Memorial Day is fast approaching – a holiday which honors those who died while serving our country in the armed forces. This week’s newsletter is composed of short vignettes about my dad’s experience in the Army Air Corp as a ball turret gunner on a B-17 during World War 2. Most of these reminiscences were found in a packet of letters written to my aunt from my dad in the closing days of of the war – May, 1945.
My dad got mad at his girlfriend and for spite enlisted in the Army Air Corp even though he had a deferment because he had been working in a factory supplying the war effort during WW2. During basic training, he met my mom and he continued his defiant behavior by going AWOL to marry her before being shipped overseas. When he reported back for duty, the officer in charge said, “Sit down, Sergeant Levine.” At the end of the conversation, the officer concluded with, “You may return to your unit, Private Levine.”
All departing soldiers from the Cincinnati, Ohio region said good bye to their families at the train station known as Union Terminal. The art deco rotunda was famous for tearful partings and joyful reunions. The couple embracing in the lower right was based on my parents – who were actually there at the exact time the artist was sketching the scene. My mother didn’t find this out until years later – through a random phone call from another soldier who had also been there that day. She was unable to share this happy coincidence with my dad, who had passed away just a few months before.
My dad’s life as a soldier was of two dual existences. One was as the Yank out on the town in England in between bombing missions. The Brits weren’t enthralled with the American soldiers invading their drinking spots. They referred to them as “oversexed, overpaid and over here.”
His second existence centered on incessant bombing missions over Germany. Starting at 2am in the morning, the B-17’s would begin their formation in the sky and as the sun rose, they headed out – never knowing if they’d be returning alive and unharmed or whether they would be shot down in enemy territory. When late in the day they returned from their mission and spotted the White Cliffs of Dover, pictured above, the entire crew gave a collective sigh of relief – indicating they had completed yet another successful bombing mission.
My dad was a ball turret gunner on a B-17 bomber during World War 2. The plane was better known as the Flying Fortress – for its uncanny ability to bring its crew back safely. Fatalities were sky high – no pun intended. But, again, my dad was fortunate. By the time he became a crew member, the B-17’s began being escorted by fighter planes on their missions – greatly reducing the number of soldiers blown to bits in the air. My dad completed thirteen successful runs and was awarded induction into “The Lucky Bastard Club.” Yep. There really was such a thing. And every Memorial Day, he trekked up to Wright Patterson Air Force Base in Dayton, Ohio – with his grandsons in tow – to re-tell this tale.
My dad’s no longer with us but his memory lives on in the stories he’s told and the gear he’s left behind – like his dog tag – pictured below.
Happy, safe Memorial Day Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
Iris Ruth Pastor