luft I, Mozart Kaufman, M & A Kaufman Publishers, 1993
Where There’s A Will, There’s A Way (…And Where There’s A Way, There’s a Wayburne!), Ellis Wayburne (mentioned here), privately printed in October, 1995
Story of Jerome Jacobs – 364th Fighter Squadron Pilot, at ToFlyandFight.com
From Records Group 242 in the National Archives, here’s a (actually, the) only record … other than Missing Air Crew Report 8797; there’s no Luftgaukommando Report covering the loss of Pappy’s Answer, his P-51B … attesting to Lt. Jacobs’ being a POW: It nominally documents his captivity in Oflag 64 in Altenburg, and Stalag 9A in Spangenberg. As he related to me in an interview back in the 1990s, as a result of the chaos attendant to his capture during the Battle of Arnhem, and, his rapid transport from a front-line German hospital to various POW camps, he was never, actually, interrogated.
…In Japan
They Can’t Take That Away From Me, Ralph M. Rentz, with Peter Hrisko, Michigan State University Press, 2003
Against The Wind, Cyril Rofe, Hodder & Stoughton, 1956
The Dark Side of the Sky – The Story of a Jewish Airman in Nazi Germany, Leo Cooper, 1998 (Harry Levy)
And Otherwise…
Terror in the Starboard Seat – 41 Trips Aboard a Mosquito – A True Story of 418 Squadron, Dave McIntosh, Stoddan, 1980 (Sid Seid)
The Invisible Battlefield?, Horace S. Turrell (at one time available on the ‘net but-alas-not-any-more), 1996
Combat Bombardier, Leonard Herman and Rob Morris, Xlibris, 2007
The Cold Blue Sky, Jack Novey, Howell Press, 1997
Navigating the Course – A Man’s Place in His Time, David Fanshel, Valley Meadow Press, 2010
Navigating the Course – All to the Good, David Fanshel, Valley Meadow Press, 2013
Jewboy vs The Luftwaffe, Philip M. Goldstein, privately published (Blurb), 2015
Of War and Weddings, Jerry Yellin, Sunstar Publishing Ltd., 1995
IMSHI – A Fighter Pilot’s Letters to His Mother, Messrs. W.H. Allen & Co. Ltd., April, 1943 (Captain Ernest Mitchelson Mason)
Heroes are Fools – Diary of a World War II Airman, Murray M. Crawcour, Gefen, 1989
In the Lion’s Mouth – Diary of a World War II Flyer, Robert N. Adlen, Emis Publishing Company, 1985 (Captain David Gandin)
Hiroshima & Nagasaki Revisited, Jacob Beser, Global Press, 1988
Fiction
The Prisoners of Combine D, Len Giovannitti Von Ryan’s Express, David K. Westheimer Song of the Young Sentry, David K. Westheimer Face of a Hero, Louis Falstein (start here…)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Within this genre, one of the best such works I’ve read, published some now forty-four years ago, is Elmer S. Bendiner’s The Fall of Fortresses, which was released by G.P. Putnam’s Sons in mid-1980. (And now readily available on EBay, ABE Books, etc., and maybe even your local library!)
A B-17 Flying Fortress navigator in the 8th Air Force, Bendiner’s combat tour occurred during 1943, and ended with the completion of his (and most of his crew’s) 25th and last sortie during the 8th’s mission to Bremen, Germany, on November 29 1943. As such, his experiences as a combat aviator in the USAAF paralleled the time period during which the 8th Air Force was, in terms of attrition and losses on a proportional basis, engaged in its most intense struggle against the Luftwaffe.
Though divided into chapters (15 of them), the fifteen have no headings or titles, and likewise aren’t subdivided into larger sections. Essentially, the book is a continuously flowing block of text, only nominally broken by chapter numbers.
But, on a more subtle level, as you read Bendiner’s book it soon becomes apparent that there actually is a structure to the text. First and sensibly, it’s chronologically arranged. Second and in a very (very) general sense, the chapters alternate in emphasis, one chapter pertaining to the experiences and interactions of Bendiner and his crew during different missions or situations (sometimes on a very personal level), followed by a chapter covering theoretical and doctrinal aspects of strategic bombing in the USAAF and RAF, or to a lesser extent, military strategy and geopolitics. The book really shines in a purely literary sense in Bendiner’s appropriate and measured use of metaphor and similie, “like” (!) in the quote that opens this blog post (!) which is reflective of his pre- and post-war background as an editor and news reporter, and, postwar authorship of three prior non-fiction books in the field of history.
A member of the 527th Bomb Squadron of the 379th Bomb Group and assigned to the crew of 2 Lt. Bohn E. Fawkes, Jr., Elmer Stanley Bendiner (ASN 0-797240) was born in Scottsdale, Pa., on February 11, 1916, and thus was in his late 20s during his combat tour. He was born to Wilhelm “William” and Lillian (Schwartz) Bendiner, his parents eventually moving from Pennsylvania to 2664 Grand Concourse, which is located in the New York borough known as the Bronx. (You’ve heard of the Bronx?!) His brothers and sister were Bertram, Evelyn, Lawrence, Marvin and Milton. Thus far, oddly, I’ve only found one reference to him in a wartime newspaper: In the Brooklyn Eagle, on December 6, 1944, over a year after he completed his combat tour. (This article will be presented in a future post.) I attribute this to Bendiner having worked at the Eagle from 1939 to 1940.
Mr. Bendiner passed away on September 16, 2001. I do not know his place of burial.
Like innumerable other American Jews who served in the United States’ armed forces in the Second World War – who were military casualties, and (or) decorated for military service – Elmer Bendiner’s name is quite absent from the 1947 Dial Press two-book publication American Jews in World War Two, perhaps reflective – in his case – of the fact that the National Jewish Welfare Board, in its quest to compile biographical information about Jews in the military, never contacted his family to begin with. (Likewise, flight engineer Sgt. Lawrence Harris Reedman’s name is also absent from this compilation.) This is indirectly reflected in The Fall of Fortresses, by the complete absence of such questions as the implications of being a Jewish POW in German captivity, or, how being a Jew affected (or truly did not at all affect) a servicemen’s relationships with his comrades. From reading the lines, and more importantly reading “between the lines”, there was a genuine sense of solidarity among and between Tondelayo’s crew members, with the author maintaining friendships with at least some of these men – particularly pilot Bohn Fawkes – into the 1980s.
However, Bendiner’s quietude about being a Jew through most of the book powerfully belies the deep significance of his identity and heritage, which though subdued is not absent. Near the book’s end he adeptly and skillfully weaves this into a disillusioning and deflating realization – concerning (well, at least in late 1943; I don’t know about later) – the tenuousness of his assumption about being perceived and accepted as an American aviator (let alone an American, per se?) who has endured much and survived all, versus simply being seen as a Jew. And with this, tangentially, the true nature of the German enemy he has been fighting comes into focus. The literary effect is not maintained for long, but the effect is extremely powerful. Interestingly, none of the book’s reviewers, regardless of their true and fulsome praise and admiration of The Fall of Fortresses, seemed to have picked up on this.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Here’s the 8th Air Force uniform (shoulder) insignia (from my collection)
“This” post presents the full text of four book reviews of The Fall of Fortresses which appeared coincident with the book’s 1980 publication. Two are from The New York Times (when it was still an actual newspaper; it’s not been a newspaper for some years), one from The Washington Post (before it became the Bezos Daily Bugle), one from Time magazine (before it vanished into deserved irrelevancy), and, one from the Yonkers New York Herald Statesman. These are preceded by Mr. Bendiner’s biography, as published in Contemporary Authors in 1980.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next two posts will present excerpts from The Fall of Fortresses pertaining to two remarkable experiences of Elmer Bendiner and his crew. These will focus on events recounted in the book: 1) The inadvertent bail-out of two gunners during a combat mission on July 30, 1943 (both survived as POWs), when their aircraft was struck by several 20mm cannon shells fired from attacking Me-109 and FW-190s, which miraculously failed to explode … thus, Tondelayo and her crew survived, and 2), The ditching in the English Channel of Tondelayo on September 6, 1943, from which, through a combination of superb piloting skill and extraordinary luck, the entire crew survived. This will be followed by another post, relating to Bendiner’s account of his dramatic but anti-climactic final mission of November 29, 1943, and – upon the realization that his combat tour was over – the impact and implications of a conversation which ensued with the 527th’s Public Relations officer.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lt. Elmer Bendiner stands before the nose of his crew’s Flying Fortress Tondelayo (B-17F 42-29896, squadron identification marking “FO * V“), with nose art painted by Cpl. J.D. Hicks. The nose art and nickname were inspired by the femme fatale played by Hedy Lamarr in Richard Thorpe’s 1942 film White Cargo. (Photo from Silvertail Books.)
Elmer Bendiner in 1980 in a photo by Paul Viani, from the book jacket. (My own worn-out copy, but hey, it gives you an idea!)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And herewith, a biography, and five book reviews…
Elmer Bendiner’s biography, from the 1980 edition of Contemporary Authors. He was 64 years old at the time.
PERSONAL: Born February 11, 1916, in Pittsburgh, Pa.; son of William (a businessman) and Lillian (Schwartz) Bendiner; married Esther Shapiro (an editorial assistant), October 4, 1941; children: Winnie (Mr. Paul G. Viani), Jessica. Education: Attended City College (now City College of the City University of New York), 1932-35. Politics: “Defies neat categorizing.” Religion: “Defies neat categorizing.” Home: 11 Park Ave., Tarrytown, N.Y. 10591. Agent: Theron Raines, 475 Fifth Ave., New York, N.Y. 10016.
CAREER: Newark Ledger, Newark, N.J., reporter, 1938-39; Brooklyn Daily Eagle, Brooklyn, N.Y., reporter, 1939-40; Flying Age, New York City, managing editor, 1945-46; Esquire, New York City, non-fiction editor, 1946-48; National Guardian, New York City, associate editor, 1948-58; Science and Medicine Publishing Co., New York City, editor, 1958-68; World Wide Medical News Service, New York City, editor, 1969-72; Hospital Practice, New York City, contributing editor, 1972 – Military service: U.S. Army Air Forces, navigator on B-17 bomber, 1941-45; served in Europe; became first lieutenant; received Distinguished Flying Cross, Air Medal with three oak leaf clusters, and Purple Heart Medal. Member: Authors Guild, Authors League of America.
WRITINGS: The Bowery Man, Nelson, 1962; A Time for Angels: The Tragicomic History of the League of Nations, Knopf, 1975; The Virgin Diplomats, Knopf, 1976; The Fall of Fortresses, Putnam, 1980.
Work anthologized in Man Alone, edited by Eric Josephson and Mary Josephson, Dell, 1962. Also author of documentary film script, “Uptown.” Contributor to Esquire, New York Times Magazine, Nation, and Strand. Editor of Log of Navigation, 1944-45.
WORK IN PROGRESS: A history of Spain in the tenth century, “when Arabs and Jews collaborated in a cultural adventure that prefigured the Renaissance.”
SIDELIGHTS: In a New York Times review of The Fall of Fortresses, Elmer Bendiner’s history of American air battles during World War II, Christopher Lehmann-Haupt writes: “It is remarkable how [Bendiner] manages to combine in a single, nearly poetic, tone of voice, a view that combines the big picture with the personal one – how his narrative seamlessly encompasses the anecdotal and the historical, the strategic and the tactical, the thrill and the horror.” Lehmann-Haupt concludes that The Fall of Fortresses is a “shining accomplishment.”
Bendiner told CA: “I look upon my work as journalism, uninhibited by an exclusive preoccupation with the contemporary. If a story provides a clue to the grandeur and/or absurdity of our lives it seems newsworthy to me even though it occurred a thousand years ago. Hence, I see a certain consistency in exploring the lives of homeless men on the Bowery, the performance of diplomats between the world wars, the efforts of 18th century Americans to seduce the rulers of Europe, the strange splendors of Spain a thousand years ago, or the work of doctors and nurses in the Arctic, in India, Japan, or Tanzania.”
Bendiner’s work has taken him to Europe, Central and South America, East Africa, Bangladesh, Thailand, New Guinea, the Philippines, Israel, Japan, and Canada.
BIOGRAPHICAL/CRITICAL SOURCES: New York Times, May 9, 1980.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
From The New York Times Book Review, May 25, 1980…
The War In the Air
THE FALL OF FORTRESSES
A Personal Account of the Most Daring – and Deadly – American Air Battles of World War II.
By Elmer Bendiner.
Illustrated. 258pp. New York:
G.P. Putnam’s Sons. $11.95.
BOMBER!
Famous Bomber Missions of World War II.
By Robert Jackson.
157pp. New York: St. Martin’s Press. $8.95.
By DREW MIDDLETON
EVEN after 35 years, World War II occupies such a prominent place in the American historic and literary imagination that we can be assured of a steady flow of new books about it. Indeed, so much has been written – good, bad and indifferent – that the reader approaches the latest books with a certain apprehension, since many of them, certainly much of the fiction, tend to be overwritten. But these two works of nonfiction, “The Fall of Fortresses” and “Bomber!” – which are complete and short – may start a fashion for briefer, sharper pictures of the war.
“The Fall of Fortresses,” in fact, is the best personal narrative by an airman that I have read since Richard Hillary’s “The Last Enemy.” Mr. Bendiner writes with clarity, compassion and a marvelous eye for the comic that so often lies just beneath the surface of war.
The Fortresses in his book are the B-17’s, the backbone of the United States Eighth Air Force in Britain. Mr. Bendiner was a navigator in a B-17, a position that enabled him to observe the rest of the crew, to watch the battle develop as the Forts pushed their way through the flak and the fighters into Germany and to reflect on the meaning, if there was any, of it all.
The centerpiece of “The Fall of Fortresses” is an account of the attack on Aug. 17, 1943, on the ball bearing works at Schweinfurt in the heart of Germany by 230 Forts of the First Bomb Wing. The German fighters and the American bombers fought one of the bloodiest air battles in history. The American losses incurred there and in an attack on the same day on Regensburg were 60 bombers, 600 men.
Yet the sight of the mass of bombers taking off roused Mr. Bendiner, who confesses nonetheless that his exultation was an “act of treason against the intellect, because I have seen dead men washed out of their turrets with a hose.”
But, he adds, if you desire an intellectual view of war, you must ask someone who has not seen it. Brilliant is the only adjective that fits his personal story of the raid, and to that story he adds the details about the battle that he has accumulated over the years. So we see not only the Forts pounding on toward the target, but the German fighter squadrons from all over western Europe assembled for the kill after the bombers turn westward to England and safety.
Mr. Bendiner survived the first Schweinfurt raid and returned on the second raid in October. Once again he provides a skillfully drawn, understated picture of the battle and the dreadful return trip lit by ‘the yellow flicker of burning B-17s.
Mr. Bendiner has also pondered the military reasons behind these and other raids, successful and unsuccessful. He tells how the American air generals won their battle for daylight bombing against the opposition of some of their own “ground generals” and the Royal Air Force. His description of what the air command did – and why – after attaining virtual Independence in combat winds through the book, giving it a substance that a narrative focused only on the fighting could not provide.
***
Heavy losses were not confined to the Americans. R.A.F. Bomber Command lost 95 bombers and 665 men over Nuremberg on the night of March 30-31, 1944. In “Bomber!” Robert Jackson describes this as the night fighters’ triumph, and so it was. “Bomber!” which deals with famous bombing missions of World War II, might have been just another rehash of familiar material. But with precise, controlled writing, Mr. Jackson has made a valuable contribution to our knowledge of the air war. Although he views the air war from a broader perspective than Mr. Bendiner, Mr. Jackson’s selection of missions – German, French, American and British – is so astute that the book never falters.
Mr. Jackson writes, for example, that the impact of the German bombing of Rotterdam in May 1940 was significant. The Luftwaffe had decided to delay or call off the attack, but the call back orders arrived too late, and the raid, Mr. Jackson says, “turned out to be a tragic blunder.” But, he continues, “this does not alter the fact that the Germans had conceived and executed it as a deliberate terror attack against a civilian target,” and it convinced the British that the time had come to launch their bombers, then pitifully few, against German industrial targets in the Ruhr.
“Bomber!” also tells of some unusual aircraft and airmen. One was the Jules Verne, a long-range bomber operated by the French Navy, which on the night of June 7, 1940, was the first Allied bomber to bomb Berlin! The Forts and the Lancasters came later, but at that date, with the French Army torn apart by the Germans, one lone aircraft carried on the fight and salvaged some honor for France.
Mr. Jackson is very good not only on the battles but on the innovations that gradually refined bombing techniques. Of course, as Elmer Bendiner reminds us, we, the Americans, were never as accurate as we believed, but accuracy did improve. The first steps toward improvement, however, were taken by the Luftwaffe, and Mr. Jackson gives a detailed account of Kampfgruppe 100, which was the first pathfinder force, and its effect on what Churchill called “the wizards’ war’’ waged by British and German science.
Mr. Jackson also clears away some legends that have grown around bombing missions. The raid by American B-25s on Tokyo, for example, led by then Lieut. Col. Jimmy Doolittle, was one of the most daring exploits of the war. At one time, however, it was fashionable to dismiss the attack as a gimmick inspired by the Roosevelt Administration to divert attention from the melancholy defeats in the Pacific.
“Bomber!” takes a different view. The bomb load was light and little material damage was done, but the raid profoundly affected the course of the Pacific war. The effect on the morale of the Japanese, who had been “flushed and made cocksure by their recent victories, was incalculable,” and shortly after the raid, Admiral Yamamotn, commander of the Combined Fleet, launched his ambitious plan to take Midway and bring the Americans to battle. He brought them to battle, all right, and the Japanese were decisively defeated. Jimmy Doolittle and his men left their mark on the war.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
From Time magazine, May 12, 1980…
After the Bombs
The Fall of Fortresses. By Elmer Bendiner. 258 pages. Putnam. $11.95.
The final oddity of World War II is that its survivors are still writing their memoirs. Why should some have waited so long? Perhaps the unique quality of that war was that its participants absorbed their experience like so many time-delayed capsules: some to be released while the war was in progress; others, only now, 35 years after the event. Elmer Bendiner, who flew as a navigator on the Flying Fortresses of the Eighth Air Force, offers no explanation for his delay. If he is obliged to confess to blanks in his memory, he makes use of logs, records and previous histories to tell us what it was like to take part in the two great raids against the ball-bearing factories at Schweinfurt. “If one wants an intellectual view of war one must ask someone who has not seen it,” he writes. He means, in his elegant book, to see the war plain, without heroics; his level, quiet tone of voice has an appropriately elegiac quality.
In 1943, when young Bendiner guided his B-17 to England, the Americans had yet to demonstrate that their plan for daylight precision bombing of German military and industrial targets would prove effective. He and his fellow airmen had no idea that their commanders had decided to accept a loss of 30 of every 100 airplanes flown in such missions. The truth was brought home early enough: within the first two months of operations, Bendiner’s group had lost three-quarters of its original crews. From the perspective of late middle age, Bendiner thinks less well of death than he did then. At the time, aerial combat was for him “a frenzy in which I heaved and sweated but could not stop because, shamefully, my guts loved what my head hated.” For precisely this reason, we send the young to war. “A hard day’s work,” Bendiner writes, “exploding something into nothing… Our superiors were pleased with us because we had dropped 422 tons of bombs and, according to the reconnaissance photos, only 333.4 tons had been wasted on homes, streets, public parks, zoos, department stores and air-raid shelters. This passed for precision.”
Empty Shells: By Aug. 17, the day of the first Schweinfurt raid, Bendiner well understood what air warfare entailed. His pilot, having aborted three missions due to “faults” in the engines, had been replaced. On a raid over Kassel, his crew had lost both waist gunners: their oxygen cut off, they had succumbed to illusions of disaster and jumped from the plane. On this same excursion, eleven explosive shells pierced the fuel tank of Bendiner’s Fortress. Only decades later did he discover why his plane was not instantly destroyed: ten of the shells had been empty and the eleventh contained a paper on which was written, in Czech: “This is all we can do for you now.” The assault on Schweinfurt, however, promised to be more than routine. The crews were assured that this “first fully strategic air mission of the war” would bring about Hitler’s collapse. To distract the Luftwaffe from the 230 Fortresses moving toward Schweinfurt, a diversionary force would be sent first against Regensburg. Of course, nothing worked as planned. The great raid, which cost the Americans 60 bombers and 600 men, failed to eliminate Germany’s capacity to produce ball bearings.
“And did we win or lose?” Bendiner asks. The occasion provided no immediate answer. Nor was one forthcoming two months later when, after losing his plane in the English Channel, Bendiner returned with another armada to do the same thing again with identical results: another 60 combers, another 600 men lost. The Schweinfurt raids did not shorten the war oy a day. They did, however, provoke from Bendiner one of the war’s most haunting images: that of a homeward route marked by a “trail of torches” – the only sign of animation on a darkened Continent was the yellow flicker of burning B-17s.
In time, Bendiner concluded that his commanders knew very well the raids could not end the war; their purpose was, at whatever cost in lives and airplanes, to prove forever the efficacy of air power. If that is so, Bendiner writes, “then Schweinfurt’s ghosts must ride with those of the Light Brigade at Balaklava – brave soldiery forever charging to their deaths in. gallant absurdity.”
PETER S. PRESCOTT
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
From The New York Times, May 9, 1980…
Book Reviews
By Christopher Lehmann-Haupt
THE FALL OF FORTRESSES: A Personal Account of the Most Daring – and Deadly – American Air Battles of World War II. By Elmer Bendiner. 258 pages. Illustrated. Putnam. $11.95.
ELMER BENDINER’S “The Fall of Fortresses” – a memoir of navigating B-17 Flying Fortresses over Germany during World War II – could well have been as bitter and blackly humorous as Joseph Heller’s “Catch-22.” After all, the centerpieces of the book are two 1943 bombing raids on the ball-bearing factories of Schweinfurt, which can arguably be characterized as disastrous for the American Eighth Air Force. Owing to a combination of factors – among them, weather, an insufficient number of bombers, the lack of auxiliary gas tanks, and the failure of America intelligence and the success of its German counterpart – the two raids cost approximately 130 planes out of the 520 that set out on them and 1,150 of 5,300 crewmen, or a total loss of more than 20 percent.
Yet the two raids failed to cripple Germany’s ball-bearing production, and there remains to this day some question whether bearings are even a critical industrial item in the first place. So, as Mr. Bendiner concludes, “Schweinfurt’s ghosts” may be riding “with those of the Light Brigade at Balaklava – brave soldiers forever charging to their deaths in gallant absurdity.”
But Mr. Bendiner’s mood in “The Fall of Fortresses” does not match Yossarian’s in “Catch-22.” For one thing, he believes that on balance the air war was worth its sacrifices of human life. If the Allied bombing failed to “castrate” “the German machine,” and if it failed to vindicate the heirs of Billy Mitchell in their advocacy of strategic bombing, it did serve, in the words of Albert Speer, to open “a second front before the invasion of Europe” – that is, “the skies over Germany” – which in turn both relieved the pressure on Soviet military forces and helped the eventual land invasion by the Allies to succeed.
‘Our Cause Was Just’’
As for the moral dimension of the bombing offensive, which “some commentators,” as Mr. Bendiner puts it, now speak of “as a ‘children’s crusade,’ “ Mr. Bendiner insists, “We were not children fired with a vision – our own or that of others.” Instead, “We were merely young men accepting our times.” And, “Hitler was real and his victory had to be prevented.’’
“And if after the killing,” he writes, “discerning critics point out that the strategists were not pure in heart or particularly wise, and that therefore some of our victims died needlessly, where can we find absolution? Only in this: that our cause was just. This sets us apart from our enemies.’’
Finally, Mr. Bendiner did not altogether detest the experience of flying his 25 missions as a navigator of B-17s. Indeed, there were elements he rather enjoyed. Sure, he knew full well that Death himself was the 11th member of the crews he flew with. He had seen the scarlet streak along the fuselage of a neighboring plane that was the telltale sign that a gun-turret had been blown away and the gunner decapitated. He had seen dead men washed out of their turrets with a hose. And yet there was an exhilaration to being up there in the blue, isolated from the alarums of battle in the paradoxical silence of the droning engines. “I exulted in that parade” of Flying Fortresses. “I confess this is an act of treason against the intellect.” He sums it up, “But if one wants an intellectual view of war one must ask someone who has not seen it.”
Big and Small Picture
And yet he has also given us that intellectual view of war. In fact, it is remarkable how he manages to combine in a single, nearly poetic, tone of voice, a view that combines the big picture with the personal one – how his narrative seamlessly encompasses the anecdotal and the historical, the strategic and the tactical, the thrill and the horror. It is especially remarkable to someone like me, who came of conscious age against the background of World War II and who therefore believed so absolutely in the Allied cause that there was no room at all for questions of moral conduct. The only facet of the imagination that the war appealed to was the romantic one, and for me, playing my war games, as for Mr. Bendiner at his entrance into the Air Force, “blood and death were leitmotifs in a very classy production number.” It came as a shock to be told that there were finer moral issues raised by the war than the ones of defeat and victory, and that the Allies had violated them at Dresden and Hamburg (not to speak of Hiroshima and Nagasaki).
The beauty of “The Fall of Fortresses,” then, is that without ever stinting the moral and strategic questions that came after, it confirms the romantic dimension of the war – even so far as assuring us that not only in our fantasies, but also in reality, was there a thrill to riding up there in the wild blue yonder alone and seemingly impervious to death. It makes us feel that thrill. It also makes us feel “the anonymity of war,” “as terrible and profound as that of chessmen tumbled into a box when the game is over.” And finally, the horror. “The Fall of Fortresses” is a shining accomplishment.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
From The Washington Post, June 29, 1980…
Fall of the ‘Flying Coffin’ The Brief Campaign of The Bomber Tondelayo
THE FALL OF FORTRESSES.
By Elmer Bendiner.
(Putnam. 298 pp. $11.95)
By Stephen I. Petranek
Somewhere on the bottom of the English Channel, “wreathed in weeds,” the corroded, silted-in hulk of 34,000 pounds of a B-17F bomber named Tondelayo remains, a sepulcher vibrating and pulsing in the memory of the only navigator she ever knew, “Benny,” the last to leave her before she slipped beneath an angry sea on a September afternoon in 1943. JijL .
To Elmer Bendiner, tagged Benny by the crew, Tondelayo seems a not-yet-finally buried reminder of his own anger about having endured, perhaps needlessly, some of the most horrifying aerial battles of World War II, battles which the author, more than three decades later, found it necessary to reassess, question and in some ways condemn as misguided at best. There is also the guilt and wonder of having enjoyed death as an 11th crew member on his missions, the shame of knowing that bombs were acidentally dropped on allies and children and the never erasable memories of bodies and planes suddenly ripped to fragments.
Although Tondelayo did not survive the mandatory 25 missions required of her crew members before they could retire from combat, she did rather well for a sitting duck, seemingly parked in the skies over Europe at a modest 150 mph as Messerschmitts and Focke-Wulf-190s flying 400 mph spit 20 mm explosive shells through her skin time after time, mission after mission. Tondelayo finally fell prey not only to German fire but to the myth, not tested before World War II, that hundreds of strategic bombers flying in close disciplined formation were not only Flying Fortresses themselves, but a collective fortress capable of their own defense without constant fighter support,
Bendiner joined a mixed bag of nine other crew members in the belly of a bomber the Germans had called, in a slightly earlier version, a “flying coffin,” a bucket of rivets that even skilled Royal Air Force pilots had nicknamed a “flying target.”
But like other warriors at other times, this sensitive, charming, caring, even humble man named Bendiner got high on the close proximity of death in the flying coffin. “With death visible and audible, creating a taste in my mouth and a flatus in my belly, I was undeniably alive in battle… This was not the war of boredom and vermin we had read about in the tales of our fathers’ agony. This was a frenzy in which I heaved and sweated but could not stop because, shamefully, my guts loved what my head hated… I exulted in that parade of Fortresses forming for battle. I confess this as an act of treason against the intellect, because I have seen dead men washed out of their turrets with a hose. But if one wants an intellectual view of war one must ask someone who has not seen it.”
To some extent Bendiner would insist that survival in a bomber with an accepted casualty rate of 30 percent on some missions was luck. But except for Tondelayo’s first pilot, who, until he was removed from his position, tended to panic in bad circumstances, the crew seemed to be a balanced blend of the guts, outward casualness and determination necessary to survive.
Bendiner does not remember every crew member of Tondelayo, although the detail of his recollections of what mattered and his research into American and German records of his missions was as thorough as conceivably necessary. There was a bombardier who had washed out of pilot school and whose response to war was often repressed rage; a radio operator with “style” who was “the soul of urbanity”; a quietly expert copilot whose closeness to the Fortress was almost symbiotic, and a “street-wise Ulysses” tail-gunner.
There was, too, the luck that Bendiner thanked heaven for: 11 explosive 20 mm shells that didn’t explode were dug out of Tondelayo’s wing gas tank by intelligence experts who found inside one shell a note, written in Czech, that translated as, “This is all we can do for you now.”
There was also the luck of being in the right place at the right time. It was all too frequent that the plane next to Tondelayo was dismembered, sent spinning in wildly gyrating pieces to the earth, her last moments dutifully recorded in Bendiner’s log. “In the morning I had been over Germany watching Tondelayo’s sister plane through my port window. Along the fuselage to the tail ran a scarlet streak. It had taken me a moment to understand that there was no top turret and that the fuselage was painted with the blood of a gunner who manned it before it was blown away.”
The touchstone of the account of Tondelayo and her navigator is the two massive daylight assaults of Flying Fortresses launched on Schweinfurt, Germany, in August and October of 1943, assaults which war planners and politically motivated generals, concerned about demands that all bombers be sent against the Japanese, had determined would neatly end the war within a year by wiping out the Reich’s major ball-bearing plants. Without ball bearings, they too simply determined, German props could not spin and tank treads roll. Bendiner indicates, based on military reports, that the idea may first have been suggested by the Swedish minister’s son-in-law at a Washington cocktail party on Dec. 20, 1942. Albert Speer, interestingly enough, said years later that the damage the Reich suffered at Schweinfurt was in part offset by ball bearings produced in Sweden.
Either assault might have seriously undermined the German effort, had they been followed up within weeks by other bombing raids. But the horrifying losses of the American forces in the raids so devastated the fleet that follow-ups were impossible. At one point Bendiner notes that he never returned from any mission without at least, at the very least, some flak holes in the aircraft. He unintentionally seems to suggest that navigators might have been superfluous on the flights home from the targets. Returning bombers could simply follow the fires of shot-down fortresses: “All across Germany, Holland and Belgium the terrible landscape of burning planes unrolled beneath us. It seemed that we were littering Europe with our dead…”
In the first raid the losses were: “60 aircraft, 552 men missing, 21 brought back wounded, 8 brought back dead, 17 returned planes inoperable, many others heavily damaged.”
In the second assault on Schweinfurt in October, only three or four of the 18 planes in Bendiner’s bomber group returned to base the night of the raid. “Of 291 crews that crossed the Channel, 29 were lost before they reached the target, another 31 fell on the way home – 60 in all, 600 men missing out of a force of less than 3,000.”
The people who were running this European precision-bombing show were in many cases disciples of the court-martialed martyr Billy Mitchell who had insisted that such strategic, rather than troop-support, bombing would decide wars in the future. Bendiner tries desperately to find credence for strategic bombing, such as the Schweinfurt raids, and notes in a strange rationale that the missions, even if not directly successful as bombing raids, tied up so many Germans they created a second front – in the air – which kept the Germans from overrunning the Russians. But he is a lot less than certain:
“We were sent on a hazardous mission to destroy in a single day an objective that was Vulnerable only to repeated assaults for which we had not the strength. Those objectives could not wait for the arrival of more bombers, of the promised Mustangs, of belly tanks [which would have allowed fighters to escort bombers into Germany itself, because we had to dramatize the importance of air power in the European Theater for the benefit of the public and the Navy.
“If that is a fair reading of our commander’s thought processes, then Schweinfurt’s ghosts must ride with those of the Light Brigade at Balaklava – brave soldiers forever charging to their deaths in gallant absurdity.”
The reviewer is deputy editor of The Washington Post Magazine.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Fromthe Yonkers New York Herald-Statesman, October 26, 1980…
Book reflects war memories
By PHYLLIS RIFFEL
Total strangers have called long distance to talk with author Elmer Bendiner of Tarrytown about his memoir of World War II. And it’s not because they also flew on the Flying Fortresses of the Eighth Air Force – some are infantrymen, others have never been in the service and some were born after the war.
“I guess it’s gone home to a lot of people,” said the 64-year-old former navigator. “War is a powerful seducer.” He contends that everyone fights his own war, in his own way, but there is a common denominator in the devasting experience of any war. “The book stirs up a lot of memories.”
“The Fall of Fortresses,” published by Putnam in May, is a personal recollection of the events leading up to two raids on ball-bearing factories in Scbweinfurt, Germany, in 1943. Some 130 airplanes of the 520 that were sent on the fateful missions were lost and 1,150 of the 5,300 crewmen killed in the attempt to demonstrate the validity of daylight precision bombing as a means of bringing the war to a quick end.
Bendiner has blended bis own feelings about the war – then and now – with the actual details of the two raids on Schweinfurt and others of the 25 missions he flew in a vivid first-person account. He talks of how he came to be a navigator, his interaction with members of the crew, his impressions of wartime England, in a manner that makes the reader feel as though the action in the 258-page book took place only yesterday.
A natural question is why did he wait 35 years to write this sensitive, thoughtful chronicle of a young man thrust into war? And wasn’t it-difficult to recall all the factors and emotions that marked his life in those days, even for one with a skilled memory?
After Bendiner completed his missions – for which he received the Purple Heart, the Distinguished Flying Cross and the Air Medal with three oak-leaf clusters – the native of Pennsylvania was assigned to be a navigation instructor in Ireland. He had a leave in the United States before his next assignment.
It was on the long sea voyage home to see his wife, Esther, and his new-born first child, that Bendiner wrote a novel based on his experiences. “‘I was never satisfied with it,” he said, and the manuscript was put on the shelf.’’ He kept his navigator’s log, which contained many personal asides as well as the official records of action and flight on ‘Tondelayo,” the B-17 he flew over Germany in.
Together with the expressive letters he wrote to his wife during that era, which she retained, these documents formed the nucleus of material for the book.
The catalyst lor writing the volume actually was an idea for another book which be proposed to an agent. “I wanted to write an historical book about the year 1800 – it’s a fascinating year in American history,” he said. The contact liked the idea but asked Bendiner If he could come up with something a little closer to modem tinges. He said, “I knew then that at last I was going to do this,” (the “Fail of Fortresses”).
It took a couple of years to put everything down on paper as Bendiner, a free-lance writer for the last 10 years worked on the memoir in conjunction with other projects. He visited with bis co-pilot four or five times and rehashed past events, and Interviewed retired Gen Mo Preston, commanding officer of his squadron, to check out bis impressions of what transpired at the base at Kimbolton, England. Preston was a colonel in 1943 and Bendiner knew him by rank alone, and the CO only knew biro by his number back then.
Candid about the thrill inherent in warfare and the anonymity of battle, in his book Bendiner ponders the motivation of the military commanders in World War II and the loss of life – both military and civilian – in the struggle for victory.
In the 1970s Bendiner was based in Switzerland to establish and edit an international news service for a string of medical newspapers. While living abroad for four years, he also wrote a history of the League of Nations, titled “A Time for Angels.” He and his wife traveled from Africa to the Arctic and from Bangladesh to Budapest with numerous stops between. When in Germany, he acknowledges he had an “uncomfortable feeling when I would see Germans my age. I wondered what they were doing during the war”
Chosen as a Book-of-the-Month alternate, by two aviation book clubs and being published in England shortly, the “The Fall of Fortresses” Is not just an exercise in which one man puts together bis thoughts on the ramifications of war on bis own life. Rather it describes an era in history in broad terms meshed with personal reflections.
Upon their return to the United States, the Bendiners settled in Woodstock, N.Y., where he wrote a book on the diplomacy of the American Revolution – “The Virgin Diplomats” – prior to his current book. The couple moved to Tarrytown three years ago and find it convenient to New York City and enjoy the historical nature of the area.
A slight, wiry man with piercing blue eyes, Bendiner said he is writing a story of how Arabs and Jews together enlightened the otherwise sombre middle ages from their comer in Spain and Portugal.” In his study, which has a sweeping view of the Palisades, he also continues work on the biographical history of medicine. Mrs. Bendiner works with her husband in the typing and editing chores.
Raised in a small Appalachian town in a family whose members either had an ambition to write or assumed that they probably would in any case,” Bendiner describes his achievements in college as mediocre. He left in his senior year to work as a reporter on newspapers, in and around New York, until 1940 when he was employed by an agency seeking to rescue Jewish refugees from Germany. In 1941, shortly after his marriage, Pearl Harbor was attacked and he enlisted, confident that he would be drafted in due time anyway.
In the period since his days In the Air Force, Bendiner has been a magazine managing editor, a political writer for the National Guardian, and a book reviewer and author. It is fortunate for the reading public that his account of air battles in World War II managed to surface in the midst of all his other endeavors.
PHYLLIS RIFFEL is Lifestyles Editor of The Daily News, Tarrytown.
Oh, yes… References, references, references!
Here’s the Book
Bendiner, Elmer S., The Fall of Fortresses, G.P. Putnam’s Sons, New York, N.Y., 1980
Here’s another book!
Contemporary Authors, Volumes 89-92, Gales Research Company, Detroit, Mi., 1980
And otherwise?
Gabrielle Bendiner-Viani (daughter of photographer Paul Viani), at…
As shown by my other posts, many things occurred on March 19, 1945.
Having reviewed the military service of Jewish soldiers in the ground forces of the Allies – here – “this” post and others to follow now reach nearly eight decades back in time, to venture skyward and recall the experiences of three Jewish airmen in the United States Army Air Force. The strange commonality of their fates was service in the same military unit: The ‘Flyin’ Cowboys’ – the 673rd Bomb Squadron of the “Sky Lancers”, of the 417th Bomb Group of the 5th Air Force. One of the trio survived. Two, did not.
The story actually begins on October 13, 1944, becomes centered upon March 19, 1945, and abruptly concludes four days later: on March 23. Oddly, though assuredly not of concern at the time, in the hindsight of nearly eight decades, their fates were seemingly connected by one particular aircraft.
______________________________
But first… Here’s the comet-in-a-5 (note the five background stars?) insignia of the 5th Air Force. (This is my own patch.)
From The Sky Lancer, here’s the insignia of the 417th Bomb Group…
…and from the same book, the Flyin’ Cowboys emblem of the 673rd Bomb Squadron.
______________________________
The 417th was equipped with Douglas A-20 Havoc light bombers, as shown in this depiction from Roger Freeman’s 1974 book about WW II USAAF camouflage and markings. The group identified its planes via an angled / white-trimmed fin/rudder flash in red, yellow, white, or blue, for the 672nd, 673rd, 674th, and 675th squadrons, respectively. This was accompanied by an individual aircraft letter painted in white on the rudder. Thus, PiZ-DoFF, the plane below, was assigned to the 672nd Bomb Squadron.
This photo from The Sky Lancer is an excellent view of the tail of 43-22156, “P“, of the 673rd Bomb Squadron…
…while this is 43-22235, “U“, of the 672nd or 675th Bomb Squadrons. There are no MACRs or Accident Reports for either aircraft, which would suggest that they survived the war and were turned over to the Reconstruction Finance Corporation, perhaps to eventually be turned into postwar aluminum siding.
Let’s begin at this story’s beginning, as recorded in the history of the 673rd Bomb Squadron. On October 13, 1944, the squadron participated alongside the 672nd, 674th, and 675th Bomb Squadrons in a strike against Amahai Drome (now Amahai Airport; adjacent to the town of Amahai) on the island of Ceram (now Seram), in Indonesia. Here’s the text of the 673rd’s Mission Report:
12 A-20s and 1 B-25 were scheduled to strike Amahai Drome on 13 October 1944 however one plane had malfunction in bomb release mechanism and failed to take off. 11 planes took off in a coordinated attack with 3 squadrons, all of the 417thBombardment Group (L) participating. Attacking from E.S.E. to W.N.W. bombs were observed hitting across the north 1/3 of runway with 46 bombs bursting in center of Amahai Town and walking across runway to west shore line. Smoke from bomb bursts prevented further observation of results. 5 gun flashes spotted in south central edge of Amahai Town. Medium to heavy and very accurate A/A fire came from a knoll east of the center of strip. A/A holed 4 planes with slight damage to aircraft, however S/Sgt. Jerome Rosoff, A.S.N. 12091883, gunner in plane #155 was fatally injured by anti-aircraft fire. 46 x 500 1b 1/10 second delay tail fusing GP bombs were dropped on target. 2 bombs were jettisoned with none returned.
______________________________
Not 1944, but 2023: Amahai Airport, which I assume occupies the location of the original Amahai Drome.
Zooming out, you can see that the airport is situated south of the present Amahai town. Note the rectangular clump of trees lying beyond the northwestern end of the runway, immediately to the southwest of the town itself. This overgrown area is probably a portion of the original wartime runway which was impacted by the 417th’s bombs on October 13, 1944 (along with Amahai town) and has never been repaired.
Amahai town – in the lower center of this map – is located at the end of a sort-of-isthmus on the eastern side of Elpaputi (Elpaputih) Bay. (No captions on this map!)
Here’s Seram (Ceram) Island to the east, and Buru Island to the west.
And, the setting of Seram Island within Indonesia.
______________________________
Like so many other American Jewish soldiers described in my prior posts, S/Sgt. Jerome William Rosoff’s name never appeared in the 1947 National Jewish Welfare Board publication American Jews in World War II, though it was published in a War Department Casualty List released on December 9, 1944. Born in Bayonne, New Jersey on January 21, 1922, he was the son of Fannie Rosoff, who resided at 2323 Davidson Ave. (and possibly 2209 Andrews Ave.?) in the Bronx. He was buried at Long Island National Cemetery, in Farmingdale, N.Y. (Section J, Grave 14556) on February 17, 1949.
Given the nature of the air war in the Pacific Theater, this sad event was one of the truly rare occasions when a fallen airmen could actually be accorded a military funeral by his comrades. And so, this picture of S/Sgt. Rosoff’s burial also appears in the historical records of the 673rd. Unfortunately, the names of the airmen appearing in the picture were not recorded. (I’d like thank the AFHRA for this photo: “Thanks, AFHRA!”)
Being that – by definition – neither S/Sgt. Rosoff nor his pilot were actually missing (for 48 hours), no Missing Air Crew Report was ever filed for this incident. (This is verified by the MACR name index card file, which lists “No MACR” for S/Sgt. Rosoff.) Likewise, the 673rd Squadron history doesn’t list the name of the sergeant’s pilot. However, there’s a singular clue concerning the identity of the A-20 they were flying: The serial number ends in the digits “155”. Comparing this number to the “last three” for 417th Bomb Group A-20s listed in Missing Air Crew Reports suggests that this plane was A-20G 43-22155. (About which, much more shortly.) And, the 3rd Attack Group website reveals – definitively – that “155” was indeed 43-22155, otherwise known as “Chadwick 2nd”. Shown in the photo below…
“Caption: “This aircraft is A-20G 43-22155 after assigned to the 673rd Squadron / 417th Bomb Group. This aircraft was most likely transferred from 3rd Bomb Group Headquarters where it flew as the 2nd Chadwick, until the arrival of the A-20Hs. There is no evidence that any other Group in the SWPA used the Wheel marking except the 3rd Bomb Group.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On March 19, 1945 … 5 Nisan 5705
S/Sgt. Seymour Weinberg (19173661) Missing in Action and Returned to the Land of the Living
On March 19, 1945 just over five months after the death of S/Sgt. Rosoff aboard Chadwick 2nd, S/Sgt. Seymour Weinberg of Los Angeles occupied the same crew position (…well, there were only two crewmen in the solid-nose A-20G anyway…) as S/Sgt. Rosoff: the aircraft’s dorsal turret, the aircraft piloted by 2 Lt. Ralph Melvin Jennings. While on a bombing strike against targets at the Philippine city of Bacolod, on Negros Island, S/Sgt. Weinberg experienced a fate that – while not at all unheard of among airmen in the Pacific Theater – was in its own way still miraculous: Ditching, survival at sea, being tossed upon a small island, being cared for by natives (one particular native at that), and ultimately, rescue by the Navy. The historical record for these events is detailed and comprehensive, comprising two eyewitness accounts, particularly among them S/Sgt. Weiner’s own testimony.
______________________________
We’ll begin with the report of 2 Lt. Richard M. Fischer, from Missing Air Crew Report 13610; the story of the plane’s loss is summarized at Pacific Wrecks, as well.
On 19 March 1945, I was leading the second element of a six ship formation, returning from the target assigned to us by ground controller. We were heading on course (335o) for home after crossing southern tip of Panay. I was flying the bottom box when Lt. Jennings’ right engine puffed black smoke. He gave me a call on B channel, VHF, and said, “I’m having trouble with my right engine but believe I’m going to be all right. Bear with me.” So I replied, “OK, I’ll pull up on your left wing.” He was losing air speed at the time. I reduced speed and criss-crossed above and to the left of him. After seeing him fire his nose guns and turret guns, I knew something serious was wrong. His right engine was feathered. I tried to contact him, but he must have been on D channel or inter-phone. Just a minute or so after that I saw him ditch. There was a small splash, then a great large one. The sea was very rough and he landed approximately into the wind. I was unable to contact the rescue officer, who was my left wingman, so I directed my right wingman, Flt Officer Harmell, circle the area until he ran low on gas and had to return. My left wingman and I made one circle of the wreck at reduced air speed, trying to pick up the formation before returning to base. I saw on survivor, but was unable to identify him. He was wearing his mae west. I returned to the field trying to contact all Playmates and Martinis in the area but no one answered my call. At 1220 I contacted Hammer Tower and told them that the wreck occurred at 1200 on an approximate heading of 160o from San Jose, Midoro Island. I gave them the Squadron number of the plane and told them to notify 673rd Bombardment Squadron. I landed at 1245 and gave mission report to Squadron Intelligence Officer, verifying the location of forced landing as pointed out on the overlay map attached.
Here’s how Lt. Fischer’s statement looks in the MACR:
______________________________
The pilot mentioned in Lt. Fischer’s account as “Flt Officer Harmell” was F/O Samuel Harmell, whose own account in the MACR follows:
On 19 March 1945, I was flying No. 5 in a 6 ship formation led by 1st Lt. Ralph M. Jennings. Returning from the target, Lt. Jennings called on the radio and said that he was having engine trouble, but everything was under control. The element I was flying in then pulled out to his left and cut our air speed. Lt. Jennings emptied nose and turret guns, while we were out to the left, and started a descent. I pealed away from formation when he started to go down. I passed over the top of the spot he hit, approximately 20 or 30 seconds after he hit. I turned very sharp and came right back over and all I saw was an oil slick. I circled the area for about 50 minutes, then had to leave because of fuel. I saw absolutely no one emerge from the plane. Location where plane went down is approximately 18 miles south of Sibay Island and 14 miles west of Maniguin Island, time was approximately 1200 hours.
This is how F/O Harmell’s statement appears in the MACR:
More about F/O Harmell will follow below.
______________________________
Two days later, on March 21, the Group Rescue Officer of the 417th, Capt. Jack W. Lingo, reported on the extent of the search for Chadwick 2nd’s missing crew, specifically noting the discrepancies in Lt. Fischer’s and F/O Harmell’s statements: “Conflicting reports were received from the aircraft which witnessed the ditching as one pilot reported seeing a raft open and at least one crew member in the raft, while the other piloted reported not having seen any survivors.”
After summarizing the extent of the search for the missing crew by OA-10 Catalinas and 417th BG A-20s on the 20th and 21st, Captain Lingo closed with this statement: “At the time Lt. Jennings ditched there was an extremely heavy sea running with winds in excess of twenty-two knots. The sea current and prevailing winds would have carried any survivors south west toward Palawan Island and adjacent smaller islands. Air Sea Rescue section of Fifth Air Force has contacted Guerilla units in the Palawan Island area to watch for any survivors and advise if sightings are made. The daily search by the Group will be continued at least for one week.”
Captain Lingo’s summary:
______________________________
From the Missing Air Crew Report, here’s the map of the approximate location of Chadwick 2nd’s ditching:
______________________________
But, there’s far, far more.
Captain Lingo was entirely correct in suggesting that, “The sea current and prevailing winds would have carried any survivors south west toward Palawan Island and adjacent smaller islands.”
The final page of the Missing Air Crew Report includes via a teletype message which succinctly reveals what befell Lt. Jennings and S/Sgt. Weinberg, and explains the “Chg to Condl / KIA” (Change to Condolence / Killed in Action) and “No Info / SIA” (No Information / seriously injured in action) on MACR 13610: Lt. Jennings was killed in the ditching, and S/Sgt. Weinberg survived after being washed ashore on Patungas Island. The full text of the teletype, I think dated 0837 hours on March 25, follows:
PRIORITY CONFIDENTIAL
FROM: COBOMGR FOUR ONE SEVEN APO THREE TWO ONE 250837/I
TO: COBOMCOM FIVE APO SEVEN ONE NOUGHT CG FIFTH AIR FORCE APO SEVEN ONE NOUGHT CG FEAF APO NINE TWO FIVE
CITE: TARE HOW ONE NOUGHT ONE MIKE BT
REFERENCE IS MADE TO MISSING AIR CREW REPORT CMA THIS HDQS CMA DATED TWO ONE MARCH ONE NINE FOUR FIVE CMA IN REGARD TO FIRST LIEUTEANT RALPH MIKE JENNINGS ZERO DASH SEVEN FIVEN NINE FOUR SIX ZERO AND STAFF SERGEANT SEYMOUR WEINBERG ONE NINE ONE SEVEN THREE SIX SIX ONE PD FOLLOWING CHANGE OF STATUS IS SUBMITTED COLON LIEUTENANT JENNINGS WAS KILLED IN ACTION CMA AND STAFF SERGEANT WEINBERG IS HOSPITALIZED IN ONE SIX FIVE STATION HOSPITAL ABLE PETER OBE THREE TWO ONE FROM EXPOSURE PD SIX SEVEN THREE SQUADRON PLANES SIGHTED MESSAGE IN SANDS IN PATUNGAS ISLAND CMA PHILIPPINE ISLAND AND NOTIFIED FIGHTER SECTOR PD BOAT SENT TO PATUNGAS TWO ONE MARCH RESCUED GUNNER CMA AND PILOT WAS REPORTED KILLED PD
TRUE COPY: Robert L. Breum ROBERT L. BREUM
Captain, Air Corps.
Here’s how the teletype looks in the MACR:
______________________________
While the MACR contains no further information about the incident, the presence of the above summary strongly suggested – when I first read it – that the story in its full detail might be found “somehere”: Perhaps in the historical records of the 673rd. This is so; it indeed is. Rather than abstract, summarize, recapitulate, regurgitate, and otherwise “tell” the story in my own words, it’s far better to leave it to S/Sgt. Weinberg himself.
Here his report as dictated to Intelligence Officer of the 673rd, interspersed with photos and a diagram. (It reads much better in the original telling than it ever could by abstracting.)
C O N F I D E N T I A L
673RD BOMBARDMENT SQUADRON (L)
417TH BOMBARDMENT GROUP (L)
APO 321
2 April 1945.
SUBJECT: Rescue in the CUYO ISLAND.
TO: Commanding Officer, 417th Bombardment Group, APO 321.
Attention: Air-Sea Rescue Officer.
On return flight from a bombing mission over Bacolod Airdrome, Negros Island (19 March 1945), my pilot, 1st Lieutenant Ralph M. Jennings, told me over interphone that our right engine was losing power but not to worry as he had the plane well under control. Approximately 75 miles from base the right engine cut off completely with left engine losing power and the plane losing altitude. I crawled out from the turret into the hatch to remove the camera and, getting back into the turret, asked the pilot if I could fire the turret guns. He said okay and proceeded to fire his own nose guns. Then I got out of the turret again to throw out links and empty shells. Closed hatch door and used the gun mount to lock it. Then the pilot, just as I got into the turret, told me that we would have to ditch and to get ready. He said: “Hurry up, we haven’t much time.” I took out my automatic and fired fourteen shots into the turret dome, aiming at the seams of turret guns. The dome cracked, but not enough to facilitate a free exit. With my jungle knife, bare fists, head and shoulders I finally succeeded to remove enough of the dome to enable myself to get out. The plane was going down fast, very fast. I stayed in the turret, placing my left hand on gunsight and the head against it. With my right hand behind the neck, I waited for plane to hit the water.
The plane neither jarred nor bounced upon hitting the water. I crawled onto the left wing and saw the plane submerged way back to the radio hatch. The pilot couldn’t be seen, but I did see blood oozing from the vicinity of cockpit, unidentified articles, stained with blood, floating around me. The life raft was spread out in an overturned position and without being inflated. I struggled to inflate it as the sea was very rough. I pulled the sea marker and got into the raft, inflating it from the inside. When the raft hit the water upside down, the first-aid kit, food and water were lost. Only one can of water was saved, but this was positively foul and made me sick when I drank some of it. Other items, such as paddles, one pair of plyers, bailing bucket, about three wooden plugs, one tube of rubber glue, and a fishing tackle, were found on the raft. I had only my signal mirror with me and the clothes I was wearing. The first thing I did on the raft was to look for any injuries I might have suffered during the ditching. There were scratches on my hands and elbows, caused by pushing out the turret dome. To avoid sunburn, as much as possible, I rolled down my sleeves, buttoned and pulled up the collar, with pants well tucked inside the stockings. In addition, I covered my face with a cloth map. My emergency kit was lost while I tried to inflate the raft. My watch stopped an hour after we ditched and I did not have a compass.
____________________
From the A-20GJ and P-70AB Pilots Flight Operating Instructions, this diagram illustrates emergency equipment and exits for G and J series Havocs. Though the diagram indicates that crewmen in the rear of the fuselage should exit from a hatch between the dorsal turret and fin, S/Sgt. Weinberg improvised his escape by not-so-gently removing his turret’s plexiglass by means of his .45, jungle knife, and bare fists. It worked.
From The Sky Lancer, this photo, entitled “The Old Man”, shows an unidentified Captain of the 673rd Bomb Squadron in the cockpit of his A-20. The plane’s life raft rests on a shelf behind the pilot’s seat, while the canopy, hinged on the right (it could be jettisoned in an emergency), is flipped open. By the time S/Sgt. Weinberg reached this part of the plane it had been fully submerged, and Lt. Jennings – unconscious and probably worse – was still in his seat.
Here’s another view of an A-20G or J cockpit, looking aft. Unlike USAAF heavy bombers where multi-place life rafts were stored, very tightly folded, in specifically designed fuselage compartments from which they could be remotely jettisoned and automatically inflated, the crew life raft in A-20s seems (?) to simply have been loosely folded, with the crew needing to manually extract it from the aircraft after ditching. The horizontal tail band and single letter indicate that this plane is an aircraft of the 312th Bomb Group.
____________________
When the Squadron planes returned to base I rested and waited for rescue. Approximately two hours later, one Catalina and two A-20s were flying several miles beyond my position, evidently trying to locate the floating life raft. I tried to attract their attention with the mirror but somehow they didn’t see it.
Early in the evening the sea became rougher. There wasn’t anything I could do. I fell asleep and slept until a big wave woke me and tossed me overboard. I was able to swim back into the raft, but lost my bailing bucket. In order to assure myself against such a repetition I made use of the fishing tackle by tying one end of its string around my waist and the other end to the raft, so as to prevent losing contact with the raft in case I should be thrown out again. Sure enough, the same thing happened when the raft was overturned for the second time. Just being tied to it made it easier for me to get in. I went back to sleep and, just before early dawn, found myself offshore of a big island, but couldn’t reach it due to a strong current and swelling sea which forced me in the opposite direction.
After sunrise the sea continued rough, but visibility was perfect. There were about seven islands in sight. Meanwhile, I saw planes looking for me throughout the day. The same day, later in the afternoon, I found myself drifting towards one of the islands. This island, I could see, was cultivated and had a few houses on it. On nearing the shore I got out of the raft and clung to the side of it, riding the waves to land on the small beach.
I looked up and saw a young Filipino boy. He looked very frightened as he thought I might be a Jap. I must have been badly weather beaten to convey such an appearance. He told me I had landed on Patunga Island and that there were no Japs on the island. He also said in answer to my question — that there were no guerillas on the island. Then he wanted to know if I carried a gun. When I told him I didn’t he became very calm and took notice of my air corps shoulder patch.
Then he gave out a long whistle to attract the attention of the villagers. The entire population must have come to the scene immediately after his signal, as between 20-30 families came to see me. Amidst their lively talk I collapsed from sheer exhaustion and was picked up and carried to someone’s home. One man, slightly older than the rest spoke English and served as interpreter. I asked for some water, which was brought to me by a very lovely, young girl. The water, however, was boiled and too hot for drinking. The girl brought me several raw eggs but after taking one of them I asked for other eggs to be boiled. Strangely enough, I was neither too thirsty nor hungry. The girl, who watched over me like an angel, spoke only few words of English, but was able to nurse me like a true professional, dignified all the time, and extremely solicitous for my welfare. More food was brought to me, chicken and rice, which I wasn’t able to eat. Food was served on a porcelain plate and silverware was used. The house looked clean and had most of the bare essentials of furnishings. When I asked for a bath, two big bowls of water were brought to me from a nearby well. By that time my hands felt numb from too much paddling, and my right forefinger began to burn and swell. I tried to manage, without the assistance of anyone, to remove my clothing but found I was unable to do so. The girl noticed this and proceeded to chase everyone out of the house after which she undressed and bathed me in a most efficient manner.
After the bath I was completely relaxed, but as soon as I lay down I vomited the small amount of food I had eaten. Shortly after, I felt a little better and was able to eat one egg, however I still felt very weak. Soon after this I began to shake with the chills so another mat was added to my bed and some square knitted towels were spread over me and I slept until sun down. When I woke up the girl brought me some chicken with boiled rice and baked bananas, but again my appetite failed me and I was unable to appreciate this delectable dish. At sunrise the following day I was awakened by pain in one finger which had swollen during the night. I kept soaking my finger in hot water several times during the day to reduce the swelling. Later in the morning they assisted me down to the beach where I found my raft. This activity tired me somewhat so we returned to the village and this time I had no difficulty falling asleep.
About two o’clock in the afternoon the girl awakened me and said there were planes in the distance. Identifying them as A-20s I had the Filipinos carry the raft to the beach. Standing by the raft I again used my signal mirror only this time it worked. The two planes were from my squadron and on their second pass the pilots recognized me but to make certain I printed my name in huge letters in the sand.
Medical supplies were dropped with a message asking me if Lt. Jennings was with me. I wrote the word NO in the sand and upon seeing this the two planes headed homeward. I went back to the house and used the medical kit as best I could.
About an hour later the Filipinos ran into the house and told me that two “Q” boats were approaching the beach. I couldn’t understand what they mean to I hid myself in the bushes until I could identify the boats as friendly. Much to my relief they proved to be PT boats that were on their way to take me off the island. I again used my signal mirror and in no time at all we were on our way to the PT base at CUYO ISLAND.
There I was taken ashore and provided with excellent medical treatment by a detachment of the 165th Station Hospital. The next day the medical unit was to leave for Mindoro but the PT boats ran onto a reef and we were unable to depart. They radioed for a Catalina as the doctors decided that a PT ride would be too rough for me. The Cat arrived but couldn’t land because of the rough condition of the sea. They called and said they would return the next day which they failed to do. So we returned to Mindoro in a PT after all. Four days spent at the 165th Station Hospital had quickly brought back my strength and put me once again on the road to a speedy and complete recovery.
Above is a Narrative account as told by Staff Sergeant Seymour Weinberg to the 673rd Squadron Intelligence Office.
JAMES A. ADAMS,
Captain, Air Corps,
Intelligence Officer.
______________________________
This series of maps, at successively larger scales, recapitulate the loss of Chadwick 2nd and S/Sgt. Weinberg’s rescue.
First, a general map of the Philippine Islands, with the approximate position of Chadwick 2nd’s loss denoted by the small red oval in the center of the map. Bacolod city, also in the center of the map, lies to the southeast.
Here’s a closer view, again with the site of the aircraft’s loss denoted by the red oval in the center of the map, about 117 miles northwest of Bacolod.
The location can be seen to have been in the Sulu Sea. The nearest land, Pucio Point, is 24 miles to the northeast.
This map gives an excellent impression of what really confronted the two airmen: The plane came down in the open sea, with a scattering of islands to the southwest but nothing between.
The raft came to rest on Patungas (Patungas?) Island – here circled in blue – which even at this larger scale is too small to bear a name. Note that the only lands beyond Patungas Island are Lubic and Pamitinan Islands (both currently inhabited) to the southwest. After that absolutely nothing, until Calandagan and Maducang Islands, and finally, several tens of miles further southwest, Palawan.
Here’s Patungas Island as it looks today. It measures roughly 1 mile east-west by a little over 1/2 mile north-south. Note that the only area of habitation (in 2024, and probably in 1945) lies alongside the northern shore, which has an obvious sandy beach and is probably where S/Sgt. Weinberg’s raft grounded. If this is so, he was not only extraordinarily fortunate in simply reaching the little island, he was astonishingly lucky twice over in landing upon the only (?) accessible beach: The island’s three other shores appear to have steep cliffs, and are devoid of any nearby human habitation.
______________________________
S/Sgt. Weinberg (ASN 19173661) survived the war, but I’ve no information about his life subsequent to 1945. Born in Los Angeles on either August 18 or September 17, 1924, he was the son of Charles B. and Pauline (Fox) Weinberg and brother of Burton and Norman, the family residing at 657 North State Street. His name appeared in a War Department Casualty List released to the news media on May 15, 1945, and can be found on page 56 of American Jews in World War II.
I think (?) he appears in the following two photos, which I found via Ancestry.com. From the 1942 Yearbook of Theodore Roosevelt High School in Los Angeles, he (well, “a”) Seymour Weinberg appears in the photo of members of the school’s Latin Club, at far left in the front row. (Quite remarkable that the high school actually had a Jewish club to begin with. Would they permit one in 2024?…)
Here’s a close-up of the photo. To the right of Seymour Weinberg are Ben Goland and Henrietta Frank.
S/Sgt. Weinberg’s pilot, Lt. Ralph Melton Jennings, is the subject of two FindAGrave biographical profiles (here and here). The image below is via Jaap Vermeer…
Like many WW II Casualties whose bodies have never been – could never have been – recovered, Lt. Jennings has a symbolic grave maker. This is at the Norton Cemetery in Norton, Texas. He had a sister, Clarice Dorcas, who died as a young child. I don’t believe his parents had any other children.
The two FindAGrave profiles for Lt. Jennings include transcripts of articles from the Abilene Reporter concerning news of his Missing in Action and Killed in Action status, with the latter – published on May 3, 1945 – indicating that the Lieutenant’s family received a letter from S/Sgt. Weinberg (whose name is obviously not given in the article) having related what transpired on the mens’ last mission.
The latter article states, “The letter stated that Lieutenant Jennings went down with his ship when it crashed in the ocean with one motor gone and the second one shot out. The gunner said he tried to extricate Jennings, but could not and that the officer was knocked unconscious when the plane hit the water. Other crew members were able to get out in rubber rafts.”Though entirely true, it’s clearly obvious – in light of what S/Sgt. Weinberg actually witnessed after he was able to free himself from the sinking wreck of Chadwick 2nd and reach the area of the bomber’s by-then-completely-submerged cockpit – that the Sergeant refrained from communicating information about his pilot’s death that would’ve been unnecessarily distressing to Jennings’ parents.
Here are the two articles:
BALLINGER FLIER MISSING IN ACTION
FRIDAY MORNING, APRIL 20, 1945
BALLINGER, April 29–Lt. Ralph Jennings, son of Mr. and Mrs. Clarence Jennings of Ballinger, has been missing in action since March 19, his parents have been informed.
Pilot of a Mitchell B-25 bomber, Lieutenant Jennings has been in the Southwest Pacific since July and has completed over 50 missions. He recently received his promotion to first lieutenant.
His wife, the former Juanita Hilliard of San Angelo, has been making her home in Houston while the lieutenant was overseas. He was a former player on the San Angelo junior college football team.
MISSING FLIER REPORTED KILLED
THURSDAY EVENING, MAY 3, 1945
BALLINGER, May 3–Mrs. Ralph Jennings has received a letter written by a gunner on the plane piloted by her husband, 1st Lt. Ralph Jennings, who has been reported missing. The letter stated that Lieutenant Jennings went down with his ship when it crashed in the ocean with one motor gone and the second one shot out. The gunner said he tried to extricate Jennings, but could not and that the officer was knocked unconscious when the plane hit the water. Other crew members were able to get out in rubber rafts.
Based on Luzon, Lieutenant Jennings had completed more than 50 missions in a B-25 in the Pacific theatre.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On March 23, 1945 … 9 Nisan 5705
F/O Samuel Harmell (T-003337) – Killed in Action – .ת.נ.צ.ב.ה. – …Tehé Nafshó Tzrurá Bitzrór Haḥayím
Irony: Four days after making a statement about the loss of Lt. Jennings and S/Sgt. Weinberg, F/O Harmell would himself become the subject of such a document: He and his gunner, Cpl. Harold W. Scott, were killed when their Havoc, A-20G 43-9040, was shot down during a ground support mission in the vicinity of Cebu City, on, Cebu Island, (again) in the Philippines.
As described in the historical records of the 673rd Bomb Squadron:
CEBU CITY (Cebu Island) was hit by nine A-20s in a ground support mission on March 23rd. One bombing and strafing run was made with nine planes abreast and minimum altitude. Small fires were started in the town when 544 twenty-three lb parafrags and sixteen 250 lb Napalm bombs were dropped with 17,400 rounds of .50 caliber ammunition expended in strafing. Speed over target prevented further assessment of damage. One plane returned eighty parafrags and two Napalm bombs owing to electrical failure, while another plane returned 16 parafrags because of pilot error. Propaganda leaflets were dropped and photos taken. Moderate, intense, medium and inaccurate antiaircraft fire were encountered below and behind the flight over MAYONDON POINT. Immediately after starting the bomb run, Flight Officer Samuel Harmell’s plane was hit by antiaircraft fire in the left outboard wing tank which broke into flame. Formation leader instructed the pilot to head for the sea, but he continued to press his attack and then attempted to ditch south of the target. Meanwhile, corporal Harold W. Scott bailed out just before the breakaway from the target and was seen to parachute approximately 1 ½ miles west of CEBU CITY. About thirty seconds later, the left wing tore loose from the plane as it turned on its back and crashed into the water 2 ½ miles southwest of CEBU CITY. The pilot was killed, while nothing more is known about the gunner’s fate.
______________________________
The loss of 43-9040 is covered in Missing Air Crew Report 13532. This statement about the plane’s loss is by Capt. Frank D. Upchurch, Jr. …
On the morning of 23 March 1945 I was leading a formation of A-20s in a strike on Cebu City, Cebu Island. Just as we got within range of the target I glanced over the formation and saw the plane in which Flight Officer Samuel Harmell was pilot, was on fire on the left wing. I observed the plane at several times as we went over the target and it was still burning. As we were leaving the target I was in contact with Flight Officer Harmell at several times and as he asked if his gunner (Sergeant Harold W. Scott) had bailed out, I saw the gunner leave the plane at a very low altitude, approximately 300 miles per hour air speed, and his parachute seemed to open almost at once. After continuing about 1 ½ miles, I saw the left wing of the plane crumple, but did not see the plane actually crash.
______________________________
… while this statement is by 2 Lt. Richard M. Fischer:
On the morning of 23 March 1945 I was leading a flight of A-20s in a strike at Cebu City, Cebu Island. As we started over the target, my left wingman, Flight Officer Samuel Harmell, must have been hit in his No. 1 outboard tank by the first burst of antiaircraft fire. I saw a long string of yellow flame coming from his left wing, and immediately ordered him to ditch the plane. We passed over the target and just at the edge of the sea, the left wing dropped off the damaged plane, causing it to crash immediately from a very low altitude, at a location approximately 2 ½ miles southwest of Cebu City on Cebu Island. I did not see the gunner of the plane bail out.
______________________________
From MACR 13532, here’s a map indicating where 43-9040 was lost. The plane crashed into Cebu Harbor at a location denoted by the lower asterisk, while the location of Cpl. Harold W. Scott’s bailout is indicated by the asterisk in the upper left center.
Another small scale map of the Philippines, this time indicating the general location of the 417th’s destination on March 23, 1945: Cebu City, on the island of Cebu.
xxxxxxxxxxxxx
This map shows a closer view of the location of Cebu City…
…while this map, at a vastly larger scale – based on the map in the MACR – shows the approximate locations where Cpl. Scott parachuted from 43-9040, and, where the aircraft crashed into Cebu Harbor.
Here’s an even closer view of the above map. Comparing the MACR map of 1945 with this contemporary map of 2023 reveals the creation of an area known as the Cebu South Road Properties, a reclamation area extending into Cebu Harbor from the original shoreline.
This six-minute-long video – “South Road Properties | Cebu City Philippines | Aerial 4K Cinematic Drone Shots” (from September 24, 2021) – from Open Doors, a YouTube channel covering Philippine real estate, provides aerial views of the South Road Properties reclamation area. Though certainly not the subject of the video, its several views of the South Road Properties waterfront include scenes of the area where Chadwick 2nd crashed into the harbor. I’ve cued the video to commence at such a point – specifically, 1:33 – where a small ship headed northeast and parallel to the waterfront lies in the center of the image. Granting uncertainty, I believe the location of the ship at this point is very close to “the”, or indeed “the” area of Chadwick 2nd’s fall.
Though I don’t have access to his IDPF, it would seem that Cpl. Harold W. Scott’s fate was never determined, for he is still listed as missing in action and his name is commemorated on the Tablets of the Missing at the Manila American Cemetery. From Allendale, New Jersey (according to FindAGrave), based on a Draft Card found at Ancestry.com he may have been born in Brooklyn in 1919 (?), resided in Hackensack, and been employed by the New York Central Railroad. Even granting the vanishingly low probability that he survived a low-altitude, high-speed bailout from his burning Havoc, in light of the treatment accorded by the Japanese to captured Allied airmen, he would absolutely never have survived – for long, if at all – capture in such a situation.
Born in Los Angeles on June 10, 1924, Flight Officer Samuel Harmell was the son of Louis (“Larry”) (10/13/00-4/83) and Etta (Herman) (1906-8/17/89) Harmell and brother of Harold, the family residing at 1214 Ridgeley Drive in L.A. Commemorated on the Tablets of the Missing in Manila, he was awarded the Air Medal and Purple Heart, implying that he’d completed between five and ten combat missions. His name appears on page 45 of American Jews in World War II. Though his high school graduation portrait can be found at Ancestry.com, the resolution and quality of the image are too poor to merit inclusion in this post.
Given the passage of decades, the only surviving records of his existence on this earth may be his statements in the two Missing Air Crew Reports quoted in this post.
References
Dublin, Louis I., and Kohs, Samuel C., American Jews in World War II – The Story of 550,000 Fighters for Freedom, The Dial Press, New York, N.Y., 1947
Freeman, Roger, Camouflage & Markings – United States Army Air Force 1937-1945, Ducimus Books Limited, London, England, 1974 (“Douglas A-20 Havoc U.S.A.A.F., 1940-1945”, pp. 169-192)
Green, Eugene L.; Keane, Paul A.; Callahan, Lewis E., The Sky Lancer – 417th Bomb Group, published in Sydney, Australia, 1946 (publisher unknown)
Green, William, Famous Bombers of the Second World War – Second Series, Doubleday & Company, Inc., Garden City, N.Y., 1969 (“The Douglas A-20”, pp. 59-71)
Rust, Kenn C., Fifth Air Force Story, Historical Aviation Album, Temple City, Ca., 1973
“Because he was concerned to make sure of everyone’s safety before bailing out himself.”
A review of the history of the WW II Allied air campaign against the Axis, specifically in terms of missions conducted by aircraft manned by multiple crew members – here we’re largely talking about bombardment aircraft, though such aircraft certainly could be used for photo or weather reconnaissance, or, electronic warfare – reveals a consistent theme in the context of aircraft losses; a theme perhaps second nature and long taken-for-granted. This is revealed for the United States Army Air Force within Missing Air Crew Reports, in R.W. Chorley’s series of books covering Royal Air Force Bomber Command and, in a myriad of other references. In essence, it wasn’t at all unusual for the pilot (and co-pilot, as well) of a bomber to lose their lives in their final efforts to keep a damaged aircraft under some semblance of control in order to grant their fellow crewmen the chance for a safe bailout. There are many Missing Air Crew Report Casualty Questionnaires that are explicit in the descriptions of such events. A comprehensive review of these documents, or, a systematic tabulation of loss records in Chorley’s books, might enable a researcher to actually quantify just how often many otherwise uninjured pilots – who otherwise might have survived – gave their lives in such circumstances.
One such aviator was First Lieutenant Nathan Margolies (0-806295). The son of Moses and Rose (Blatt) Margolies, he was born in Brooklyn on July 6, 1915, and resided with his parents at 8301 Bay Parkway, in that rather well known New York borough. The recipient of the Distinguished Flying Cross, Air Medal with three Oak Leaf Clusters, and Purple Heart, his name can be found on page 387 of American Jews in World War II. His name appeared in a Casualty List released on April 19, 1945, and can also be found upon the Tablets of the Missing at Manila American Cemetery, Manila, Philippines, while a commemorative matzeva bearing his name is present at Section MF, Plot 46-D-12, at Arlington National Cemetery. His name also appears in Robert Dorr’s 7th Bombardment Group / Wing 1918-1995 (page 248) and in Chick Marrs Quinn’s The Aluminum Trail (page 389).
As indicated from this commemorative information and the latter two books – and as you’ll see from this post – he did not survive the war.
This is him…
A member of the 9th Bomb Squadron of the 10th Air Force’s 7th Bomb Group, Lt. Margolies was reportedly wounded by anti-aircraft fire on March 19, 1945. Thus, his inclusion in “this” series of blog posts concerning Jewish military casualties on March 19, 1945. However…
…he was killed during a combat mission five days later, on March 24, 1945, while in command of B-24L Liberator 44-49607 (tail number 28) during a mission from Pandaveswar, in West Bengal, India, to“Bridge Q633″ on the Burma-Siam Railway.
______________________________
The insignia of the 10th Air Force.
This example of the 9th Bomb Squadron insignia was found at Etsy. Though the gray rays in the upper half of the insignia resemble searchlight beams – as if pinpointing enemy aircraft at night – in reality, they simply form the Roman numeral “IX”, representing the number “9”. As in 9th Squadron.
______________________________
From Edward M. Young’s B-24 Liberator Units of the CBI (Osprey Combat Aircraft 87), this profile, by Mark Styling, is a representative image of the markings carried by 9th Bomb Squadron B-24s slightly before the general time-frame of the Margolies crews’ missions. This plane, B-24J 44-40857, RANGOON RANGLER, shows the squadron’s black & white checkerboard rudder with a horizontal fin band, and, plane-in-squadron number. RANGOON RANGLER survived the war with many combat missions and other sorties, and postwar was turned over to the Reconstruction Finance Corporation (RFC). There’s no record of the Margolies crews’ 44-49607 having a nickname.
______________________________
The names and eventual fates of Lt. Margolies’ crew members on the March 24 mission are listed below:
Co-Pilot – Chaffee, Arthur Richard, 1 Lt., 0-755518, Seattle, Wa. –Survived Navigator – Scranton, Edwin Ely, 1 Lt., 0-685742, Alliance, Oh. (See here, here, and here) – KIA Bombardier – Meridith, James M., 1 Lt., 0-889303, Wichita, Ks. – Survived Flight Engineer – Sadloski, Stanley P., T/Sgt., 11010475, Hartford, Ct. –Survived Radio Operator – Nelson, James F., T/Sgt., 32086547, Brooklyn, N.Y. –Survived Gunner – Reed, Edward, S/Sgt., 11090457, Fall River, Ma. –KIA Gunner – Cunningham, John E., S/Sgt., 14147628, Atlanta, Ga. – KIA Gunner – Moriarty, Leo, S/Sgt., 32185901, Ware, Ma. – Survived Gunner – Herald, Kenneth William, S/Sgt., 39559281, Pomona, Ca. – Survived
Unlike most (most; not all) MACRs, the eyewitness statements in MACR 13435 describing 28’s loss were not recounted by crew members of other planes in the 9th’s formation. Rather, they were reported by two of Lt. Margolies’ six surviving crew members: bombardier Lt. Meredith and gunner Sgt. Herald. The MACR also includes Casualty Questionnaires filed by T/Sgt. Sadloski for his four fallen fellow crew members. Through these records, it’s possible to reconstruct what transpired over India that day, seventy-nine years ago.
First, as described by Lt. Meredith…
Were flying indicated altitude of 2500’. We were one hour and forty minutes out from the field when the oil pressure started dropping off on #1 engine [left outer engine, as viewed from above] very fast. Lt. Margolies told me to go down in the nose and salvo the bombs which I immediately did. When I crawled back up to the flight deck the engineer was salvoing the bomb bay [fuel] tank. The pilot could only get the engine partly feathered causing a terrific drag on the left side. We were losing about a thousand feet a minute so the pilot yelled “bail out”. I buckled on my chute and went out the right front bomb bay. I saw only one other parachute beside my own and did not see the plane crash.
…and then, S/Sgt. Herald:
At 11:15 it was reported that number one engine had bad oil pressure and Lt. Margolies proceeded to feather it. Due to some mechanical failure, the prop would not feather, which caused an excess of drag on our left wing forcing us to lose altitude even after out bombs and gas tank were dropped. Our pilot fought it but to no avail. The first order was to prepare for a ditching and as soon as that was given another order was to put on chutes, and there came the bail out order. The waist windows had been broken out, so as soon as we were told to bail out, I went through the right waist and hit the ground very soon after my chute opened. The altitude we went out at was about 700 ft. I hit the trees and soon joined out co-pilot and radio operator.
As indicated above, the bomber was already flying at the low altitude of 2,500 feet (remarkably low by the standards of the 8th or 15th Air Forces, but perhaps typical for a 10th Air Force mission of this nature…?) when mechanical failure – a drop in oil pressure – was encountered in the number 1 engine. (Interestingly, the header page of the MACR attributes the aircraft loss to carburetor icing, but I don’t how know (or if) such a problem could contribute to low oil pressure. Especially at low altitude. Especially in the climate of India and Burma!) Regardless, Lt. Margolies’ first command was for the crew to prepare for ditching. Immediately afterwards came an order to bail out, in light of the plane’s very rapid loss of altitude and the danger inherent to ditching a B-24 with very limited control and very little time for preparation. (Not that ditching a B-24 was easy under optimal circumstances, to begin with.)
Six crewmen left the plane: Lt. Margolies’ officers, and, Sergeants Nelson, Cunningham, and Herald.
Of the six, the parachutes of Lt. Scranton and Sgt. Cunningham were either deployed too low and too late, or, failed to open.
Four crewmen remained in the aircraft: Lt. Margolies, and Sergeants Sadloski, Reed, and Moriarty.
Of these men, Lt. Margolies, severely injured in the ditching, was unable to escape the sinking aircraft. Sgt. Reed managed to leave the wreck, but he did not survive.
Thus, from a crew of ten, six returned. Of the four who did not survive, only Sergeant Reed’s body was recovered to eventually have a place of burial.
Photos of the fallen appear below. They, and several images of Lt. Margolies, as well, have been contributed to the mens’ biographical profiles at FindAGrave by Mr. Walter N. Webb (cousin of Lt. Scranton) about whom you can read more here.
______________________________
2 Lt. Edwin F. Scranton, Navigator
______________________________
S/Sgt. John E. Cunningham, Gunner
______________________________
S/Sgt. Edward Reed, Gunner
Sgt. Reed was also “an amateur artist and wood carver and played the guitar.” This is his water-color self-portrait.
______________________________
But wait (!) there’s even more…(!!)…
In the early 2000s, Mr. Walter N. Webb, who had been researching the histories of 7th Bomb Group crews lost in WW II – with a focus on his cousin, Lt. Scranton – posted the results of his investigation at the website of the 7th Bomb Group (“7th Bombardment Group (H)”), which in 2024 is no longer “up and running”. The title of his work was: “A Special Tribute to the Margolies Crew – Photos and research by Walt Webb”.
Mr. Webb’s post includes speculation about the location where B-24 28 and her crew – both the survivors and those killed – came to earth, and, photos of the Margolies crew (and another 9th BS crew, that of 1 Lt. John F. Albert), the above-mentioned photographs of Lieutenants Margolies and Scranton, and, Sergeants Cunningham and Reed, two Google Earth images simulating the probable final course of 28, and finally, a symbolic memorial ceremony that he arranged in honor of Lieutenants Margolies and Scranton, and Sgt. Cunningham, that took place at Arlington National Cemetery on May 26, 2005.
Well, to quote from Mr. Webb’s post…
I’ve been researching a 9th Squadron crew, four of whom were killed in a March 24, 1945, air accident en route to Thailand. Three of those men still are missing in the Ganges Delta region along with their B-24. One of them was a cousin I never really knew (Lt. Edwin E. Scranton). These photos are about this crew, the last two photos are of the Arlington ceremony that I arranged for the families of the three MIAs.
I was able to download Google Earth and use it in an unusual way–to simulate the Margolies B-24 final descent route across the Ganges Delta (Mar. 24, 1945) and to visualize what the pilots saw as they crossed these islands at altitudes of 1,000 feet and below. Google Earth allows you to “fly” to any point on a 3D globe, drop to any altitude, tilt to get an oblique view, and even rotate around the target! The earth coverage comes from satellite imagery. The detail varies; major cities have the highest resolution. Since I saved the entire descent path, all I have to do to revisit is to press the “Tour” button and then watch as the path automatically runs!
I’ve used information in Mr. Webb’s post, specifically his two Google Earth maps, to build “this” post a little further, in terms of mapping and illustrating the final flight of 28 and her four fallen airmen.
This map, included in MACR 13435, shows the last witnessed location of 28: Over the Bay of Bengal, just a few miles south of the coast of modern day Bangladesh. Note that the map is only a snippet cut from the much larger “Army / Air” 1:1,000,000 map: “NF-45”, which you’ll see with just a quick mouse scroll down.
XXXXXXXXXX
Based on the MACR map, the map below, at a vastly smaller scale, shows the aircraft’s last reported position in the wider geographic context of the Bay of Bengal, India, Bangladesh, and Burma. It’s designated by the miniscule, almost-invisible (and really tiny) red oval in the center of the map.
Going to a larger scale, here’s 28’s last reported position in the context of the Ganges-Brahamputra Delta.
A tiny section of map NF-45 in MACR 13435 is shown above. Below, via the University of Texas, is a complete version of a later edition of the same map – “NF-45-12” (“Putney Island, Pakistan; India”) – spliced via photoshop with the adjoining map to the north, “NF-45-8” (“Khula, Pakistan; India”). These two adjoining maps, at 1:250,000 scale, were compiled in 1955 from the 1923-1942, and, 1924 Surveys of India, and are October, 1959 editions prepared by the Army Map Service and printed by the Corps of Engineers. For the purposes of this post, this photoshopped Army composite map illustrates the setting of 28’s loss in a detailed context, and clarifies a Google Earth image from Mr. Webb, which follows…
And so, more from Mr. Webb:
[Two] photos are … sample scenes from the simulation, both overviews in tilt mode. I also have views from the lower heights actually flown by the crippled aircraft along its final path.
[The first scene … (not illustrated here!) looks S to N across the bailout island where 6 of the crew jumped.] Scranton and Cunningham (chutes didn’t open) fell under the plane’s path, while the 4 on chutes probably drifted a bit to the NNE, thus shown displaced slightly in that direction. Cunningham delayed his jump and so is separated from the rest. (A British air-sea rescue eyewitness recalled seeing the parachutes hanging in the trees “in a perfectly straight line.”) Thirteen miles to the N, the 3 distant targets represent the general area where I believe the plane actually may have ditched with 4 on board (Margolies and Reed perished; only Reed was recovered.)
[This] scene … (image below!) shows approximately where the 3 crew MIAs may be located. Although the B-24 may have ditched somewhere along that stretch of the river, it’s uncertain whether the submerged wreckage still is there, lodged in the mud (the B-24 broke into 3 sections), or has drifted farther downstream.
Using Mr. Webb’s Google Earth map as a basis, here are the probable locations of Cunningham’s and Scranton’s bailout and 28’s crash, shown on Maps NF-45-12 and NF-45-8 (you can see where I spliced them by the difference in the intensity of shading), as respectively indicated by the blue circles.
A much, much closer view. Assuming that the crash location is correct, the aircraft came down in the vicinity of or in the Jamuna River.
This air photo view of the plane’s probable crash location is at the same scale as the NF-45 composite maps above….
…while this air photo is a very (very (very)) close view of this branch of the Jamuna River.
Between 2011 and 2013, the missing men and plane were the subject of discussion at Wikimapia, under the heading “crash site, invisible“.
There, this message appears: “B-24 Liberator piloted by Lt. Nathan Margolies crashed here after others bailed out(but not all survived). They were on their way to bomb a bridge on the infamous Burma-Siam Railway on 24 March 1945. Still missing are Pilot Margolies, Navigator Lt. Edwin E. Scranton, and a Gunner S/Sgt. John E. Cunningham. Navigator’s cousin still is searching for remains of both aircraft and personnel. Contact wwebb24@verizon.net. The plane took off from Pandaveswar, West Bengal, India.
Coordinates: 21°55’11″N 89°10’22″E”
This inquiry generated three comments – by Bangladesh citizens “TurboProp”, “asisdutta_jc”, and “ershadahmed”, which are presented verbatim below:
TurboProp (2011) CALLING OFFICERS OF BANGLADESH NAVY OR COAST GUARD TO COMMENT ON THIS. THERE ARE 2 ESTABLISHMENTS–ONE WITHIN THE MARKED AREA, ONE LITTLE UPSTREAM. MAY BE THESE PEOPLE WILL HAVE SOME IDEA 13 years ago
asisdutta_jc (2012) Condoled by SDutta: +919593000434 12 years ago
ershadahmed (2014) Inaccessible and isolated mangrove remains inundated. Officers of Bangladesh Navy or Forest Deptt should try to locate the spot and help them finding. Its two years already, the request has been made by the US air force persons to Bangladesh Navy. Engr. Ershad Ahmed +(88-02)-01711548879 9 (cell) 10 years ago
______________________________
And, two pictures from time ago.
As mentioned above, Mr. Webb’s post from the early 2000s at the 7th Bomb Group’s website includes a photo of Lt. Margolies crew, and, a photo of the crew of 1 Lt. John F. Albert. These photos, and several other images of 9th Bomb Squadron crews, can be found in the historical records of the 9th Bomb Squadron for March, 1945.
This image shows the Margolies crew in front of B-24 squadron number 33 prior to takeoff on February 5, 1945. The mission was to bomb the pair of bridges at Kanchanaburi, Thailand. The crew had to abort and return.
The men are:
Back row, left to right:
1 Lt. James M. Meredith S/Sgt. Edward Reed T/Sgt. James F. Nelson S/Sgt. John E. Cunningham S/Sgt. Kenneth W. Herald S/Sgt. Leo Moriarty Cpl. John L. Sulgrove
Front row, left to right:
1 Lt. Arthur R. Chaffee Lieutenant Margolies T/Sgt. Stanley P. Sadloski 1 Lt. Edwin E. Scranton
This photo was also taken on February 5, 1945, and is significant in showing 44-49607, with, “…a hand-painted “28”, an indicator of its recent arrival to the squadron.”
The men are, left to right:
1 Lt. Donald P. Funk – Co-Pilot 2 Lt. Owen H. Brownfield – Bombardier T/Sgt. Arthur L. Burdette – Flight Engineer 1 Lt. Bernard D. Kahn – Navigator 1 Lt. John F. Albert – Pilot T/Sgt. Lyle L. Vralsted – Radio Operator S/Sgt. H.Q. Smith – Gunner S/Sgt. Gordon Greenberg – Gunner S/Sgt. Paul R. Hon – Gunner
Almost seventy-nine years have transpired since the loss of “28” and her four crew members. Given the passage of time, let alone the very nature of the terrain and climate where the 44-49607 came to earth (and actually, sea) it must be accepted that the missing men and their plane will never be found. Still, a measure of memory, even if belated, is better than no memory at all.
Some Books
Dorr, Robert F., 7th Bombardment Group / Wing 1918-1995, Turner Publishing Company, Paducah, Ky., 1996
Dublin, Louis I., and Kohs, Samuel C., American Jews in World War II – The Story of 550,000 Fighters for Freedom, The Dial Press, New York, N.Y., 1947
Quinn, Chick Marrs, The Aluminum Trail – How & Where They Died – China-Burma-India World War II 1942-1945, Chick Marrs Quinn, 1989
Rust, Kenn C, Tenth Air Force Story, Historical Aviation Album, Temple City, Ca., 1980
Young, Edward M., B-24 Liberator Units of the CBI, Osprey Publishing, Oxford, England, 2011
And otherwise…
I want to express my thanks to the Air Force Historical Research Agency for the Albert and Margolies crew photos: “Thanks very much!”
Every man’s life is a tapestry of stories, the majority mundane, some startling and dramatic; some traumatic and transformative; and a few – on rare occasion – inspiring by the very magnitude of their impact. Such were the wartime experiences of First Lieutenant Bernard William Bail (0-807964), who served as a radar navigator in the 66th Bomb Squadron of the 8th Air Force’s 44th Bomb Group.
______________________________
…the insignia of the 66th Bomb Squadron (via US Wars Patches)…
______________________________
The son of Abraham (3/10/87-7/6/68) and Lillian “Lily” (Miller) (11/3/95-9/28/89) Bail and brother of Private Paul Bail of 2330 South 6th St., in Philadelphia, he was born in that city on November 18, 1920. For the purposes of emergency correspondence, his official contact in the United States was his uncle, Dr. Harry Bail, his who resided at 2547 North 33rd St. in the same city.
The recipient of the Air Medal with three Oak Leaf Clusters and Purple Heart, his name appeared in the Philadelphia Inquirer and Philadelphia Record on May 4 and 3, 1945, respectively. Though his name can be found on page 509 of American Jews in World War II, oddly, absolutely nothing about him ever appeared in wartime issues of The Jewish Exponent, which was (and is) published in that Pennsylvania city.
As the radar navigator aboard the 66th Bomb Squadron’s un-nicknamed B-24J Liberator 42-51907 (QK * B+) during the 44th Bomb Group’s March 19, 1945 mission to an Me-262 factory at Neuberg, Germany, Lieutenant Bail was one of the aircraft’s three eventual survivors – from its crew of eleven – after the plane, piloted by 1 Lt. Robert J. Podojil, was shot down by German fighters in the vicinity of Stuttgart, an event covered in Missing Air Crew Report 13574. The very sparse outline of this story is alluded to in the following article from the Philadelphia Inquirer of May 4, 1945. The article also makes reference to Lt. Bail having previously bailed out over the English Channel, about which much (…much…(much!)) more follows further “down” this post.
The text of the article:
Flier Freed From Nazis Survived 3 Plane Crashes
Luck of First Lieutenant Bernard W. Bail, 24-year-old Philadelphia squadron leader, was still running strong March 19 when anti-aircraft fire brought down his B-24 bomber over Germany – his third plunge since D-Day.
“I’m on my way back to my outfit after a month and a day in a German prison camp,” he wrote in a letter received by his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Abraham Bail, of 2330 S. 6th St.
A slight wound – its nature was not disclosed – has won him a Purple Heart to go along with his Air medal, Presidential Citation and other decorations that 16 months overseas service with the Eighth Air Force have earned for him.
Lieutenant Bail, then a bombardier, lost his first plane June 6, 1944, over the English Channel. On the way into the Continent, his pilot was killed by flak. The co-pilot took over finished the bombing run, but lost his leg in another shower of fire.
Lieutenant Bail, with the rest of the crew, bailed out, landed in the Channel, and were picked up 13 hours later by a Coast Guard cutter.
Last January Lieutenant Bail’s second plane was peppered with heavy fire in a bombing mission over the retreating Germans. On its return trip the plane crashed in Western France.
Lieutenant Bail, who has been in the Air Forces for almost three years, is a graduate of South Philadelphia High School and West Chester State Teacher’s College. A brother, private Paul, 27, was wounded in North Africa and returned to this country.
Here’s the article itself, accompanied by two advertisements that give a random “flavor” of the era…
X
Though Dr. Bail passed away in 2021, his personal website – Bernard W. Bail M.D. – is fortunately still very much “up and running”. His curriculum vitae includes some images and documents from his wartime service, including the Western Union telegrams informing his uncle of his missing in action status, and then, his imminent return to the United States (dated April 4 and May 17, respectively).
An uploaded to Ancestry by Kasie Podojil on August 22, 2023, this photo shows the Podojil crew. The men aren’t identified, but I’m certain that Lt. Podojil is one of the men in the front row. Not being a regular member of the crew, Lt. Bail wouldn’t be in the picture. Close examination of the data block and three digits on the forward fuselage reveal that this plane is B-24J 42-50807, which is solidly confirmed via Aviation Archeology.
______________________________
Given the time-frame, though it might be assumed that there’d be an abundance of information about the loss of QK * B+, but strangely there is not. No Luftgaukommando Report – if there even was one – for this incident survives, and, Jan Safarik’s compilation of Luftwaffe fighter victories against B-24s has no entries for this date. In the missing Air Crew Report, observations by other airmen in the 66th are equally enigmatic. The report states: “Very little is known as to exactly what happened to this crew. On this mission six aircraft were originally carried as “not yet returned”, five of which have returned to base. All five of these returned aircraft had left the formation after bombing and landed on the Continent, having run short of gas. At 1503 hours this crew was heard from at a point approximately ten (10 miles southwest of Stuttgart and fifty-five (55) miles east of bombline, at which time the pilot thought he would be able to make it to friendly territory. At this time he was observed to have two (2) feathered engines. No further word was heard over VHR and no additional information has been received at this headquarters.”
Documents in the MACR – a statement made by Sgt. Mosevich in Miami on August 31, 1945, and, Casualty Questionnaires completed by the three survivors – yield a reconstruction of what befell 42-51907 and her crew: The plane’s #3 engine suffered a loss of power prior to reaching Neuberg due to a loss of oil pressure, with the #1 failing for the same reason after the bomb run. Lagging behind and unable to maintain formation with the rest of the 44th, Lt. Podojil ordered his crew to jettison the plane’s machine guns, ammunition, and other equipment. The defenseless bomber was then shot down by German fighters in an attack that must have been as sudden as it was overwhelming, this eventuating in four airmen abandoning the bomber from 15,000. As Sgt. Mosevich stated in his Casualty Questionnaire form for Lt. Podojil,“The fighter planes attacked us very suddenly, it all seemed to be over in a few seconds.” In his summary Casualty Questionnaire, he wrote that Sgt. Veitch opened the bomb bay doors through which Veitch and Bail jumped, while Mosevich himself jumped out the port waist window. How Sgt. Schmitz escaped the plane is not mentioned; I’d assume through the jettisonable lower tail hatch.
Despite what is reported from other sources (see below…) Sgt. Mosevich saw only three other parachutes in mid-air, and recalled that Clark, Crane, and West didn’t have their parachutes attached when he left the plane.
The conclusion to be drawn from the MACR is that – with the exception of Sgt. Schmitz – none of the seven other crewmen were able to escape the aircraft.
This parallel’s Lt. Bail’s statement in 44th Bomb Group Roll of Honor and Casualties:“On my 25th mission our plane was jumped by a couple of ME 109s. The entire crew, with the exception of four of us, was killed over Germany near Stuttgart. The tail gunner, S/Sgt. N.J. Schmitz, sustained a leg injury that necessitated amputation of his leg, which I witnessed. I, myself, was wounded in my head and neck. The young tail gunner [Schmitz] later died of gangrene. I was present at his burial in the little town of Goppingen.”
______________________________
Here’s Lt. Bail’s reply to Major W.R Reed of the Air Corps’ Notification Branch, concerning the latter’s inquiry of June, 1945, pertaining to Lt. Ritter (co-pilot) and Sgt. Clark (nose gunner):
Tuesday – Sept 1945
Dear Major Reed, I have received your letter asking about Lts. Ritter, Chase, and Crane and Sgts. Reichenbach, West and Clark. I have written to various depts. already the fact that all of the above men are dead. The mission was on March 19, 1945 to Ingolstadt; we were attacked on the way back by the Luftwaffe. The men listed above were unable to get out of the plane, which went down, burning; so it is sure all of them died. I have written fully to other departments as I’ve said. Should you want further information, I shall be glad to answer any questions you may have. Sincerely Bernard W. Bail
Lt. Bail’s letter, as it appears in the MACR:
______________________________
Accompanying Sgt. Mosevich’s Casualty Questionnaire forms in the MACR is this very brief summary of his escape from 42-51907:
Additional Inf: We were flying on two engines and we had abandoned our guns and ammunition. Our fighter escort hadn’t arrived. German fighters attacked suddenly. When I bailed out the plane seemed to be starting into a spin. As I floated down I saw a column of smoke coming from the ground. The action happened to fast that I didn’t get a chance to survey the conditions in the plane as I bailed out a few seconds after the plane was attacked. If I can be of further help please let me know but I have no more information. Any more, would be pure guess work. Yours truly, Walter Mosevich
Sgt. Mosevich’s note, as it appears in the MACR:
______________________________
The FindAGrave biographical profile for Sgt. West is very extensive, and includes an account of the loss of QK * B+ written by Max F. Veitch (long after he war, I guess, and I suppose uploaded in 2018 by Donald Winters?) which corroborates the information in the MACR.
Mr. Veitch wrote:“We became a lead crew and were on our 18th mission when we were shot down over Germany. We were flying B+ a PFF ship (#42-51907). We had an 11-man crew on board. We were on the bomb run when we lost our #3 engine. After dropping our bombs on the target, we lost our #1 engine and had to leave the formation as we were losing altitude rapidly.
“We called for fighter support, but none came. Our pilot ordered us to get rid of all the excess weight that we could. We headed back towards our lines. I was in the bomb bay throwing out all the excess stuff that I could, when I felt a large explosion and heat coming toward me from the rear of the ship. I grabbed my chest chute to dive out as the ship started down. I was able to get only one side hooked, but it carried me down okay.
“As I was floating down, I saw three German Me 109s following the ship down. I did not see it crash. I also saw only three other chutes going down on the other side of a river. I did not know who got out until that night when the German civilians got us together and took us to a town and put us in a small jail cell.
“Our tail gunner’s leg [Schmitz] was shot up from his foot to his knee. Mosevich, our waist gunner, was shot in the arm and I was hit below the eye and in the hand. The ‘G’ Navigator, Lt. Bail, had minor injuries.
“After about a week in that jail cell with only a loaf of bread and some water, two German soldiers came and escorted us to the railroad station in Stuggart. We got on a train and were taken to the town of Goppengen where there were four German hospitals. Sgt. Schmitz was operated on April 1 , [two weeks later!] 1945 and died shortly afterwards. He was buried in a cemetery near the hospital.
“We were liberated on 21 April 1945 by the 44th infantry. Sgt. Mosevich died a few years ago. As a side note, our navigator, Lt. James Haney, was in the 44th base hospital at that time and did not fly with us on this mission. Lt. Dudley Chase was his replacement. It was the first time for Lt. Bail to fly with our crew also.”
The FindAGrave profile also includes the following statement by a Willi Wagner, a civilian lumberjack from Neubaerenthal, which is described as being from “AGRC [American Graves Registration Command] case #4785, Evacuation #1F-1750”.
“On 19 March 1945 while working in the Hagenschiess forest, I observed an American bomber pursued and fired on by three German fighter planes. Thereupon the planes disappeared. Several minutes later, however, the bomber returned flying upside down at an altitude of approximately 40 meters only. As far as I could see a piece of the right wing with one motor had broken off. When the plane was just over the road leading from Wurmberg to Pforzheim-east I saw one crewmember falling out of the plane. On visiting the place where he crashed I discovered one deceased American whose parachute had failed to open. The plane itself continued its flight for approximately 2,000 meters and then crashed into the so-called ‘Hartheimer Rain.’ I heard a strong detonation and saw a dark smoke cloud at the place concerned.
“On the next day I found the charred remains of five or six bodies of the place of crash. The crewmember who had fallen out of the bomber was buried at the spot where he had crashed by Rudolf Sigricht, former postman and two other men from Neubaerenthal three or four days later as I have learned.
“Nothing is known to me with regard to the burial of the five or six bodies found among the plane wreckage.
“In June 1945 the deceased American who fell out of the plane was disinterred, examined and evacuated on a truck most probably to Pforzheim by a French team. I believe no identification was possible.”
Rob Fisk, a navigator who flew thirty missions with Howard Hinshaw’s crew, believes that Dudley Chase was killed by German civilians. Fisk’s son, Bradley Fisk, wrote: “Dudley Chase and my father were good friends at Shipdham. They had adjacent bunks in the same Quonset hut. Mrs. Chase would occasionally send cookies. To keep her son honest she would frost them with a D for Dudley or an R for Robert. Around the time my father rotated home, he received word that Dudley Chase had been shot down. Parachutes were seen, and my father held out hope for his friend. However, after Dad came home, he heard that when that section of Germany was occupied by the Allies, the locals pointed out the location of the graves of several Allied airmen. One of these turned out to be Dudley Chase… Dad had heard that Chase had landed safely near another crewmember but that they had separated for safety. My Mom and Dad were told at Cambridge cemetery [during a 1983 visit] that Chase was captured and killed by civilians. His body was exhumed after the war and Dad was told that he bore the marks of multiple pitchfork wounds.”
Based on this compilation of information, I believe that there was no war crime: A search of NARA’s database reveals no name index card in Records Group 153 (Records of the Office of the Judge Advocate General) for Dudley Chase. Similarly, none of the three survivors mentioned encountering Sergeant Chase after bailing out.
______________________________
Here’s the map in MACR 13574 showing the last reported position of QK * B+: Somewhere southwest of Stuttgart…
…which corresponds to somewhere between Sindelfingen and Boblingen.
Though the MACR isn’t specific on the point, a clue to the location of QK * B+’s loss lies in lumberjack Wagner’s mention that the bomber crashed into the ‘Hartheimer Rain.’ The closest linguistic match for this phrase is “Hardheimer Hain”, the location of which corresponds to an area between Sindelfingen and Boblingen, as illustrated in this view from MapCarta. (It’s not on Oogle Maps.)
Here’s how the location appears on an Apple Map…
This v e r y large scale map view (note the 750 foot scale in the upper left!) reveals that this location is in a presently forested area…
…while this air photo view of the same locale – at the same scale – suggests (best as I can tell) that this area became the site of a (long since dismantled) Nike missile installation (?) from the first (?!) Cold War.
Thus for March 19, 1945, Lt. Bail’s 25th and final mission.
Much more happened to him on June 5, 1944, one day before D-Day.
On that June Monday, as a Second Lieutenant, Lt. Bail parachuted from the badly damaged B-24H 41-28690 (Missouri Sue / “QK * B“) piloted by Captain Louis A. Mazure, during a mission against German coastal defenses near Wimereux, France. Eleven of the aircraft’s twelve crew members survived – Captain Mazure having been instantly killed by flak – among them Lt. Col Leon R. Vance, Jr., Deputy Group Commander of the 489th Bomb Group, who received the Medal of Honor (the only such award to go to an 8th Air Force B-24 crewmen) for his actions that day, and one of the fourteen 8th Air Force airmen to have received that award. Lt. Col. Vance has received six “Remembrances” at the National WW II Memorial.
This undated portrait of the Colonel is from the Air Force Historical Support Division. He’s now in the Air Corps, as evident by his collar devices.
While there’s no Missing Air Crew Report covering this incident – there didn’t need to be; none of the eleven survivors were missing for more than 48 hours, and Capt. Mazure’s fate was immediately known – there’s much information about the event due to its historical significance. Rather than recapitulate and repeat each and every detail through my own write-up, this information is presented below, in the way of: 1) An excerpt from Roger Freeman’s 1970 The Mighty Eighth, 2) A transcript of Lt. Col Vance’s 1945 Medal of Honor citation from Wikipedia, 3) A transcript of a 1944 article from The Gary [Indiana] Post-Tribune found at Captain Mazure’s FindAGrave biographical profile, and, 4) The full (and actual) story of the incident from Will Lundy’s 2004 44th Bomb Group Roll of Honor and Casualties. The latter two sources are particularly revealing.
There appear to be at first subtle, but then – on contemplation – subtle (?) differences, in terms of the specific chain of events and individual actions that occurred aboard Missouri Sue, that emerge when comparing the Colonel’s Award Citation, to the accounts of the mission as reported in the 1944 newspaper article about Captain Mazure, and, the story in 44th Bomb Group Roll of Honor and Casualties, the latter based on reports by Missouri Sue’s bombardier, navigator, radar navigator (Lt. Bail), radio operator, and left waist gunner.
For your consideration, I’ve highlighted these incongruities in dark brown text, like this.
The bomber’s crew comprised:
Command Pilot – Vance, Leon R., Jr., Lt. Col. 0-022050 – Severely wounded (See here and here) Pilot – Mazure, Louis A., Capt. – Killed in Action Co-Pilot – Carper, Earl L., 2 Lt. (Is thishim…?…(1918-1980)) – Bailed out over English Channel; Rescued Navigator – Kilgore, John R., 2 Lt. – Injured on landing Radar Navigator – Bail, Bernard W., 2 Lt. Bombardier – Segal, Milton, 2 Lt. – Concussion Bombardier – Glickman, Nathaniel, 2 Lt. (4/18/22-11/15/12) Flight Engineer – Hoppie, Earl L., T/Sgt. (7/25/22-12/13/90) Radio Operator – Skufca, Quentin F., T/Sgt. – Severely wounded (5/16-24-1/18/14) Gunner (Right Waist) – Evans, Davis J., Jr., S/Sgt. – Wounded Gunner (Left Waist) – Secrist, Harry E., S/Sgt. – Wounded (9/26/15-2/14/01) Gunner (Tail) – Sallis, Wiley A., S/Sgt. – Wounded
______________________________
Let’s start with The Mighty Eighth (page 144):
On the eve of D-Day when the heavies were pounding coastal defences between the Cherbourg peninsula and the Pas de Calais, the 489th Group was bracketed by flak again. The lead aircraft took a burst near the right side of the cockpit, killing the co-pilot and practically severing the right foot of the air commander, Lt. Col. Leon R. Vance, who was standing on the flight platform between the pilot’s seats. Despite this injury Vance ordered the bomber to be kept on its bomb run for fortifications near Wimereaux. The ailing Liberator, hit in three engines, managed to reach the English coast where Vance ordered the crew to bale out. Told there was an injured man in the rear, who could not jump, Vance remained alone in the wreckage of the cockpit and by some miraculous effort succeeded in the difficult task of ditching a B-24. An explosion as the aircraft settled beneath the waves, blew him clear severing his mutilated foot. Clinging to a piece of wreckage he managed to inflate his life jacket and began to search for the wounded man he believed aboard. Failing to find anyone he began swimming and was picked up 50 minutes later by a rescue craft. Vance survived the extraordinary episode. By the irony of fate, his air evacuation C-54 to the US in late July disappeared without trace on the Iceland-Newfoundland leg. Leon Vance’s unquestionable courage, skill and self-sacrifice brought him the only Medal of Honor to go to a Liberator crewmen engaged on operations from the UK.
______________________________
Next is Lt. Col. Vance’s Medal of Honor citation, dated January 4, 1945:
For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity above and beyond the call of duty on 5 June 1944, when he led a Heavy Bombardment Group, in an attack against defended enemy coastal positions in the vicinity of Wimereaux, France. Approaching the target, his aircraft was hit repeatedly by antiaircraft fire which seriously crippled the ship, killed the pilot, and wounded several members of the crew, including Lt. Col. Vance, whose right foot was practically severed. In spite of his injury, and with 3 engines lost to the flak, he led his formation over the target, bombing it successfully. After applying a tourniquet to his leg with the aid of the radar operator, Lt. Col. Vance, realizing that the ship was approaching a stall altitude with the 1 remaining engine failing, struggled to a semi-upright position beside the copilot and took over control of the ship. Cutting the power and feathering the last engine he put the aircraft in glide sufficiently steep to maintain his airspeed. Gradually losing altitude, he at last reached the English coast, whereupon he ordered all members of the crew to bail out as he knew they would all safely make land. But he received a message over the interphone system which led him to believe 1 of the crew members was unable to jump due to injuries; so he made the decision to ditch the ship in the channel, thereby giving this man a chance for life. To add further to the danger of ditching the ship in his crippled condition, there was a 500-pound bomb hung up in the bomb bay. Unable to climb into the seat vacated by the copilot, since his foot, hanging on to his leg by a few tendons, had become lodged behind the copilot’s seat, he nevertheless made a successful ditching while lying on the floor using only aileron and elevators for control and the side window of the cockpit for visual reference. On coming to rest in the water the aircraft commenced to sink rapidly with Lt. Col. Vance pinned in the cockpit by the upper turret which had crashed in during the landing. As it was settling beneath the waves an explosion occurred which threw Lt. Col. Vance clear of the wreckage. After clinging to a piece of floating wreckage until he could muster enough strength to inflate his life vest he began searching for the crewmember whom he believed to be aboard. Failing to find anyone he began swimming and was found approximately 50 minutes later by an Air-Sea Rescue craft. By his extraordinary flying skill and gallant leadership, despite his grave injury, Lt. Col. Vance led his formation to a successful bombing of the assigned target and returned the crew to a point where they could bail out with safety. His gallant and valorous decision to ditch the aircraft in order to give the crewmember he believed to be aboard a chance for life exemplifies the highest traditions of the U.S. Armed Forces.
______________________________
Here’s the story as it was reported in The Gary Post-Tribune sixteen days later, in a tribute to Captain Mazure:
Capt. Louis Mazure Dies at Controls of B-24 in Epic Story of Heroism Gary Flier Hit by Flak Over French Target, Co-Pilot “Pushes” Crippled Plane to Coast
Capt. Louis A. Mazure, Froebel high school and Gary college graduate and 28-year-old son of Mrs. Helen Mazure, 110 East 43rd, had been identified today as the pilot of a Liberator bomber who alone among the ship’s complement lost has life June 2 when the plane was riddled with flak and shorn of all its power as it prepared to drop its bombs over a pre-invasion target on the French coast.
The crippled ship was glided all the way back to the English coast by Mazure’s 26-year-old co-pilot, Lieut. Earl L. Carper of 7108 Ingleside, Chicago, under direction of a colonel command pilot whose left foot had been blown off by a shell burst over the target.
Out of deference to the Gary captain’s kin, who had not yet been notified of his death, his name was omitted from an official account of the almost incredible incident released at an 8th air force Liberator station in England a few days after the tragedy.
Family Given Clew
Publication of a fragment of the graphic story in a Chicago newspaper, which named Carper as the co-pilot, gave the Mazure family the clew which led to identification of the Gary captain as the skipper of the ill-fated craft who died at the controls just as his bombardier, Lieut. Milton Segal of Brooklyn, took over the ship for the final run over the target.
In one of his letters home, written in late May, Mazure, who normally piloted Flying Fortress bombers, disclosed he had recently been flying “different types” of four-engine craft, and listed Carper and Segal among the members of his newest crew.
The captain’s brother, Anthony, who lives at 28 Ruth street, Hammond, interviewed the co-pilot’s mother, Mrs. Howard E. Carper, in Chicago, and thereafter said he was convinced that Captain Louis, who had written May 23 that he expected to be back in Gary “soon,” was the pilot of the “Lib” that made history by its motorless escape flight across the English channel.
Held Private License
A former employee of the Gary works electrical maintenance department, Mazure was one of the first CPT graduates turned out by Gary college and the Calumet air service, and had held a private pilot’s license for about two years up to the time of his induction as any army aviation cadet in August 1941.
He won his wings March 18th, 1942, at Mather Field, Calif., and before embarking for overseas served as a gunnery instructor on multi-engine bombers at Las Vegas, NM. He was promoted to first lieutenant April 17th last year, and to a captaincy early this spring.
He received the air medal and presidential citation for his participation in the first U.S. bomber raid upon the Ploesti oil fields in Romania, and is believed to have logged more than 25 combat missions up to the time he last wrote his mother, May 23.
Ranked as First Chief
He was a squadron operations officer during the early part of his service in England, and was ranked as a flight commander at the time of his death.
A copy of the official version of Captain Mazure’s last flight and of the epic trans-channel escape of the Liberator and its crew after the pilot died from a flak wound in the temple, was obtained by the pilot’s brother from Mrs. Carper.
It disclosed that the crippled bomber finally was “ditched” in the channel just off the English coast channel by the wounded command pilot after everyone had bailed out over English soil at his orders.
Five of the crew were wounded, but Mazure was the only fatality. The other six men were shaken and bruised, but otherwise uninjured.
“As the Liberator started on its bomb run over coastal France,” said the unidentified author of the official account, “it was subjected to a continuous hail of heavy flak and suffered repeated hits.”
“‘I don’t know at what point each engine got it,’ related Lieutenant Carper, ‘because bursts were getting us right along.’
“Good Boy,” His Last Words
“The bombardier, Lieutenant Segal, was not wearing his flak helmet when the first burst hit the nose of the ship. He left his bombsight for a second to get it, then returned to his position. As he bent over his sight a second burst caught the nose, knocking Segal’s helmet from his head. This time he did not attempt to retrieve it. Over the interphone he informed the pilot (Mazure) that he was ready to take control for the final run. “I’ve got the ship,” he said. “Good boy” replied the pilot. Those were his last words, for a piece of flak struck him in the temple and killed him instantly.
“With the pilot dead, the Liberator continued over the target and the bombs were released.
“Meanwhile the entire ship was in an uproar. At approximately the same time the pilot was killed, the command pilot (still unidentified officially) received a hit which blew off his left foot above the ankle. Lieut B.W. Bail of Philadelphia ripped off his heavy gloves when he saw that the foot had been blown off. From the first aid kit he removed bandages, a tourniquet and sulpha.
“Quickly applying the tourniquet to the colonel’s knee, he sprinkled sulpha over the wound and bandaged the bleeding stump. Medical men afterwards credited this action with saving the wounded officer’s life.
4 Others Wounded
“Amid all this confusion, four other crew members had been wounded, the nose of the plane shattered and gasoline was flowing about in streams causing an extreme fire hazard.
“Carper had little chance to see what else was going on in the ship. He took over as the pilot slumped over the controls and when he heard ‘Bombs away!” swung the nose of the ship toward England. At this point the command pilot, who had managed to pull himself to his feet, braced himself between the pilots’ seats and leaned over and pulled the throttles, then pushed them back.
“‘No power,” he told Carper. “Cut all the switches.”
“This Carper did, and they began the long glide back to the British coast.
Dropped 5,000 Feet
“ ‘We dropped 5,000 feet in what seemed a second,’ related Carper. ‘A B-24 isn’t much of a glider, but we got back over England. The colonel (command pilot) was the bravest guy I ever saw. When we got over land, he told all the crew to bail out and then wanted me to try to ditch it.’
“Carper, who had watched the ship lose more and more altitude, wanted the command pilot to bail out but he refused and, instead, ordered Carper to ‘hit the silk’.
“The co-pilot jumped over land, but as they had turned the nose again after the rest of the crew had bailed out, he landed in the channel. The command pilot sat on the edge of the seat and pulled back on the controls, which was all he could do to ‘ditch’ the big ship. The Liberator landed on the water and he was thrown clear.
“In an example of physical stamina that defies explanation, the injured man swam three miles, spending 45 minutes in the icy water, before he was picked up by a rescue boat.
“Meanwhile the other crew members who had bailed out were having plenty of trouble. Carper became entangled in the shroud lines of his chute and had to struggle desperately to keep afloat. It was due only to the alertness of a Spitfire pilot who saw the Liberator as it turned back to sea and kept circling it until it crashed that a rescue ship sped out and picked him up in 25 minutes.
“Segal, the bombardier, had jumped over land, but when he pulled the ripcord nothing happened. Frantically he ripped open the canvas and pulled the silk out by hand, the chute finally blossoming above him.
“Another crew member landed in a minefield and the fact that he broke a leg in the fall and could not move probably saved his life, since a rescue party discovered that he lay within a yard of an antipersonnel mine that would have exploded had he touched it.
“The remainder of the crew made their jumps without incident, although Lieut. Nathaniel Glickman, New York City, wounded in the forehead and arm by flak fragments, complained bitterly because the wind carried him half a mile away from a WAAF camp that he had expected to land in.”
Captain Mazure’s body was not recovered, the crippled Liberator carrying it to the bottom of the channel as it sank after the crash landing.
Other injured crew members were Staff Sergts. Harry E. Secrist, Newark, O., David E. Evans, Jr., Massilon, O., and Wiley A. Sallis, Smithville, Miss.
______________________________
Finally, this complete account of Missouri Sue’s last mission is from Will Lundy’s 44th Bomb Group Roll of Honor and Casualties. This is comprised of statements – made in the 1980s or 1990s? – by Nathaniel Glickman (bombardier), John R. Kilgore (navigator), Bernard W. Bail (radar navigator), Quentin F. Skufca (radio operator), and Harry E. Secrist (left waist gunner).
Captain Mazure was piloting this aircraft, flying lead for the 489th BG and the 2nd Division. The primary target was reported to be coastal installations at Boulogne-sur-Mer but actually was a V1 Site, Wimereaux, North Boulogne.
Briefing was scheduled for 0400, even though Colonel Vance evidently had been held up and was late. So the briefing continued with the information that the bombing would be from 22,500 feet and the bomb load would be 10,500 pound GPs. Stepping away from the map, the officer addressed the bombardiers and stressed the point that should they for any reason fail to drop the bombs on the first run, they were to jettison the load over the English Channel and return to their bases. No second run was to be made over the target.
The meteorologist added that there would be broken clouds over the coast and should be clear sailing in and out. Intelligence reported that we could anticipate flak at the French coast and that no enemy fighters were expected so there would be no fighter escort.
Col. Vance arrived at 0830, apologized for his delay, and asked Capt. Mazure to review the information we had received at the briefing. When he had finished with the flight plan, Lt. Glickman informed him of the instructions regarding the bomb run and the specific order not to make a second run over the target.
Takeoff was at 0900; the mission was rather routine as Lt. Bail, radar-navigator, guided the formation via his radar “Mickey” toward the Pas de Calais sector of French Coast. As they approached the IP, control of the aircraft was turned over to Lt. Segal, bombardier, for the bomb run. Lt. Glickman called out the target and then watched for signs of flak and enemy fighters. There appeared to be flak off to the starboard side but it was of little consequence.
As the target was approached, Lt. Segal ordered the bomb bay doors to be opened, steadied down and then called out “Bombs Away.” Nothing happened! Every bomb was still hanging in the bays. The other aircraft in the formation awaiting our drop, failed to release theirs, too. Either there had been a malfunction in the bombsight, or the arming release switch on the bombardier’s panel had not been activated. So nothing happened due, apparently, to some faulty equipment, and no bombs were dropped by any of the aircraft in our formation.
Lt. Glickman added that “We turned off the target and at that time I notified our pilot, Mazure, that we were to head back over the Channel and jettison our bombs according to the briefing instructions. But Col. Vance countermanded my orders and directed that we make a second run, informing us that he was in command of this flight.”
Departing the immediate area, they flew south, circled and flew parallel to the coastline, at the same altitude and airspeed, but as the enemy gunners had zeroed in on them, the first flak burst exploded off their port wing. The pilot, Mazure, was killed when shrapnel sliced in under his helmet, and struck him in the head. Lt. Carper, the co-pilot, immediately took over the controls.When the next blast hit, it tore through the flight deck, hit Col. Vance (who was standing between the dead pilot and Lt. Carper) and nearly severed his right foot so that it was hanging by a shred.
Lt. Bail gave this report, “Our bomb bay doors were still open and I could see that a couple of bombs were still hung up. About this same time, the co-pilot Carper, cut off all four engines and switches, fearing that the plane would catch fire and blow up. He quickly turned our ship for England in a shallow glide. I then began calling the various members of the crew on interphone and was relieved to learn that no others were badly injured.
“As soon as possible, I managed to get Colonel Vance down to my seat, took off my belt and wound it around his thigh as a makeshift tourniquet to reduce the spurting blood.”
Lt. Glickman continued, “At this same instant my nose turret took a series of bursts that shattered the Plexiglas and cut open my forehead, as well as hitting the base of my spine. Our plane continued to be hit as we stayed on the bomb run. My primary concern was the possibility of our bomb bays being hit before the bombs were released.
“The starboard outer engine (#1) had been hit and the propeller was now snapped with the three blades drooping downwards. The top turret had most of the Plexiglass blown off, part of the right rudder and rudder elevator also had been hit. Concerned about the previous inability to release our bombs and now approaching the prior drop point again, I called out that I would drop the bombs using my turret release switch that would bypass the bombardier’s panel. The other bombers following us in our formation unloaded at the same time that I did.
“After I released our bombs, my turret took another hit which not only cut my left hand but blasted off another large portion of the turret Plexiglass. Looking at my pilotage map I advised Carper of our position and gave him the return heading to England. The celestial navigator had his equipment, his desk table and charts destroyed and with Bail aiding Vance, I had maps with which to aid the pilot.
“We continued to get hit; the radio room took flak which severely wounded Sgt. Skufca.” On the flight deck and behind the two pilots and Col. Vance were the two stations for the PFF navigators: Lts. Bail and Kilgore. John Kilgore added these comments, “As we left the south coast of England, the Germans began to jam my ‘G’ set, as usual, so I looked over at Bail to see if his “Mickey” was operating, but he shrugged his shoulders, ‘No.’ This had been the same conditions as from the other two previous missions. We turned at our I.P. (Initial Point) and headed north, and as we approached the target, Glickman said he could see our target through the broken clouds. I assumed that Segal was on the target with his sight.
“At ‘Bombs Away,’ nothing happened! Vance did order a second run on the target. Why we didn’t take some sort of evasive action or change in altitude is still a mystery to me. The second run was uneventful until the bombs were released. Even then, I don’t recall hearing the crump of ack-ack. But I do recall, and very vividly, the left side of the plane pressing inwardly against my right arm. The flak jackets jumped off the flight deck floor, my instrument panel going dead, the sight glasses of the fuel transfer system disintegrating, and raw high-octane gasoline streaming onto the flight deck. Hoppie, our engineer, literally ‘slithered’ out of the top turret, grabbing what I thought was a flight jacket and trying to stem the flow of gasoline with one hand, turning off the fuel transfer valves with the other.
“About this time Glickman came over the intercom announcing that he had been hit in the head and blood was streaming down over his face so that he could not see. One of the waist gunners, Secrist, came over the intercom that Skufca had been hit badly in the legs. As he was calling no one in particular, I answered by telling him of our situation on the flight deck, and asked him and Evans to see about Sallis, our tail gunner, and to assist Skufca out of the plane when the time came.”
“Apparently we had experienced two to three hits or misses – there was no direct hit, for if there were, none of us would be here. The plane seemed to be ‘sailing’ along on an even keel. At no time were there any sudden diving, stalling or yawing motions. I turned to Bail and told him to turn on the I.F.F. (Identification, Friend or Foe) switch was directly above his head, and had a red safety cover over it. As we had left the formation, and we were approaching the English Coast, we must be identified.
“I got up from my seat and looked into the cockpit area, found Mazure slumped in his harness and his instrument panel was covered in blood. Carper was in the co-pilot position, doing what all good co-pilots do, trying to keep the plane flying. I then jumped down into the ‘well’ of the flight deck along side of Hoppie – not that I could assist him in any way, but to be first in line. Hoppie didn’t need any help as he was a true professional and knew his job well.
“As we were standing there looking down at the water, the doors began to close. Hoppie grabbed the manual crank to open them again, and I reconnected my intercom, yelled for someone not to close them again. Apparently the message got through as the doors were never closed again.” Glickman added, “As we headed towards England, the plane took one last blast that cut the gas lines and forced Carper to cut all the switches to prevent any fire and stopped all three remaining engines as well as the power to my nose turret. With that action and starting the no-power glide towards England, I heard the bailout bell and someone calling us to bail out.”
S/Sgt. Harry Secrist, left waist gunner, added his recollections of what took place in the rear of the aircraft: “Skuf was hit while still in his radio room and fell out of it into the waist area ahead of us. He was badly injured and could not stand. Gasoline was spraying all over us in the waist and Skuf was lying on the waist floor in all of that gasoline. So I grabbed a spare parachute and put it under his head. As I stood up, another large burst of flak came through the side of the waist and passed between Skuf and me. It made a hole in the right side about ten inches wide, then made several holes on the left side where it went out.
“All of the tail assembly was intact, but the left rudder and vertical stabilizer had a lot of holes in them. Dave opened the hatch door in the floor and was sweeping some of the gasoline out with his foot.
“When we got near the coast of England, I threw the left waist gun out of the window and turned to get Wiley and Dave to help me lift Skuf to the waist window where he could bail out. But when I turned back from the window, Wiley had Skuf and was going into the bomb bay where they eventually bailed out. Dave went out the right window and I went out the left. I fell about a half mile, it seemed, to get rid of the gasoline on me. We were all soaked with it and wondered about the static electricity when the chutes opened. I think I was the only one of us who bailed out of the rear area to land in a minefield.
“After I opened my chute, I was about a thousand feet above a large cloud and when I came out of the cloud, there was a barrage balloon under it. I missed it by about 100 feet. Then, when I got below the balloon, I was drifting toward the cable, but missed it, too, by about 50 feet. As I got closer to the ground, I saw men running along a dirt road toward me, then came down about 60 to 70 feet from the edge of the cliff next to the Channel, and just a few feet from a fence that ran parallel to the cliff. My parachute fell across this fence and some barbed wire between the fence and the edge of this cliff. This barbed wire was about eight feet high.
After releasing my parachute harness and standing up, I started to walk down to the road. I had taken only a few steps when I understood what the British Sergeant was yelling to me. He was shouting for me to stand still as there were land mines everywhere. Help was on the way with maps to guide me through this field!
After spending a most interesting overnight at this remote cannon emplacement unit, Harry Secrist was driven to the huge British airbase at Manston where he was united with Sgts. Evans and Sallis. None of them were injured in their parachuting.
Lt. Bail continued his recollections. “As our plane neared the English coast, still gliding without power and rapidly descending, I directed the crew to start bailing out. When only Colonel Vance and I remained, I told Col. Vance that we must now jump as there was no way to land that damaged plane, especially with those bombs hung up in the bay, armed and ready to explode on impact. Not being a doctor then, I was not fully aware that the Colonel was in shock. When the Colonel shook his head and said he wouldn’t jump, I knew that there was no way I could drag him to the bomb bay, and assist him out. I knew, too, that the plane was losing altitude fast, and we didn’t have much time. I checked his tourniquet, shook his hand and made my plunge through the open bay.
“We bailed out between Ramsgate and Dover in Kent, most of the earlier ones out landing near the water, but on land. I, being the last to parachute, came down a bit further inland, but not too far away from them.Lt. Kilgore broke one leg in two places when he hit the ground.
______________________________
This map shows the English Channel / North Sea between Calais and Dover. Ramsgate is northeast of Dover, on the British coast.
______________________________
Lt. Glickman continued, “I was the last man to bail out inasmuch as I was trapped in the nose turret after it had been shattered by flak and the power to turn it in position for me to fall backward had been cut off. I was forced to break my way out although I was wounded and hit in several places. The Air Force Telex indicated that I was blinded by blood and was led to the bomb bay simply was not true.
“When the bailout bell rang, you can imagine the mass exodus! But now I crawled to the nose wheel area, snapped on my chest chute, and because my legs were useless, crawled through the tunnel under the flight deck to the bomb bay catwalk. The only men I saw on board at that time on the flight deck were Col. Vance and the dead pilot, Captain Mazure. In fact, I had to push the bombardier, Milton Segal off the catwalk before I rolled off the catwalk myself.
“I withheld opening of my chute for a time until I was sure no other aircraft was in the vicinity, and also I was very close to the Channel, with the breeze bringing me back over land. I was lucky in that I landed on the lawn of the Royal Marine Hospital at Deal, on the cliffs of Dover.”
Lt. Bail continued, “When I visited Col. Vance in the hospital, he told me that he had worked himself forward, crawled into the co-pilot’s seat, and turned the aircraft away from that populated area and back out to sea. Captain Mazure’s body was still in the pilot’s seat so he was forced to get into the co-pilot’s position. When the ship hit water, the bombs exploded and destroyed the aircraft, somehow not killing the Colonel. Finding himself still alive and conscious, the Colonel began swimming toward the shore, injured leg and all, until rescued by a ship in that vicinity. “Later at the hospital, the Colonel told me that he was eager to get back into combat, and would as soon as he recovered. Most unfortunately, the Colonel was killed when he was being returned to the States and his airplane was lost at sea. After the war, I was invited to attend the ceremonies when the Colonel’s widow was presented with his Medal of Honor.”
On the 19th of March, 1945, Lt. Bail, with another crew, was shot down over Germany and became a POW.
Lt. Nathaniel Glickman added, “A number of years ago I attended a reunion of our Second Division at the Air Force Academy. There, I met a co-pilot of one of the Wing crews on our flight who related the following story, which added a new bit of drama to the end of this flight. He had witnessed the damage to our plane and had counted the number of our crew that had bailed out. Our plane was still airborne and headed inland, but as you know, was losing altitude. Someone had contacted the authorities, which, in turn, were concerned that the plane might crash into a built up area and allegedly, gave orders to them to shoot it down. Just as they turned to follow those instructions, our plane began its very slow turn to the left back towards the Channel where both Segal and I bailed out. The order, of course, was canceled, when it was noted that the plane was still under control and attempting to turn. You can imagine my feelings when I heard this story!”
“I, too, visited Col. Vance at his hospital as soon as I was able to get around with a cane. He informed me that he had submitted my name for the Silver Star which I was informed a month later had been approved. However, the medal was not given to me until this past May (1986) at a formal dress parade at Vandenberg Air Force Base in California.
“I returned to combat within a month. I had a sergeant carry the bombsight to the ship and I limped along with a cane during my first few flights. Later, I was listed as Pilotage Navigator/Bombardier and 66th Squadron’s Lead Bombardier, and completed 19 more missions.”
Only Lts. Bail and Glickman and the two waist gunners flew additional operational missions! T/Sgt. Skufca was sent to Station 93 Hospital near Oxford for treatment of his shattered ankle and leg wounds. Skin grafts were necessary, so he remained there for several months. Eventually he was moved to Station #318 near Norwich while his severed Achilles tendon healed. On December 18, 1944, he was evacuated to the U.S. for further grafts and treatment. He never walked normally again.
This mission was the subject of a lengthy article called “Sometimes I Can’t Believe It” in True magazine. The author was Carl B. Wall. Wall describes MISSOURI SUE as “a plain, businesslike aircraft…no fancy lettering on its sides…no pictures of pretty girls.” Wall also tells a story about Vance’s recovery after losing his foot: “During one of the depressed stages, he was crutching along a London street when an eight-year-old boy yelled at him: ‘You’ll never miss it, Yank!’ The kid’s mother came up to me and apologized, says Vance. Then she explained that he had lost his own foot in the blitz and was getting along fine with an artificial one. That was the biggest boost I got. Felt a devil of a lot better after that.”
______________________________
Dr. Bail’s curriculum vitae includes two images of his fellow crew members. While unfortunately the pictures are absent of captions, it’s still possible to identify three men in the photos. Given that none of his fellow crewmen – with the exception of Lieutenant Glickman and Sergeants Evans and Secrist – continued to fly combat missions after the flight of June 5, 1944, and that Lt. Bail was new to the Podojil crew on March 19, 1945, it can be assumed that this was Lt. Bail’s original crew, and therefore the men who were aboard Missouri Sue on June 5, 1944.
In the picture below, Lt. Bail is third from left, Lt. Segal second from left, and I think (by comparing photos) that Lt. Mazure is at far left. Therefore, the officer on the right is probably Lt. Carper.
This image shows nine members of Lt. Bail’s crew; was the photo taken by the tenth men – whoever he was? Lt. Bail is second from right, and Lt. Segal probably third from right, smoking a cigarette.
______________________________
Of the two other Jewish crewmen aboard Missouri Sue, the name of one appeared in American Jews in World War II, and the other, not.
2 Lt. Nathaniel Glickman (0-751902), son of Mrs. Getrude Glickman, was born on April 18, 1922, and resided at 225 East Moshulu Parkway in Brooklyn. The recipient of the Distinguished Flying Cross, Air Medal with three Oak Leaf Clusters, and Purple Heart, his name appears on page 323 of the above volume. He passed away on November 15, 2012.
Like very many other American Jewish servicemen who were casualties, or, received military awards, the name of 2 Lt. Milton Segal (0-685854) was not recorded in American Jews in World War II. However, he was mentioned in passing in the Brooklyn Eagle on August 4, 1943, and, July 14 and November 15 of 1944. Born in Manhattan on October 7, 1915, he was the son of Solomon and Mollie Segal, and the brother of Fritzi, Joseph, Renee, and Rhonda, the family residing at 8729 14th Avenue in Brooklyn.
To my surprise, I discovered (via FultonHistory) that by early 1945 he’d become a convalescent patient at the Army Air Force Hospital in Florence, Kentucky (southwest of Cincinnati). This is revealed in articles published in The Boone County Recorder and Walton Advertiser of March, 1945, which describe an appearance and speech by Lt. Segal and Lt. Leonard A. Charpentier at a Red Cross rally in Florence on February 28, 1945.
This suggests that although he was not visibly – directly – injured by flak during the downing of Missouri Sue, the concussion from the flak burst that blew the helmet from his head resulted in a long-term injury, the effects of which weren’t immediately apparent after the mission of June 5. As recorded by Lt. Glickman in his 1986 communication, like most of the crew of June 5, Segal never flew another combat mission.
Here are the articles from the Recorder:
LARGE CROWRDS ATTEND RALLY OF RED CROSS HELP AT FLORENCE SCHOOL WEDNESDAY NIGHT, FEBRUARY 28 – FLYERS HEARD ON PROGRAM.
March 1, 1945
Office of Chairman, Boone County, ARC, Feb. 28 – A large crowd is expected to attend the Red Cross rally to be held Wednesday night, February 28, at 7:30 in the Florence school house. There is no admissions charge, and an interesting program has been planned.
The Boone County school band will furnish music, and a War movie will be shown.
Lt. Milton Segal and Lt. Leonard A. Charpentier, convalescents at the AAF Hospital, Ft. Thomas, will talk about their personal experiences with the Red Cross. Lt. Segal was a navigator on a B-24 Liberator Bomber, and served with the Eighth Air Force in England. Lt. Christopher was a P-47 Thunderbolt pilot and served with the Twelfth Air Force in Italy.
____________________
AAF Patients Heard at Meet
March 8, 1945
OF RED CROSS HELD AT FLORENCE WEDNESDAY NIGHT – QUOTA OF $6,800.00 IS SET FOR BOONE COUNTRY
“The Red Cross was in touch with me constantly,” said Lt. Leonard A. Charpentier, when he spoke at the Red Cross Rally Wednesday night, February 28 in the Florence school house.
Lt. Charpentier was a pilot of a P-47 Thunderbolt, stationed in Italy and was shot down in German territory. The first person he saw when he regained consciousness was a Red Cross worker ready to serve him in any way. He said, “The Red Cross hasn’t missed a job – they are everywhere helping the service men in many ways. Naturally, such service must have organization and organization needs funds. I hope your Drive is a complete success. It has been a pleasure to speak for the Red Cross, which has done so much for me.”
Lt. Milton Segal, Navigator on a B-24 Bomber, stationed in England, told how the Red Cross stood by him, when he was shot down over the English Channel. He mentioned the coffee and food the workers always had ready for the men, no matter at what hour they started on a mission. He emphasized the morale value of the Red Cross to Service men. He said, “It really makes you feel the folks at home are backing you up.”
He told about the rest camps and clubs maintained by the Red Cross, and said the only place a soldier could really sleep in London was at the Red Cross club. He told about the good American food and company of American people, and emphasized how important those things are to a soldier overseas.
He stated that he was glad to be able to speak for the Red Cross. It is a wonderful organization – it can go where no other group can go, and it forms the link with home so essential to a Service Man’s peace of mind. Both officers had been entertained at the home of Mr. and Mrs. J.B. Heiser.
Lt. Charpentier was 1 Lt. Leonard A. Charpentier, a Thunderbolt pilot in the 86th Fighter Squadron of the 79th Fighter Group, who was seriously wounded, and then captured, when he was shot down by flak on August 29, 1944, near Valence, France in aircraft 42-26376. The incident is covered in MACR 8384. Subsequent to WW II he had a long career as a physician.
Via the Army Air Forces Collection, here’s Lt. Segal as he appeared in Bombs Away, the graduation book for Bombardier Class 43-10 at Childress, Texas. This portrait also appeared (albeit as a miniscule half-tone image) in the Brooklyn Eagle on August 4, 1943.
A survey of documents and books pertaining to the Allied air forces of WW II reveals several instances where the crews of multi-place – typically, bomber – aircraft included three Jewish aviators (there’s one with four), and many, many more instances – I won’t even bother to tabulate the total number – with two.
Of these, the case of Missouri Sue is only one example.
About Lt. Segal’s postwar life I have no knowledge.
______________________________
Missing Air Crew Report 15544 (a post-war “filler” MACR), which covers the July 26, 1944, loss of C-54 42-107470, on which Lt. Col. Vance was a passenger, is a very bare-bones document, by nature due to the absence of information of what befell the plane, its crew, and passengers. The report lists the crew and passengers by surname, the aircraft have been commanded by Robert W. Funkhouser with the other civilians probably comprising his crew. Catherine Price was the aircraft’s flight nurse. Though the document lists the point of departure as Newfoundland and the destination as Meeks Field, this is an obvious error. As described at Aviation Safety, “The Douglas Skymaster departed the U.K., flying American service personnel back home. Intermediate stops were planned at Keflavík, Iceland and Stephenville, Canada. Last radio contact with the flight was three hours after takeoff from Keflavík, when over the North Atlantic Ocean off Greenland. The aircraft did not arrive at Stephenville and was declared missing. No trace of the plane was ever found.”
Though nothing about the loss of the C-54 will ever be known among men, I do find it of significance that there’s no record of a distress call from the aircraft (assuming one was broadcast) having been received by airfields or monitoring stations in Iceland, Greenland, Canada, or the United States. This would suggest a sudden and catastrophic event that permitted neither opportunity nor time to relay a “Mayday” call. A thorough discussion of the possible reasons for the plane’s loss can be found in the IDPF for passenger PFC Robert C. Bowman, the document suggesting that the loss of this aircraft was under investigation as recently as 2008.
______________________________
Via Ancestry.com, here’s Bernard Bail’s 1942 graduation portrait from West Chester State Teacher’s College, in Westchester, Pennsylvania, now known as Westchester University…
…while this image, via his curriculum vitae, is his 1952 graduation portrait from Temple University’s School of Medicine.
One last photo: Dr. Bail later in life, also from his website.
Three Books
Dublin, Louis I., and Kohs, Samuel C., American Jews in World War II – The Story of 550,000 Fighters for Freedom, The Dial Press, New York, N.Y., 1947
Freeman, Roger, The Mighty Eighth – Units, Men and Machines (A History of the US 8th Army Air Force), Doubleday and Company, Inc., Garden City, N.Y., 1970
Lundy, Will, 44th Bomb Group Roll of Honor and Casualties, 1987, 2004 (via Green Harbor Publications)
As part of my ongoing series of posts about Jewish soldiers who were the subjects of news coverage by The New York Times during the Second World War, “this” post relates stories of Jews who served in the air forces of the WW II Allies, specifically pertaining to events on March 19, 1945. As you’ll see, some of these men survived, and others did not.
For those who lost their lives on this date… Monday, March 19, 1945 / 5 Nisan 5705 – .ת.נ.צ.ב.ה. – …Tehé Nafshó Tzrurá Bitzrór Haḥayím May his soul be bound up in the bond of everlasting life.
United States Army Air Force
8th Air Force
452nd Bomb Group 730th Bomb Squadron
From the Roger Freeman collection at the American Air Museum in England is this example of the 730th Bomb Squadron insignia.
Here is a parallel: F/O Arthur Burstein (T-132844) and 2 Lt. Marvin Rosen (0-2068473) were both navigators in the 452nd Bomb Group’s 730th Bomb Squadron. Their aircraft – B-17G Flying Fortresses – were shot down by Me-262 jet fighters during a mission to Zwickau, Germany, crashing near that city, and both were taken captive. Both men were interned in POW camps – the specific locations of which are unknown – and like their fellow crewmen, both returned to the United States after the war’s end.
Burstein was one of the ten airmen aboard aircraft 43-38368 – “M”, otherwise known as “Daisy Mae”, piloted 2 Lt. Victor L. Ettredge, from which the entire crew survived. As reported in MACT 13562 (it’s a short one; only five pages long), Daisy Mae was struck by fire from the Me-262s just before bombs away. The aircraft left the formation with its right wing aflame and was not seen again. Between one and two crew members were seen parachuting from the plane. (Which would suggest that the entire crew survived by parachuting from the damaged aircraft.)
Rosen was aboard 43-37542, otherwise known as “Smokey Liz II”, piloted by 2 Lt. William C. Caldwell. As reported in MACR 13561, this B-17 was also hit by cannon fire from the jet fighters, and then peeled off to the right with its left wing and one engine aflame. Two parachutes emerged from the bomber, and it was again attacked by an Me-262. Lt. Caldwell then radioed that he had two engines out and was heading for Soviet occupied territory, with his co-pilot – 2 Lt. Walter A. Miller – wounded.
Postwar Casualty Questionnaires in the MACR – one filed by Lt. Rosen, and the other by a unknown crew member in the rear of the aircraft – reveal that ball turret gunner S/Sgt. John S. Unsworth, Jr., was instantly killed when a cannon shell struck his turret, and waist gunner Sgt. David L. Spillman, though uninjured, failed to deploy his parachute after bailing out, probably due to anoxia from leaving his aircraft at an altitude above 10,000 feet. Co-pilot Miller was in reality uninjured, but was still in the cockpit and about to bail out – following his flight engineer – when the bomber exploded.
Otherwise, the MACR lists the specific calendar dates when the seven survivors of “Smokey Liz II” returned to military control after liberation from POW camps. For Lt. Rosen, this occurred on April 29, forty days after the March 19 mission.
F/O Burstein was son of David and Ann B. Burstein, of 198 Cross Street in Malden, Massachusetts, and was born in that city on March 9, 1923. Later promoted to the rank of Second Lieutenant (0-2015029), his name is absent from American Jews in World War II.
Information about Lt. Rosen is far more substantial. He was the husband of Theresa J. Rosen of 713 1/2 North 8th Street in Philadelphia, and, the son of Abraham Rosen of 5144 North 9th St. and Regina (Weiss) Rosen of 1717 Nedro Ave., both of which are also Philadelphia addresses. His name appeared in the Jewish Exponent on May 4, 1945, the Philadelphia Inquirer on April 21, and the Philadelphia Record on April 28. Page 546 of American Jews in World War II notes that he received the Air Medal, indicating the completion of between five and nine combat missions. Born in Philadelphia on May 17, 1925, he passed away at the unfairly young age of forty on July 22, 1965. He’s buried in Arlington National Cemetery in Section 37, Grave 4747.
452nd Bomb Group 729th Bomb Squadron
This example of the 729th Bomb Squadron insignia, item FRE5188, is also from Roger Freeman collection at the American Air Museum in England.
Aboard the 729th Bomb Squadron’s B-17G 42-97901, otherwise known as “Helena”, three crewmen were wounded: flight engineer Jim Rohrer, radio operator John Owens, and co-pilot Stanley G. Elkins. The aircraft, piloted by Lt. Richard J. Koprowicz (later “Kopro“), force landed behind Soviet lines at Radomsko, Poland, and was salvaged on March 28. Lt. Koprowicz and his eight crew members remained with a Russian Commandant in what had previously been a Gestapo quarters. On March 29, the crew flew aboard a C-47 (or a Soviet Lisunov-2?) to Poltava, where they remained until May, eventually returning to Deopham Green on May 15. No MACR was filed pertaining to the loss of Helena.
According to the American Air Museum in Britain, the timing of this event resulted in Lt. Koprowicz and his waist gunner Mountford Griffith completing a total of two missions by the war’s end. For the rest of the crew, the March 19 mission was their first, last, and only mission.
2 Lt. Stanley Garfield Elkins (0-757166) was the husband of Isabel G. Elkins and father of Pamela, 2522 Kensington Ave., Philadelphia, and, the son of Minnie Elkins, who lived at 353 Fairfield Avenue in the adjacent suburb of Upper Darby. His name appeared in a Casualty List published on April 26, and can also be found on page 518 of American Jews in World War II. Born in Philadelphia on August 8, 1921, he died on January 20, 1993, and is buried at Indiantown Gap National Cemetery in Annville, Pa.
Along with Daisy Mae, Helena, and Smokey Lizz II, the 452nd lost two other B-17s on the Zwickau mission, albeit in such circumstances that no MACRs were filed for these incidents. 43-38231, “Try’n Get It”, piloted by Warren Knox (with nine crewmen), force-landed on a farm near Poznan. 43-38205, “Bouncing Babay”, piloted by a pilot surnamed “Daniel”, force-landed at Maastricht Airfield in Belgium. There were no fatalities or injuries among the crewmen of these two planes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
96th Bomb Group 339th Bomb Squadron
This example of the 339th Bomb Squadron insignia was found at RedBubble.
“I had made so many missions with _____ and the rest of the crew, that it was just like losing one of your own family.” (T/Sgt. Steele M. Roberts)
Like most of his fellow crew members on his 25th mission, T/Sgt. Herbert Jack Rotfeld (16135148) was the radio operator aboard B-17G 44-8704 during the 96th Bomb Group’s mission to Ruhland, Germany. The un-nicknamed Flying Fortress was leading either the 339th Bomb Squadron (in particular) or the 96th Bomb Group (in general) when, at 24,000 feet – its bomb-load not yet having been released due to weather conditions – it was struck by flak and its right wing began to burn. Pilot Captain Francis M. Jones and copilot 1 Lt. David L. Thomas pulled the B-17 away from the 96th to the right, and either they or bombardier 1 Lt. George M. Vandruff jettisoned their bombs.
The aircraft then went into a spin, and upon descending to 16,000 feet, broke apart.
Of the ten men aboard the plane (the aircraft being an H2X equipped B-17 it had a radome in place of the ball turret, and thus a radar operator in place of the ball turret gunner) only two succeeded in escaping: Navigator 1 Lt. Harold O. Brown and flight engineer T/Sgt. Steele M. Roberts, whose crew positions were both in the forward fuselage. As reported by Lt. Brown in his postwar Casualty Questionnaire, “Sgt. Roberts flying as top gunner was [the] first one aware of our peril and after being certain he could no longer assist pilot, dove to catwalk under pilot compartment, released door, and jumped,” to be followed by Brown himself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The location of the incident is listed in the MACR as 51-37 N, 13-33 E, but the aircraft actually fell to earth east of that location, crashing 500 meters northeast of the German village of Wormlage.
In this Oogle view, Worlmage lies just to the right, and down a little, from the center of the map, about halfway between Cottbus and Dresden. It’s indicated by the set of red dots just to the west of highway 13.
This is a map view of Wormlage at a vastly larger scale…
…while this is an air photo (or satellite?) view of the village at the same scale as above.
Sgt. Roberts returned to his home in Pittsburgh on June 23, 1945, and on that date or very shortly after, sent the following letter to the families of his eight fallen fellow crew members. The very immediacy of the document … “I just landed in Newport News on Monday … (and) finally reached home late Saturday” … says a great deal about Sgt. Roberts and this crew, while its contents shows a striking degree of tact and sensitivity. Truly, this man was an excellent writer. Sgt. Roberts sent a copy of his letter to the Army Air Force in response to their inquiry about his crew, the document then being incorporated into MACR 13571.
That’s how you’ve come to read it here, nearly eight decades later.
Here it is:
This letter was sent to each of the families.
Am writing you in regards to our ill-fated mission of March 19th. I just landed in Newport News on Monday, June 18th, and after being sent to a couple of camps, finally reached home late Saturday. Knowing your anxiety, I am writing immediately to give you the details as I know them.
Our mission on March 19th was over a district South West of Berlin, and our first target was to have been Ruhland, but the visibility was so poor that we were unable to drop any bombs, however, the enemy flak was quite heavy and finally was successful in hitting one of our wings and set it afire. The ship was maneuvered to take it out of formation so that it would not interfere with the other ships. When a wing is on fire it is hard to steer, and went into a spin. The navigator and myself were the only ones who were able to jump before it went into the spin. When a ship is in a spin, it is practically impossible to move. We left the ship at about 22000 feet and landed in enemy territory, and were held over night in a very small village, the name of which I do not know, about 25 miles S.W. of Ruhland at our rally point.
The next morning I was taken to the scene of the wreckage, apparently to identify the ship and the rest of the crew. I did not give definite information to the enemy, but satisfied myself in regards to the identity of my friends. In a small church yard the entire group of my buddies were laid out peacefully, as is asleep. They did not seem to be married in any way, although this seemed impossible after such a fall. I was in such a daze that I could hardly comprehend the magnitude of sorrow that could confront one so quickly. I had made so many missions with [space for crew member’s name] and the rest of the crew, that it was just like losing one of your own family. Immediately after identification, I was taken to another prisoner camp and the next day I was again moved, and finally taken to Barth, near the Baltic.
I am sorry I cannot give the detailed location of interment, as I was moved about so quickly from one place to another by the Germans. It is possible that Navigator Brown could be more specific in location of towns.
Please excuse any seemingly bluntness in my statements, but I know that you wanted the plain facts. You have my greatest sympathy, and if I can, in any way, be of more assistance to you, do not hesitate to make the request.
Sgt. Steele Roberts’ letter, as found in MACR 13571:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
T/Sgt. Rotfeld was the son of Morris and Gertrude Rotfeld, the family living at 3625 West Leland Ave. in Chicago, while his brother Isidor lived at 300 South Hamlin Street in the same city. He was born in Chicago on November 16, 1922. The recipient of the Air Medal with three Oak Leaf Clusters and Purple Heart, his name can be found on page 114 of American Jews in World War II.
He is buried at Plot A, Row 7, Grave 4 in the Ardennes American Cemetery in Neupre, Belgium, but his burial – specifically in his case on August 4, 1953 – and that of the rest of his fallen crew members) only occurred over nine years after the mission of March 19. This is largely attributable to Wormlage having been within the postwar Soviet occupation zone of Germany in the context of the first (?!) Cold War, which presented huge challenges for the American Graves Registration Command. Evidence of this can be seen in the following letter of 1948, from Sergeant Rotfeld’s Individual Deceased Personnel File:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(Germany M-52) 4214
BERLIN DETACHMENT (PROV)
FIRST FIELD COMMAND
AMERICAN GRAVES REGISTRATION COMMAND
EUROPEAN AREA
BERLIN, GERMANY
19 Oct 1948
NARRATIVE OF INVESTIGATION SENFTENBERG (N-52/A-34)
At 0930 hrs, 19 Oct 1948, the undersigned with Sgt. Altman, a Soviet escort officer from Kalrshorst and a Soviet Major with a German civilian interpreter from the Kommandantura [“military government headquarters; especially a Russian or interallied headquarters in a European city subsequent to World War II”] called on Burgomeister Hans Weiss in his office in Senftenberg. We had asked to be taken to the Standesamt [“German civil registration office, which is responsible for recording births, marriages, and deaths.”] to check the Kreis [“primary administrative subdivision higher than a Gemeinde (municipality)”]records but were refused this request.
The head of the Standesamt, Max Beschoff, was summoned. He brought no records with him but he was sure that, as far as his records were concerned, all Americans who had been buried in cemeteries in his Kreis were disinterred and taken away by American troops. He did, however, say that his records were incomplete because Allied deceased had been buried in Kreis cemeteries and cemetery officials had neglected to furnish the Standesamt with information of all burials, especially during the latter part of 1944 and the early part of 1945.
The Soviets were not cooperative. The Burgomeister’s words were carefully checked by them. He was told that he could help us in a quiet sort of way but that there could be no Bekamtmachungen [public notice] or any inquiries that would attract public attention. It appeared that the Burgeomeister wanted to help us but could do nothing under restriction for he said: that our stay in his Kreis was too short to accomplish our mission; and that people or officials summoned before us would not talk. He said that he would quietly canvass his entire Kreis and that he felt sure that in two weeks he would be able to give us the exact location of any isolated graves in his area.
Accordingly all the pertinent facts in cases in Calau, Drebkau and Gr. Raaschen were given to him.
A report should be received from him in about three weeks.
PAUL M. CLARK
Lt. Col. FA
Commanding
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Here’s Sgt. Rotfeld’s portrait, as it appears in a ceramic plaque affixed to the top of his commemorative matzeva, at Waldheim Cemetery in Chicago. The incorporation of ceramic photographs of deceased family members upon tombstones seems to have been a not infrequent practice from the 20s through the 40s. (Photo by Johanna.)
Here’s the matzeva itself, also as photographed by Johanna.
This is Sgt. Rotfeld’s actual matzeva at the Ardennes American Cemetery, as photographed by David L. Gray.
XXXXX
This is photograph UPL 32744 via the American Air Museum in Britain. Waist gunner S/Sgt. Martin J. Zajicek is at center rear, while T/Sgt. Steele M. Roberts is at right. If these four men were the four non-commissioned officers aboard 44-8704 on her final mission (as listed in the MACR), then the airman at far left may be S/Sgt. Dale E. Fagan, and the man in the center T/Sgt. Herbert J. Rotfeld, especially given his esemblance to the portrait in the photo attached to the matzeva in Chicago. (Just an idea, but I think an idea reliable.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
According to Ancestry.com, Steele M. Roberts was born in Pittsburgh on September 25, 1921, to J.L. and Olive M. Roberts, his address as listed on his draft card as having been 8139 Forbes Street in that city. He passed away on February 11, 2000, and apparently (at least, going by FindAGrave.com) has no place of burial, for he was cremated.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
384th Bomb Group 547th Bomb Squadron
Second Lieutenant Herbert Seymour Geller (Hayyim Shlema bar Yaakov), 2 Lt., 0-2062494, was the son of “Jack” Jacob (4/22/00-2/4/90) and Ruth (Weinberg) (5/8/01-2/17/89) Geller, and brother of Harvey Don Geller (1/12/28-8/5/89), who resided at 18051 Greenlawn St., Detroit, Michigan. He was born in Detroit on March 23, 1923, and – as a B-17 Flying Fortress co-pilot – was killed on an operational mission on March 19, 1945, only four days short of his twenty-second birthday.
These photos, by FindAGrave contributor Dijo, show the, “Clearing in the trees at Reigate Hill, Surrey, England, created by the crash on 19.3.1945. A permanent reminder of their sacrifice.”…
… and, added by the National Trust, a “Memorial Plaque at the site of the aircrash.”
As is immediately evident from the plaque, none of the nine men aboard Griffin’s bomber survived. The incident is extensively covered at the Wings Museum’s on-line memorial to the crew – “B-17G Tail Number 43-39035” – which features two images of the crew, one seemingly in training, and the other in the snowy winter of 1944-1945 at Grafton Underwood. Though the Museum’s story states that the crew are all buried in England, certainly Lieutenants Griffin and Geller are buried in the United States, with Geller resting alongside his parents and brother at Section L, Row 6, Lot 29, Grave 316D in Machpelah Cemetery, at Ferndale, Michigan.
Regarding the un-nicknamed “SO * F“, the 384th Bomb Group website, an astonishingly comprehensive repository of information about the Group, its men, and planes, has – remarkably – two photos of the B-17 in flight, in a brilliantly contrailed sky. Here they are…
…while the history of the plane is available here...
…and you can read the Accident Report for “SO * F’s” final mission (“45-3-19-521”) here.
In a “pattern” that has been seen before, and will be seen again, Lt. Geller’s name is absent from American Jews in World War II. This colorized image of the lieutenant is by FindAGrave contributor James McIsaac.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
15th Air Force
98th Bomb Group 343rd Bomb Squadron
Having thus far presented numerous (several? many? a lot?) of posts recounting the service of Jews in the WW II Army Air Force (and, Royal Air Force, and, Royal Canadian Air Force, and, other WW II Allied air forces), what is apparent is the not uncommon circumstance in which – at least for aircraft with several crew members, such as bombers – multiple crewmen on the same aircraft were Jews. In the overwhelming majority of such cases I think this was attributable to simple chance. But… An 8th Air Force veteran shot down on the Schweinfurt Regensburg mission of August 17, 1943, suggested to me that he surmised – but could never prove – that his 381st Bomb Group crew’s composition (co-pilot, navigator, and bombardier having been Jews) was not at all product of happenstance. Well. Be that as it may, the loss of B-24H Liberator 42-94998 (otherwise known as “white I“; truly otherwise known as “Hell’s Belles“) of the 98th Bomb Group’s 343rd Bomb Squadron on March 19, 1945, exemplifies this situation to an intriguing degree.
Missing during the 98th’s mission to Landshut, Germany (erroneously listed in MACR 13068 as in Austria), the plane’s pilot, 1 Lt. Donald B. Tennant, radioed at 1400 hours that, “…he had 2 engines feathered and was going to try and make Switzerland. He had called for fighter escort. His altitude was 14,000′ and the coordinates were 47 59 N, 13 39 E.”
The plane was not seen again. It never reached Switzerland, but its entire crew of eleven survived, as revealed in postwar Casualty Questionnaires in the Missing Air Crew Report. In an Instagram post by spartan_warrior.24 on May 6, 2023, pertaining to an Air Medal awarded to Flight Engineer Cpl. George C. Hennington, “All 11 crew members aboard the aircraft bailed out and survived, they were all taken POW on March 19th 1945 and were held at Stalag VIIA in Moosburg, Bavaria. The POW camp was liberated on April 29th 1945 by the 14th Armored Division.”
It seems that through a combination of timing – this was less than two months before the war in Europe ended – and remarkably good happenstance – the entire crew survived, with only one airman (Cpl. Robert V. Wolff) having been injured in the bailout – only the vaguest information is available about where the crew actually landed, and, the plane fell to earth. (There’s no Luftgaukommando Report.) All the men bailed out from the waist escape-hatch except for the pilots, who exited via the bomb-bay. The location of the bailout is given as the Austrian town of “Kirching”, “Kirchino”, and “Kirsching”, none of which can be found via either Oogle or Duck-Duck-Go, the closest match being “Kirchberg an der Pielach”, east-southeast of Linz. Viewing the totality of information, perhaps the best guess is that the plane and crew landed (in very different ways) in a mountain valley halfway between Salzburg and Wels, or, 30 km southeast of Linz.
This map shows the relative locations of Salzburg, Wels, and Linz. Whatever small fragments of 42-94998 that still survive are here. Somewhere.
The Jewish members of the crew included co-pilot 2 Lt. Isaac S. Canetti, flight engineer Cpl. William Jerry Yaffe, and gunners T/Sgt. Sam Berger and Cpl. Alex Rapp. Though technically they’d be “casualties” by virtue of their MIA / POW status, by virtue of the fact that they were neither wounded nor injured, their names never appeared in the 1947 compilation American Jews in World War II … though strangely, the National Jewish Welfare Board was aware of Rapp’s military service.
Genealogical and other information about these men follows:
Canetti, Isaac S., 2 Lt., 0-2001884, Co-Pilot Mr. and Mrs. Samuel and Esther Canetti (parents), 1309 Avenue U, Brooklyn, N.Y. Mr. Jack S. Canetti (brother), 1317 East 15th St., Brooklyn, N.Y. Born New York, N.Y., 8/29/23 – Died 5/13/04 Casualty List 4/19/45 American Jews in World War II – Not Listed
Yaffe, William Jerry, Cpl., 33796476, Flight Engineer Mr. and Mrs. David (11/19/93-3/74) and Jeanette (1899-1964) Yaffe (parents), 6106 Washington Ave., Philadelphia, Pa. Born Philadelphia, Pa., 11/15/24 – Died Florida, 5/29/15 Jewish Exponent 4/20/45, 6/8/45 Philadelphia Inquirer 5/26/45 Philadelphia Record 4/11/45, 5/26/45 American Jews in World War II – Not Listed
Berger, Sam, T/Sgt., 32973643, Gunner Mr. and Mrs. Isaac (4/18/95-12/20/73) and Rose (Frankel) (6/23/95-7/24/75) Berger (parents), 317 East 178th St., New York, N.Y. Born Bronx, N.Y., 1/26/25 – Died Turnbull, Ct., 4/15/04 American Jews in World War II – Not Listed
Rapp, Alex, Cpl., 32975594, Gunner Mr. and Mrs. Leon and Gussie (Duchan) Rapp (parents), 1732 Nostrand Ave., Brooklyn, N.Y. Born Brooklyn, N.Y., 5/14/20 – Died 10/1/83 Casualty List 4/19/45 American Jews in World War II – Not Listed
According to the Missing Air Crew Report, the March 19 mission was actually the eleven mens’ first and only mission as a crew, thus, no photograph of the men as a group would have existed. But, there are pictures of one crew member: Lt. Canetti. These come by way of Robin Canetti, his daughter. (Thank you, Robin!) This is her father in a pose quite formal…
… while this image shows Lt. Canetti and a mostly unknown crew – not his original crew; perhaps in Italy with the 98th Bomb Group? – time and location unknown.
Lt. Canetti stands second from right in rear row, with Jess Bowling (in the middle) to his right. The only other man to whom a name can be attached is second from left in the front row: Wallace Pomerantz. Given the mens’ attire and positions within the photo, and Lt. Canetti’s presence in the rear row, the four (from the right) in the rear are presumably officers, with the the crew’s flight engineer to their right, while the five men in the front row are probably non-commissioned officers: gunners and radio operator.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
20th Air Force
505th Bomb Group 484th Bomb Squadron
According to Combat Squadrons of the Air Force, there exists no insignia for the 484th Bomb Squadron. Of this I am doubtful:: At RW Military Books, this history of the 505th Bomb Group displays what are apparently emblems for the group and its three component squadrons. It seems that these insignia were never incorporated into Army Air Force records.
Sergeant Julius Manson (12100796), the son of Morris and Gertrude Manson, was born in New Jersey in 1926. He resided with his parents, and sisters Helen and Phyllis, at 57 Elm Street in Morristown.
A tail gunner in the 505th Bomb Group’s 484th Bomb Squadron, he was a crew member aboard B-29 42-24797, “K triangle 36“, much better known as “JACK POT”. The aircraft, piloted by 1 Lt. (later Colonel) Warren C. Shipp, was ditched 80 miles west of Iwo Jima on March 19, 1945, while returning from a mission to Nagoya, due to flak damage to three of its four engines. Due to a remarkable combination of skill, training, and luck, no members of the crew were seriously injured, all returning to combat duty. MACR 13694, which covers this incident, was presumably filed due to the crew technically being “missing” during the 48-hour time period between March 19, and their return to the 505th on March 21. Sgt. Manson’s very temporary “Missing in Action” status probably accounts tor the appearance of his name in a Casualty List published on April 24, 1945.
While MACR 13694 is straightforward and very brief in its description of the experience of Lt. Shipp’s crew, the historical records of the 505th Bomb Group, which are available on AFHRA (Air Force Historical Research Agency) Microfilm Roll / PDF B0675, include numerous very (very) detailed reports – some with sketches – covering the experiences of 505th crews who had survived ditching in the Pacific: some with outcomes akin to that of the Shipp crew, and others with outcomes tragic and far, far worse.
Here’s the crew:
Pilot: Warren C. Shipp, 1 Lt. Co-Pilot: Don La Mallette, 2 Lt. Navigator: Norman E. Shaw, 2 Lt. Bombardier: William T. Smith, 2 Lt. Radio Operator: William W. Tufts, Sgt. Flight Engineer: Melvin G. Smith, 2 Lt. Radar Operator: Finis Saunders, S/Sgt. Gunner (Central Fire Control): Ernest B. Fairweather, Pvt. Gunner (Right Blister): none Gunner (Left Blister): Louis Molnar, Sgt. Gunner (Tail): Julius Manson, Sgt.
The aircraft was ditched at 27-02N, 140-32 E, as shown in this Oogle map:
To give you an idea of the nature of such reports, here are excerpts from the ditching report for the Shipp crew and JACK POT:
Prior to Ditching:
While over the target the airplane was picked up by approximately 35 searchlights and although violent evasive action was taken, 50 seconds before bombs away a direct hit was suffered on number 2 engine which caused it to immediately burst into flames.
The engine was successfully feathered and no sooner were the flames put out than number 3 engine was hit and it proceeded to run away at an estimated 6000 to 7000 RPM. Power was reduced to 2300 RPM and 22 inches to keep number 3 engine running. At this time the turn was made off the target in the prescribed manner with the airplane diving to 5000 ft. to maintain an air speed of 160 MPH.
Upon leaving landfall celestial navigation was used to determine position before Loran was out, radar was of little value in that area, and DR was useless because of wavering instruments. With an IAS of 165 MPH the APC climbed to 7500 ft. to clearer weather and then set his course for Iwo Jima.
At approximately 0600 when about 200 miles north of the island number 1 engine lost 60 gallons of oil in ten minutes and started wind-milling at 2175 RPM.
With flight instruments lost, number 1 engine windmilling, number 2 engine feathered, number 3 engine giving limited power, and number 4 engine pulling 2500 RPM and 40 inches it appeared as though ditching were inevitable and after an unsuccessful attempt to start number 2 engine, distress signal procedures were instituted and the crew ordered to prepare for ditching.
Ditching – Airplane:
A let down was made through the undercast to 3000 feet at 500 to 600 feet per minute. The airplane was leveled out just above the water. The APC cut the power, pulled the nose up and stalled in at 95 MPH. (Estimated weight of airplane was 91,000 pounds and with full flaps stall speed was 95 MPH.)
The nose did not go under the water and only one impact was felt which was not too severe. No side deceleration was felt.
Although the airplane sank in 12 minutes water entered comparatively slow. The first man out reported 4” of water on the floor in the forward compartment and, the last man out reported water up to his shoulder.
The airplane broke in the radar room and as wave action took effect the tail broke off and sank. Other damaged to the airplane reported by the crew were the bomb-bay doors torn off at impact, skin was torn from the flaps and the propellers were curled.
The report includes two small diagrams depicting the effects of the ditching upon 42-24797. This one shows how the tail snapped off at the radar room.
Survival:
With the two seven man rafts (E-2) and the one individual raft (C-2) tied together the APC gave orders not to drink water or eat food for 48 hours. It was estimated that enough food and water was on board to last for 10 to 12 days. The navigator checked the drift course, and assisted in bailing water from the raft. He cleaned the emergency equipment, repacked it, and arranged a tarpaulin to protect the men from the constant spray.
The majority of the survivors were sick for the first few hours in the raft because they had swallowed so much sea water. They were constantly soaked to the skin by sea spray and although the water was warm the men were chilled by the cold winds. Ingenuity played its part when the crew had modified the C-1 vest to include a cellophane individual gas cover, M-1 which they used effectively to protect themselves from the weather.
Nine men wore the C-1 survival vest and experienced no difficulty in getting out of the airplane with them.
The Radar Corner Reflector type MX138A was installed in the raft and although the pip was observed on the Dumbo’s scope from a distance of a mile and half, the initial contact with the raft was made visually by use of flares.
Rescue:
When the survivors had been in the rafts from about 2 hours, seven or eight B-29s passed overhead but they were too high to see the rafts. _____ on B-29s flying north passed over at approximately 1000 feet and all attempts to contact them with signal mirrors failed. A constant vigil was maintained all that night. The co-pilot and bombardier were on watch while the other men were under the tarpaulin when the Navy PBY was first sighted to the East of the rafts at about 1600 on the second day. The A.P.C. fired two flares which attracted the PBY from a distance of 5 miles. Because there was no sun the signal mirrors were not used and the smoke bombs would not operate. At 1645 a B-29 arrived on the scene and dropped survival equipment as did the Dumbo. However, because the rafts were drifting faster than the sustenance kits the kits never were retrieved. As the first PBY and B-29 left, a relief PBY arrived on station and remained until the Destroyer Gatling arrived at 2100. Contact was maintained by boxing the rafts with smoke bombs and by the use of sea marker. As darkness approached flares were dropped constantly and a floating light which was a part of the life raft equipment proved invaluable in maintaining contact. It was reported by the destroyer that the light was seen from a distance of eight miles. The survivors were in the raft from 0635 on the 18th of March until 2100 on the 19th of March or approximately 38 hours, when they were rescued by the Destroyer Gatling. The crew was high in their praise of Naval efficiency in the manner of conducting the rescue.
On a level involving bureaucracy rather than military aviation (!), what’s particularly striking about these reports are the huge distribution lists appended to every document.
Here’s the distribution list in the report for 42-24797. (That’s lots of copies. Bureaucracy gone wild.)
DISTRIBUTION:
1 – Chief of Staff. 1 – Deputy Chief of Staff, Operations and Training. 1 – Deputy chief of Staff, Supply and Maintenance. 20 – A-2 (for separate distribution; 2 copies to Wing Historical Officer). 10 – Medical Section (for separate distribution). 15 – Wing Personal Equipment Officer. 1 – Statistical section. 1 – Communications Officer. 1 – Each Commanding Officer, each Bomb Group. 6 – Each Group Personal Equipment Officer. 1 – A-4 Maintenance. 1 – Reports Section.
INFORMATION COPIES TO –
30 – Commanding General, XXI B.C. 1 – Chief of Naval Operations, OP-16-V, Navy Dept., Washington, D.C. 1 – Commander Forward Areas, Central Pacific (Airmail). 1 – Commander Air Force, Pacific Fleet (Airmail). 1 – Commander in Chief, Pacific Fleet (Airmail). 3 – Commanding Officer, Air Sea Rescue Unit, NAB Saipan. 3 – Commanding Officer, Marianas Surface patrol and Escort Groups, Saipan. 40 – each, 3rd Photo, 73, 314, 315, 316 Wings. 1 – Air Sea Rescue (CC&R), Washington, D.C. 1 – Air Sea Rescue & Personal Equipment Section, Wright Field, Dayton, Ohio. 1 – Capt. L.B. Carroll, Hqs., AAFPOA, APO 234 (Electronics Section) 20 – Commanding General, XX Air Force, Wash., D.C. 10 – Hqs., 2AF (21 Colorado Sprgs., Colo.). 2 – Air Surgeon Office, Wash., D.C. 5 – AAFTAC, Orlando. Fla. 1 – Commander 3rd Fleet, Fleet Post Office. 1 – Chief of Staff, XX Air Force, Wash., D.C. 1 – Commanding General, VII Fighter Command, APO 86, c/o PM, San Francisco, Calif. 6 – Deputy Commander, XX AF, AAFPOA, APO 953, c/o PM, San Fran., Calif.
This portrait of Sgt. Manson, as he appeared in the 1943 edition of the Morristown High School Yearbook, is via Sam Pennartz (at FindAGrave)
This photo of “JACK POT” (along with other images of this aircraft, as well as other B-29s, like Slick’s Chicks) can be viewed at Jesse Bowers’ JustACarGuy’s blog. The caption: “Painter 1/C Edmund D. Wright, USNR, completed cartoon decoration of the plane, with nickname “Jackpot” and turns it over to Army air corps corporals Eugene H. Rees (center) and Marion V. Lewis (right), at Tinian, 1944-45. Wright was a member of the Navy 107th Seabee battalion which sponsored the plane and adopted its crew.” According to the Naval History and Heritage Command, the picture is NARA Catalog Number 80-G-K-2980. Another image of the bomber’s nose art is available at WorthPoint. The number of photographs of this B-29 suggest that (unsurprisingly) it was a rather popular aircraft, for an obvious reason.
Sergeant Manson survived the war, but in a tragic irony, he never returned.
He was one of the seven crewmen aboard B-29 44-70122, which – piloted by 2 Lt. Bernard J. Benson, Jr. – crashed in the Pacific Ocean on October 10, 1945, one of at least thirteen B-29s lost after hostilities with Japan ended. The loss of this 484th Bomb Squadron aircraft is covered in MACR 14951, which – like more than a few MACRs digitized by Fold3 – is (* ahem *) unavailable via NARA.
The recipient of the Distinguished Flying Cross, Air Medal with two Oak Leaf Clusters and Purple Heart, Sgt. Manson is commemorated upon the Tablets of the Missing at the Honolulu Memorial, Honolulu, Hawaii. His name can be found on page 245 of American Jews in World War II.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Air Transport Command India China Division (formerly India China Wing)
This contemporary reproduction of the ICWATC insignia is from FiveStarLeather.
There’s a pattern here, a pattern evident in many – most? – all? – of my prior posts about Second World War military casualties, particularly those involving aviation: Akin to the stories of 2 Lt. Herbert S. Geller and Sgt. Julius Mason, and as will be seen “below” for F/Sgt. Saul David Lazarus of the Royal Air Force, are other men who were were involved in events that did not at all – directly – entail combat with the enemy. Such is the case of six Air Transport Command aircraft which were lost in the China-Burma-India Theater on March 19, 1945.
Of the six planes, Missing Air Crew Reports (from which the three following accounts are taken) were filed for two C-46As (43-47114 & 41-24716) and one B-24D (42-41253)), while Accident Reports were probably (?) filed for the those C-46s, as well as two C-47s and a C-109, the losses of the latter three planes not having been covered in MACRs.
Of the total of ten airmen aboard the C-46s and B-24, all six C-46 crewmen survived, by parachuting. The entire B-24 crew was lost.
In compiling these three accounts, of particular importance have been the historical records of the 1352nd Army Air Force Base Unit – India-China Detachment, which can be found in AFHRA microfilm roll / PDF A0159. The records of this unit, whose central mission was search and rescue, are astonishingly detailed by both wartime and even contemporary (as in 2024) standards, and might be deemed a kind of aviation archeology in “real-time”, for they include very detailed information about the search for and especially the identification of missing aircraft and airmen. This includes aircraft serial numbers, the specific location (as much as could have been determined given the technology of 1944 and 1945) of losses, descriptions of the condition of aircraft wreckage, and most importantly, the names, serial numbers, and fates of missing airmen. A few entries even cover the identification, description, and examination of crashed Japanese twin-engine bombers. Central to the 1352nd’s activities was Lieutenant William F. Diebold, whose wartime memoirs were transformed into the book Hell Is So Green: Search and Rescue Over The Hump In World War II, edited by Richard Matthews and published in 2012. A man of great physical courage with a love for adventure, Diebold – the veteran; the man; the person – was a very descriptive, perceptive, and sensitive writer. Alas, perhaps deeply affected by his war experiences, he had a very turbulent if not deeply unhappy postwar life, and, born in 1917, passed away in his late 40s, in 1965. His portrait, below, is from the dust jacket of Hell is So Green.
As for the lost C-46s and B-24, they were operated by the 1330th and 1333rd Army Air Force Base Units.
1330th Army Air Force Base Unit (7th Bomb Group)
On a cargo mission from Jorhat, India, to Chengking (Chungking) China, B-24D 42-41253 was last contacted by radio at 2200Z. At the time, weather conditions were reported as “600 ft. – Overcast 300 ft., scattered clouds, 3 miles visibility with rain shower. Light turbulence.”
Missing Air Crew Report 13130 and the records of the 1352nd AAFBU contain parallel information about the aircraft’s loss, the latter source being particularly detailed.
The MACR reports, “Aircraft #42-41253, B-24 type, was located through native reports of a crash approximately five miles west of the village of Shakchi, India, in the Naga hills. Distance from Jorhat, India is sixty miles on a heading of 125 degrees.”
The 1352nd’s records state that, “The aircraft struck the side of a ridge at about 4,500’ feet altitude while flying a heading of between 220o and 250o degrees.” … Aircraft having trouble, and was returning to Jorhat, in contact with Jorhat tower, last contact at 2200 at 10,500 ft. Aircraft crashed into side of a ridge at about 4,500 feet, 20 miles ENE of Mokokchung, and 5 miles W of Shakchi, India.
At the time MACR was compiled, the aircraft was believed to have been lost as a result of “Mechanical Trouble and Weather.” Given the fate of the crew and condition of the wreckage, the specific cause was – and will forever be – unknown: None of the aircraft’s four crew members survived.
The crew were: Pilot: Armoska, Raymond M., Capt. 0-724666, Sterling, Il. Co-Pilot: Gilliam, Bryan R., F/O, T-223731, Columbia, Tn. Radio Operator: Schipior, Seymour, PFC, 32886005, Brooklyn, N.Y. Flight Engineer: Paruck, Frank G., Sgt., 16142902, Chicago, Il.
Private Schipior (Shlema Zalman bar Yehiel Meer ha Levi) is buried at Beth David Cemetery, in Elmont, N.Y.Born in Brooklyn on July 23, 1924, he was the son of Herman and Pearl, and brother of Nately and Scharlet. The family resided at 375 Pulaski Ave (possibly 794 Levis Ave.) Brooklyn. His name can be found on page 430 of American Jews in World War II. 7th Bombardment Group / Wing 1918-1995, pp. 247-248 The Aluminum Trail, p. 382 (Data from AFHRA Microfilm Roll A0159, Frame 620)
The red circle on the map below shows the approximate crash location of 42-41253: 5 miles west of the village or town of Shakchi, which itself is situated on this map at the “NH 702B” road symbol. Unsurprisingly, this region remains sparsely inhabited today, 79 years later.
Here’s an air photo view of the above area, with the crash location again designated by a red circle. A very rugged landscape.
With this photo, we’ve zoomed in close enough for Shakchi (at the right center of the map, as “Sakshi”) to be vaguely visible. The ridge into which 42-41253 crashed can clearly be seen.
A even closer view. The scale bar at upper left showing a distance of 0.25 miles. The terrain clearly suggests the difficulty of the search, rescue, and recovery of missing air crews.
1333rd Army Air Force Base Unit
PFC Morris Louis “Merny” Paster (12020499) was a radio operator aboard C-46A 41-24746, which went missing on a cargo flight between Chabua, India, and Kunming, China. Neither document gives a specific explanation for the aircraft’s loss, the MACR simply attributing the reason to “Weather of Mechanical Failure”.
Missing Air Crew Report 13171 is entirely absent of information about what befell the plane and crew, but does reveal that PFC Paster, his pilot (1 Lt. John J. Magurany, 0-802594) and co-pilot F/O William N. Hanahan (T-130416) all returned to military control. The two uninjured officers reached Chabua on March 22, while PFC Paster, hospitalized at Shingbwyiang with minor injuries, returned to duty at the 1333rd by March 24.
The 1352nd’s records reveal more about the loss of the aircraft and the return of its crew: Specifically listed as being on a flight from Tingkawk Sakan to Dergaon, the men parachuted 18 miles from Nawsing village, 260 degrees from Shingbwiyang. The crew “…made it a point to jump in rapid succession in order to be near each other on the ground.” Private Paster, “Walked into Shingbwiyang after spending one night with natives, and [was] hospitalized at there with minor injuries, returning on 3/24/45. Pilot and co-pilot were located by a ground party from 1352nd AAFBU and returned to unit on March 22.”
Like so very many American Jewish soldiers mentioned in my previous posts, PFC Paster’s name never appeared in American Jews in World War II, presumably because he simply neither received any military awards, nor was he specifically injured (or worse) in the first place. Born in Bukovina, Bulgaria on November 2, 1917, the twenty-seven year old airman resided with his mother Bertha (Tenenbaum) Paster at 744 Dumont Ave. in Brooklyn. Twenty-three years ago, he passed into history in the way of all men: He died on November 28, 2001, and is buried at Mount Zion Cemetery in Queens, New York.
(Data from AFHRA Microfilm Roll A0159, Frames 618-619)
This map shows 41-24746’s last reported position: 2 miles south of Shingbwyiang, Burma…
…while this air photo (at a slightly larger scale) reveals the rugged nature of the surrounding terrain.
The crew of the other 1333rd AAFBU C-46 lost on March 19 – 43-47114 – had an experience similar to that of 41-24746. Though MACR offers no real information about the aircraft’s loss other than the general explanation “Mechanical Failure”, the 1352nd’s records reveal what actually happened. On a flight from Chabua to Kunming, a Mayday call was sent, “…stating that one engine was out and they were losing altitude. Crew parachuted 15 miles west of Yunglung, China, led into Tengchung on 27th, and evacuated on 28th March.” The aircraft’s crash location is listed as 25-14 N, 98-51 E, which is in the flood plain of the Salween (Nu Jiang) River.
The aircraft was piloted by 1 Lt. Stanley W. Zancho, 0-508455, who, “…was a retired captain from Pan American World Airways. He served in the Army Air Corps from 1942 to 1946. and was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross, the Air Medal and the Soldier’s Medal.” The co-pilot was 2 Lt. D.T. Spinkle (0-781440) and the radio operator Sgt. M.B. Rothchild (15097139). Probably because the crew was recovered after just over one week and their “Missing” status therefore resolved, the MACR is very perfunctory – at best – and doesn’t list the full names of the crewmen.
Sgt. Rothchild’s surname is uncertain. He’s listed in the MACR as “M. Rothchild Jr.”, but this name is crossed out and followed by the name “Rothschild”, while the records of the 1352nd AAFBU list his name as “M.B. Rothchild”. If the latter is correct, this man was very likely “Marvin B. Rothchild” (2/7/10-7/19/17) who’s buried at King David Memorial Park, in Bucks County, Pa. Like Morris Paster, his name is absent from American Jews in World War II.
(Data from AFHRA Microfilm Roll A0159, Frame 620)
The red circle on this map – the location of which was generated by inputting the coordinates of 43-47114’s loss (25-14 N, 98-51 E) into Oogle Maps’ latitude-longitude locator – reveals the location of the transport’s crash to have been northwest of Baoshan, on the bank of the Salween (Nu Jiang) River.
An air photo view of the same area. This terrain is not flat!
Let’s have a closer map view…
…and, a closer air photo view. Again, an abundance of mountains, hills, and ridges.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
While the aviators mentioned in this and related “March 19, 1945”-type blog posts served in bombers or transport aircraft, two other men, both fighter pilots, need be mentioned for the events of this long-forgotten Monday. They are Lieutenant Efim Aronovich Rukhovets of the Soviet Union’s Military Air Forces (VVS), and Flight Sergeant Saul David Lazarus of the Royal Air Force. Neither survived: Rukhovets was shot down, and Lazarus was lost during a practice mission.
U.S.S.R. (C.C.C.Р.) Military Air Forces – VVS (Военно-воздушные cилы России – ВВС)
Born in Minsk on February 22, 1921, Lieutenant (Лейтенант) Efim Aronovich Rukhovets (Ефим Аронович Руховец) was the husband of Vera Aleksandrovna, who resided in House (Building) 39 on Nakhichevanskaya Street, in Rostov-on-Don.
A member of the 848th Fighter Aviation Regiment of the 6th Air Army (848 Истребительного Авиационного Полка, 6-я Воздушная Армия) Rukhovets was shot down by anti-aircraft fire while while flying an La-5 fighter (…see also…) on his 46th mission, while attacking anti-aircraft positions during an escort of Il-2 Shturmoviks to a place called “Okhodosh”, which is probably near Lake Balaton.He’s buried only a few kilometers from where he (literally) fell to earth: In the Roman Catholic Cemetery at Patka, just northeast of Székesfehérvár, in Fejér County (specifically 2nd row, grave 2).
The following document – an english-language translation of Lt. Rukhovets’ posthumous award citation of the “Order of the Second World War” – covers his military service as a whole, including information about his aerial victory on March 17, and, his final mission of March 19.
Comrade Rukhovets especially distinguished himself in March 1945 during a period of our aviation’s intense combat work, which contributed to the defeat of the German tank group southwest of Budapest. He showed great skill in performing combat missions to escort attack and reconnaissance aircraft. Tactically competently maneuvering in the air always provided reliable cover for attack aircraft.
A difficult situation arose on March 17, 1945. Together with the leading pilot, Rukhovets covered an Il-2 group. This group was attacked by 5 ME-109s in an unequal air battle that ensued; when a threatening position was created for his leader, one ME-109 went onto the [leader’s] tail, Rukhovets quickly flew up to him from right behind and knocked him down from a pitch-up from a distance of 40 meters. The ME-109 rolled over, caught fire and crashed 2-3 km south of Mokha.
In total, during the Second World War, he made 46 successful sorties and shot down one ME-109.
On March 19, 1945, he died heroically while protecting attack aircraft from enemy anti-aircraft fire. In the Okhodosh area, an enemy anti-aircraft battery always interfered with the work of our aircraft. Rukhovets dived on it and suppressed it with dropped bombs. But his plane caught fire from anti-aircraft fire. Unable to save the craft and himself, he directed the burning plane onto the road and crashed into a column of enemy tanks moving along it.
FOR THE PERFORMANCE OF 46 SUCCESSFUL COMBAT FLIGHTS AND THE DESTRUCTION OF ONE ME-109 WORTHY OF A GOVERNMENT AWARD – ORDER OF THE SECOND WORLD WAR – POSTHUMOUS
COMMANDER 848 IAP MAJOR / [STEPAN ILYICH] PRUSAKOV /
April 10, 1945.
The following three maps show the assumed area of Lieutenant Rukhovets’ final mission, and, place of burial.
Though Okhodosh – wherever or whatever that is – cannot be identified either through Oogle or Duck-Duck-Go, the towns of Lepseny and Enying – the general vicinity where Lt. Rukhovets was shot down – are very much extant. They’re situated just inland from the northeast corner of Lake Balaton, near the contemporary M7 Motorway.
In the next map – zooming out and moving to the northeast – the northeastern part of Lake Balaton is still visible, while at the upper center we can see the approximate crash location of the Me-109 claimed by Lt. Rukhovets on March 17 (black circle), and the location of his place of burial (red circle): Just a few ironic miles northeast of Moha, at the Patka Catholic cemetery.
Zooming much further out, this map provides a view of Lepseny, Enying, Moha, and Patka (the latter two north of Székesfehérvár) in relation to Budapest.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Another example of a Soviet WW II-era military award citation can be found at my brother blog (WordsEnvisioned), in a post pertaining to writer and novelist Vasiliy Semenovich Grossman – perhaps best known for his magisterial epic Life and Fate – within a post illustrating “The Years of War”. The latter book is a 1946 compilation of Grossman’s wartime reporting, published in English by the Soviet Union’s Foreign Languages Publishing House.
The post includes images of Grossman’s award citation for the Order of the Red Star, and, text of the citation in Russian, with English translation.
The blog also includes Grossman’s (ironically brief – in light of his posthumous fame) obituary from The New York Times of September 18, 1964 and three reviews of Life and Fate. These reviews are paralleled by three reviews of Grossman’s somewhat political, perhaps philosophical, tangentially mystical semi-stream-of-consciousness short novel, Forever Flowing, which – far more than in length alone – is vastly different in style and structure from Life and Fate.
As you’ll find mentioned in some of the reviews, and as discussed elsewhere, Grossman’s wartime prominence eventually availed him little, for after the war he grew increasingly disillusioned by the Soviet system. Central to his transformation – and the increasing importance of his identity as a Jew – were the suppression of the Black Book of Soviet Jewry, his reflections on the collectivization that led to the Holdomor (which is clearly addressed in several passages in Forever Flowing), and the political repression inherent to the Soviet system, which he personally experienced in the form of confiscation of the manuscript (and much, much more) of Life and Fate. In all, the primary and parallel themes to his his body of work – themes which were not exclusive of other aspects of life – proved to be the imperative of human freedom (even moreso when repressed), and, the centrality of his identity as a Jew.
“Life and Fate”, The New York Times, November 22, 1985 “Life and Fate”, December 19, 1985 “Life and Fate” (1987 Harper & Row Edition, with cover by Christopher Zacharow), The New York Times, March 9, 1986
“Forever Flowing”, by Vasily Grossman – 1970 (1986) [Christopher Zacharow]
(Okay… Yes, I know, I know! The topic is entirely unrelated to Jewish aviators in WW II, but in the far indirect context of that topic, I thought it worthy of mention. Sometimes, there’s virtue in inconsistency.
And now, this post shall conclude with a brief biography of one last Jewish aviator: Saul David Lazarus.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
British Commonwealth Royal Air Force No. 322 (Dutch) Squadron
As described at Remembering the Jews of WW 2, F/Sgt. (1437557) Saul David Lazarus (Shaul bar Rav Avraham Yakov), RAFVR, a member of No. 322 (Dutch) Squadron, was on a, “Bombing practice from airfield B.85 Schijndel in Netherlands. He flew to the target area but even though his plane was too close to the target he dived to the ground to drop his bomb. He released the bomb but because of the steep angle the bomb ended up between the aircraft propellers and exploded in mid-air killing Saul instantly.” This parallels information at All Spitfire Pilots, which in its entry for F/Sgt. Lazarus’ Spitfire LFXVI (serial RR205) states: “Form 540 – No operational flying but some practice bombing at the range, during which one of the Squadron’s new pilots, F/SGT LAZARUS, was killed in the Spitfire RR.205. The machine was seen to explode in the air the pilot being killed instantaneously. Even though F/SGT LAZARUS had only been with us a few days, he had made himself very popular with the pilots and groundcrew.” As described at Aviation Safety, the accident occurred at the Achterdijk-Kruisstraat Road, Rosmalen, Noord-Brabant, in the Netherlands.
This Oogle map shows Rosmalen, with Kruisstraat to the east-northeast. RR205 presumably crashed somewhere between.
F/Sgt. Lazarus was the son of Abraham (1886-2/8/48) and Fanny (Cosovski) Lazarus, and brother of Joseph and May, his family residing at 22 Tetlow Lane, Salford, 7, Lancashire. He is buried in plot 13,B,4 at Bergen-op-Zoom War Cemetery, Noord-Brabant, Netherlands. Born in Salford, Manchester, on June 8, 1921, his name appeared in The Jewish Chronicle on March 30 and June 22, 1945.
This image of F/Sgt. Lazarus’ matzeva is by FindAGrave contributor John Kirk …
… while this picture of a commemorative plaque in memory of F/Sgt. Lazarus, at the Lazarus family memorial (Failsworth Jewish Cemetery, Manchester) is by Bob the Greenacre Cat.
The inscription on the right states:A TOKEN OF LOVE FROM MOTHER JOE MAE BELLA AND CLAIRE.
Though there’s no specific photograph of Spitfire RR205, the aircraft would have born markings and camouflage identical to Spitfire XVI TD322 – squadron code “3W” – as depicted by in the illustration below, from Flightsim.to:
The aircraft, “…had the Dutch orange inverted triangle painted beneath its port windscreen quarter light. It also had nose art on the port engine cowling of the squadron mascot, Polly Grey, a red-tailed grey parrot, perched on a hand with the thumb raised.”
Dorr, Robert F., 7th Bombardment Group / Wing 1918-1995, Turner Publishing Company, Paducah, Ky., 1996
Dublin, Louis I., and Kohs, Samuel C., American Jews in World War II – The Story of 550,000 Fighters for Freedom, The Dial Press, New York, N.Y., 1947
Morris, Henry, Edited by Gerald Smith, We Will Remember Them – A Record of the Jews Who Died in the Armed Forces of the Crown 1939 – 1945 – Volume I, Brassey’s, London, England, 1989 (“WWRT I”)
Morris, Henry, Edited by Hilary Halter, We Will Remember Them – A Record of the Jews Who Died in the Armed Forces of the Crown 1939 – 1945 – Volume II – An Addendum, AJEX, London, England, 1994 (“WWRT II”)
Quinn, Chick Marrs, The Aluminum Trail – How & Where They Died – China-Burma-India World War II 1942-1945, Chick Marrs Quinn, 1989
Scutts, Jerry, Spitfire in Action, Squadron / Signal Publications, Carrollton, Tx., 1980
Magazines
Geiger, Geo John, Red Star Ascending – The Story of WW II Soviet Russia’s Premier and Last Piston-Engined Interceptor and Air Superiority Fighter, the Lavochkin LaGG!, Airpower, November, 1984, V 14, N 6, pp. 10-21, 50-54
No author, LaGG-3 – Lavochkin’s Timber Termagant, Air International, January, 1981, V 20, N 1, pp. 23-30, 41-43 (The La-5’s progenitor…)
No author, Last of the Wartime Lavochkins, Air International, November, 1976, V 11, N 5, pp. 241-247 (…the La-5’s successor.)
