Stories of Service, Volume 2: Valley Veterans Remember World War II, Korea, Vietnam and the Cold War

By Janice Stevens

Perfectly blending a vast historical scope with intensely individual viewpoints, this stirring collection of stories brings a man-on-the-ground perspective to a huge range of military history, with stories of a quarter-century of war from nearly every corner of the earth, including Europe; the Pacific; mainland Asia; a tense confrontation in Guantanamo Bay during the Cuban Missile Crisis; POW camps in Germany, Japan, and California; and the San Joaquin Valley home front from the 1940s through the 1960s. These 72 highly individualized narratives of combat, military service, and the personal sacrifices of war--penned by ordinary San Joaquin Valley residents and buttressed with more than 100 personal photographs--bring commentaries from soldiers, sailors, airmen, marines, nurses, ambulance drivers, and civilians. In simple, direct, and authentic language, with stories both horrific and touching, ""Stories of Service: Volume 2"" perfectly illustrates the personal side of war.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Linden Publishing
• Release date: Dec 1, 2011
• ISBN: 9781610351263

Book preview

STORIES OF SERVICE

Volume II

Valley Veterans Remember World War II, Korea, Vietnam and the Cold War

compiled by

Janice Stevens

logo.png

Fresno, CA

STORIES OF SERVICE, VOLUME II

Valley Veterans Remember

World War II, Korea, Vietnam and the Cold War

© 2011 Janice Stevens. All rights reserved.

Published by Craven Street Books,

an imprint of Linden Publishing.

2006 S. Mary, Fresno, California, 93721

559-233-6633 / 800-345-4447

CravenStreetBooks.com

Craven Street Books is a trademark of Linden Publishing, Inc.

ISBN: 978-1-610351-26-3

135798642

Printed in the USA on acid-free paper.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Stories of service. Volume 2 : Valley veterans remember World War II, Korea, Vietnam and the Cold War / compiled by Janice Stevens.

p. cm.

Includes index.

ISBN 978-1-61035-005-1 (hbk. : alk. paper)

1. United States--History, Military--20th century. 2. Veterans--California--San Joaquin Valley--Biography. 3. United States--Armed Forces--Military life--Anecdotes. 4. San Joaquin Valley (Calif.)--Biography. I. Stevens, Janice. II. Title: Valley veterans remember World War II, Korea, Vietnam and the Cold War.

U52.S85 2011

355.0092’27948--dc23

2011032711

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

Foreword

Introduction

WORLD WAR II: THE PACIFIC THEATER

Hot Stuff!! Hot Stuff!! By Elisha Richie Richardson

A Fighting Chance By Robert L. Knott

My Souvenirs By Louis Munschy

My Survival By Bob McNutt

Invasion By Lee Hull

South Pacific Action By Clint Cole

Memories of Pacific Invasions

By Sgt. Leonard J. Ash, as remembered by his daughter, Annette Ash

A Seabee on Iwo By Lowell Horton

Assignment Pearl Harbor By Richard Johanson

Iwo Jima By Ross Doll

My WWII Experiences on a B-24 Bomber By Vartan Dzerigian

Memories of My Father By Colonel Emil J. Radics, as remembered by his daughter

A Close Call By Fred Von Rueden

In Command By Chandler Washburne

Enjoying Classical Music in China By Robert Soule

It Was Like This By Mary Hayesy Snyder

Just Being A Fighter Pilot By Lee Self

Robert Brown: Commissioned from the Jungle By Scotti Lynn Moore

I Wanted a Clean Place to Sleep

By Everett Bud Rank, as told to Charlotte Hutchison

A Brief Detour on Saipan By Eugene Holquinn, as told to his niece, Georgia Vercoe

The Story of Lucky Six By Robert Baird

Serving with the 40th Division By Gerald Russell Wells

WORLD WAR II: EUROPEAN THEATER

With the Blue Devils in Italy By Dick Neuman

The Real Hero By Cruz Rios

A Highly Decorated Truck Driver By Phil Carter

My Life in World War II By Wayne E. Houser, Sr.

How I Captured a Box at the Opera By Richard L. Herboldshimer

Daddy’s Second War By Nathan Moore, as told to Naoma Hayes

A Handful of Memories By Loyd Carver, Army Air Corps, WWII

Aboard the Submarine Apogon By M.C. (Mac) McGinty

Recollections from the War By Sally Stallings

1317 Engineers General Service Regiment By Earl Watson

Once an Officer By Richmond Roe Fowler

Memories of a Combat Medic in WW II By Ed Jennrich

D-Day By James E. Davis, as told to his daughter, Jodi Davis, in February 2007

Serving on an LST By Ralph Ritchie

Autobiography By Bud Grace

Co-Pilot, Bomber Crew #319 By Leonard Newton

In for the Duration By Lloyd Renfro

A Story Told by an American Ex-Pow By Darwin Nelson

Once a Marine, Always a Marine! By Francis I. Donohue

A Story of an Ex-POW By Frank Hokr

KIA and Still Bragging About It By Gerry A. Eckenrod

Ex-Prisoner of War By Glenn Schmidt

The Difference Between Life and Death By John Cabrera Padilla

A Left Waist Gunner on a B-17 with the 8th Air Force By Rudy Giannoni

Post War Memories By Ray Springer

Remembering WWII By Eugene Richardson

WORLD WAR II: ON THE HOMEFRONT

One Lucky Life By Arthur Cornwall

In Love with Airplanes By Bob Der Mugrdechian

The Lost SB2C Helldivers By Duane W. Turk

World War II Pack Artillery, 71 Division By Gervice (Gerv) Nash

Always Ready By Jane James

Dottie’s Story As told to Linda Robertson

Gloria Lloyd Radics As remembered by her daughter

Christmas 1941, Two Weeks After Pearl Harbor By Anna McCartney

My Guilty Wish By Francis Hutchison, as told to Charlotte Hutchison

What December 7, 1941, Meant for Me By Kathy Yamada

POW Camps By LeVeta Vincent

A Different Story of Service By Lois Schneider

World War II Home Front Memories By Mabelle Selland

The WAVES in Washington, D.C. By Marjorie Mulkey Nelson

A Kid’s Eye View of WWII By Marylin Pages Zask

April 1944 By Pauline Middleton

A Beautician to the WASPs By Rosalee O. Wheeler

The Smith Brothers From the memoirs of Gaynel (Smith) Taylor, as related to her daughter, Marjorie (Taylor) Allen

Thomas Leslie Taylor, Tec 5 From the memoirs of Gaynel (Smith) Taylor, as related to her daughter, Marjorie (Taylor) Allen

A Whimsical Tale By Virginia Templeton

THE KOREAN WAR

Korean Occupation, September 7, 1945 By Richard V. Johnson

Korea 1951 By Bill Helton

Experiences in War By Charles Tobias

The Killing Zone By Frank Blake

Korea By Frank Hokr

Remembering Korea By Henry Lemay

A Personal Journey By John M. Chabala

A Struggle Toward Happiness By Kenneth Cowan

Days of Service in the Korean Conflict By Kenneth Huey

From Humble Beginnings By Reginald Thornhill

Service to My Country By Stanford Lee

Scaling the Fence By Wally E. Peterson

Trajectory of an Ex-POW By Joel A. Hinojosa

Capture in Korea By Paul Petredis

Missing Dog Tags By Kenneth Eaton

SERVICE IN BETWEEN THE WARS

Sea Story By Gordon D. Pickett

My Years of Service By John L. Wells

Christmas at 300 Feet By Robert Owens

VIETNAM

In Country By James E. Cornwall

Vietnam War By Chong Erskine

Warrior of the Mountains By Richard Gonzalez

Scared to Life By Cliff Rapp

The Bells By Lee Self

Rose Colored Glasses By Tom Hayward, as told to Linda Hayward

Try Hard and Never Quit

By Sing Houngviengkham, as told to Charlotte Hutchison

Long Binh, Vietnam By Carolyn Hisako Tanaka

Experiencing Saigon An excerpt by Reginald Thornhill

Viet Nam 1966 By Bill Helton

THE COLD WAR

Cold War Service in Germany By David Ellis Allen

GTMO Cuba August 17, 1962 to December 21, 1962 By Bill Helton

Epilogue

Afterword

Contributors’ Service and Rank

Index

About the Author

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I want to express my deep appreciation to the following people:

Our veterans who fought for our country, and who continue to inspire us with their remembrances of their military experiences. Thanks also to the veterans and their families for kindly providing the photographs used in this book.

Vic Maggi who sought out veterans, interviewed them and created a number of stories included in this volume.

Paul Loeffler for writing the Foreword and for his extraordinary work on Hometown Heroes, interviewing and showcasing our Valley veterans.

Bill Dietzel for writing the Afterword and for his many years of publishing Veterans Magazine, as well as doing a host of other work to support veterans.

The volunteers in the Monday morning class: Alieen Bos, Jodi Davis, and Nancy Huey.

Typist Linda Robertson, and Kevin and Fonda at Shaw Printing.

The team who edited the manuscript, designed the cover, and pulled it all together: Jim Goold, Carla Green, Kent Sorsky, Richard Sorsky and Monica Stevens.

FOREWORD

So much of our understanding of our nation’s military history has been painted in broad strokes. Names like Pershing, Patton, Eisenhower, and Schwarzkopf are as recognizable as Normandy, Nagasaki, Saigon, or Baghdad. But with apologies to our famous generals and the strategic decisions that define their legacies, the true hero of our nation’s undying commitment to freedom is the everyday American who chooses to prioritize duty, honor, and country above personal ambitions. These heroes exist quietly and humbly in each one of our hometowns, content to let their stories of selfless service and sacrifice to remain hidden from view.

So many veterans share similar stories, but no two accounts are exactly the same, and the fleshing out of each unique experience bears great value. Just as adventurers of different eras and ambitions came to California in search of gold, oil, or the famously fertile soil of the San Joaquin Valley, Janice Stevens unearths precious commodities in the weekly meetings that spawned this anthology.

Whether it’s a nurse running on pure adrenaline as she treats mass casualties in the chaos of Vietnam; a soldier enduring more than a thousand days in captivity in the Forgotten War of Korea; or an engineer building bridges from Normandy to the Battle of the Bulge, the stories you find in this book will move you.

Ranging from the mundane to the unexplainable, the tales of these veterans represent more than just an entertaining narrative to read. Beyond the obvious purpose of honoring these courageous men and women and preserving their experiences in print for posterity, I believe this book can etch a deeper impact. When the unavoidable sense of admiration the reader encounters is coupled with a sincere spirit of introspection, the most powerful legacy of these heroes is unleashed. In each one of these voices, many now speaking from beyond the grave, you’ll find a patriotism and commitment to the ideals of America that might just make you examine your own priorities.

Some of the stories will cause you to chuckle, some may leave your pages tear-stained, but taken in total, these accounts will call you to a greater awareness and appreciation of the ongoing price of freedom. Whether it comes as a quiet whisper in your ear, or as the kind of bellowing demand that would make a drill sergeant proud, you’ll hear that call and feel that stirring. If they were willing to give all, how can we not find a way to give a little in return?

Sentimentality is natural, and looking back with fondness is fine, but my challenge to you is to allow this compilation to drive you forward. How better to honor the heroes of our past than to forge a future that models those same ideals of service, selflessness, and sacrifice?

—Paul Loeffler, Host of Hometown Heroes on KMJ and author of Underdogs to Wonderdogs: Fresno State’s Road to Omaha and the College World Series Championship

INTRODUCTION

Every Monday morning, I meet with 45 to 50 veterans, a few spouses, and others interested in military remembrances at the Clovis Veterans Memorial Building in Clovis, California, to reminisce, enjoy camaraderie, eat goodies, and bask in an empathetic audience.

These are the war heroes of our past, but none would claim that title. Although I bestow that honor to all who serve to protect our freedoms, the veterans, however, come in with an attitude of I just did my job or The ones who didn’t come back are the heroes. They are straightforward in sharing their memories, with no embellishments or exaggerations. If anything, their stories presented in this volume are understated, and I have not changed them, have not created drama, but instead have accepted the words from the veterans in their own voices, telling the story as it is remembered.

One of the veterans chided me once on using the word story. He made a valid point in that these are not stories. These are the chilling, first-hand accounts of those who saw battle, who faced seen or unseen enemies whose intent was victory at the cost of their lives.

In this particular volume, I am astounded at the accounts of so many prisoners of war who have come forward to share the details of captivity, escape, survival and homecoming. The remembrances are brought forth with reminders of intense fear, brutality by the captors, and the beauty and poignancy of returning to the United States. All the veterans came home, returned to their lives and employment, but none came home unchanged from their experiences.

In my earlier book, Stories of Service: Valley Veterans Remember World War II, veterans across the Valley shared just their experiences from WW II. This second volume, gleaned from the Monday morning veterans, Vic Maggi, and others in the Valley who provided the stories, features an expanded scope that includes Korea, Vietnam, and on into the Cold War. A constant theme connects these military memories: patriotism, service, duty to God and Country. But the differing public perceptions of these wars presented vastly different experiences for the returning veteran. Korea and Vietnam were not popular wars. The returning WW II veteran received due accolades and tributes, but the public, weary of war and embracing a political agenda, became disinterested in Korea; and with Vietnam there was more than disinterest, but also the persecution of returning veterans.

Today, the WW II, Korea and Vietnam memorials in Washington, D.C., are powerful reminders of the sacrifices of our veterans. They offer tribute, long overdue.

In Fresno at the Veterans Association Hospital, two memorials instigated by some of the veterans meeting with me on Monday mornings offer a community tribute and honor to those who have served: The Wall of Honor and The Prisoners of War Memorial. These are beautiful, permanent reminders of the statement displayed above the entrance to the hospital: The cost of freedom isn’t free.

On Monday mornings, we offer the pledge to the American Flag. I am moved each time, as these veterans stand tall, respectful, and salute the flag they offered their lives to protect. They fight for the right to display the flag, and they condemn the destruction and disrespect offered by those who are careless with our freedom and have no realization of what it means to go to war to fight for the ideals and values of the United States of America.

The mood of the mornings can be light and carefree, but can change on a moment’s notice to one of sorrow and seriousness as first one veteran, then another, brings forth a memory to share. It is a time of closeness, a time of understanding and perhaps healing as they gather together, all warriors of a particular time and place.

As you read these pages, my hope is that you will have a deeper knowledge of history as told through the words of those who lived it, and a far greater appreciation for the gift of freedom and protection they fought for so admirably. I hope that by reading this book, you can imagine yourself sitting in the presence of these men and women on a Monday morning, vicariously sharing their legacies.

—Janice Stevens

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WORLD WAR II:

THE PACIFIC THEATER

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HOT STUFF!! HOT STUFF!!

By Elisha Richie Richardson

At 0500 hours, I climbed out of my bunk aboard the USS Pennsylvania for morning chow. This flagship of the Pacific fleet was sitting high and dry in a dry dock aside Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.

After breakfast, I set about my assigned chores for the rest of the morning. I anticipated a chance to relax for the rest of a peaceful Sunday afternoon when we usually enjoyed some free time. I was preparing to clean compartment No. 8. More men pitched in to the cleanup chores as the ship’s minister set up for a mass on the quarterdeck.

As we stood about waiting for colors to be run up, we heard a muffled explosion. Every once in awhile, Air Corps pilots would fly over the harbor feigning an air attack and drop big sacks of flour about the docked ships to simulate a surprise bombing attack. This was always a popular spectacle for us guys to watch, so I ran down a nearby catwalk aft to get a better view. As I ran, I began to hear more explosions, louder and closer. Then I saw smoke rising across the harbor toward battleship row where other large battleships were anchored off Ford Island. Included among those ships was our sister ship, the USS Arizona, which had just proceeded us in the dry dock. Then, as I watched in disbelief, the USS Oglala, anchored in the harbor off our stern, began to roll to starboard. I realized then that those weren’t flour sacks falling from the air.

As I ran to my battle station, I heard our 50-caliber machine guns open up on targets in the air all around us. All eight of our 50-cals were firing even before general quarters were called. My battle station was on gun No. 4 on the port side of the ship; gun No. 3 was located opposite us on the starboard side. All four of our three-inch guns and all eight of our five-inch guns were firing by now. My job at gun No. 4 was to set the fuses on our three-inch rounds to a one-second delay, such that they would burst in the air above us acting as anti-aircraft fire. All our big guns followed suit. We fired gun No. 4 so rapidly that I remember the paint beginning to melt and run off the barrel.

Being in dry dock, the Pennsylvania was immune to torpedo bombers. I’d later read that the Japanese pilots launched a few torpedoes at our dry dock to try to hit our ship, to no avail. We were, however, bombed and strafed repeatedly from the air as were the two destroyers set on blocks ahead of us in the dry dock. The destroyers Downes and Caisson, having armed torpedoes on their decks, created quite a target. When these torpedoes were set off, several catastrophic explosions followed. Our deck and bow were peppered with shrapnel from above and below. When one of our destroyers had its fuel tank rupture, the resulting fire spread into the dry dock all around us. With some quick thinking by our crewmen and dockworkers, the dry dock doors were opened, rapidly flooding the area around all three ships and minimizing further fire damage.

One bomb, a 500-pounder that did hit us, struck gun No. 3, just opposite of my gun, No. 4. The entire crew of gun three was killed, including two of my good friends. In all, twenty-four of our crewmen were killed in that one explosion.

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Richie Richardson remembers the attack on Pearl Harbor.

After the second attack wave came and went, our gunner’s mate called me over. He handed me an armed and still hot three-inch shell that did not fire. He told me to get rid of it. I carried the warm shell in the crook of my elbows and ran topside to dump it. As I ran across the gangway to the dock, I yelled, Hot Stuff!! Hot Stuff!! I was a bit amused to see our armed Marine sentries scatter in all directions. I ran to the side of the ship but decided that it could do some awful damage to our hull if it burst, so I ran to the stern end of the dry dock and tossed the warm shell off the pier into some deep water. As I made my way back to the gangway, I’d begun to realize what I had just done. If that round had cooked off in my arms, I would have no story to share with you today. My legs got pretty shaky and my knees wobbly; I almost couldn’t walk. It took me awhile to re-board the ship.

In retrospect, December 7, 1941, was probably one of the worst days of my life. Yet, although we were all horrified and scared, we still managed to focus and do our jobs as we had been trained to do. It wasn’t until after the attack was over and the adrenaline a distant memory that the reality of what we had just lived through finally set in. Sadly, many of my fellow crewmen lost their lives that day, as did one of my closest hometown friends, who met his fate onboard the USS Arizona.

In less than two weeks, the Pennsylvania was able to leave Hawaii under its own power. We headed for the San Francisco Bay in a small convoy of surviving ships. In route, we encountered a nasty Pacific storm, and I celebrated my first Christmas in the U.S. Navy aboard ship. Once in San Francisco Bay, the Pennsy was repaired and modernized with new ammunitions, radars, and updated electronics installed. Once the Pennsy was returned to service, I would celebrate my second Christmas aboard ship and continue to serve a full twenty-three months aboard her. After that time, I parted ways with the Pennsy. I first boarded the Pennsy a wayward teen and left her as a man, and also an honorary shellback!

I would sail a good bit of the South Pacific on the supply ship, the USS Calameras, which was a refrigerator ship. We supplied food to a large area of the Pacific theater. Sometime in 1944, while in New Hollandia, New Guinea, I was assigned to assist some Navy Seabees loading an ammo barge. The truck I was driving had defective brakes, resulting in an accident that severely injured my right arm. As the hospital facilities in New Guinea were so poor, an amputation was prescribed as the only remedy to my injury.

Fortunately, I ended up in a larger hospital in Brisbane, Australia, where a skilled surgeon was able to save my arm. I was then transferred to San Diego, California. While there, I met and married my wife (of 62 years) on August 13, 1945. VJ day was celebrated two days later on August 15, 1945. I remained in the Navy until October 1946. During a sixty-day furlough, I received my honorable discharge in the mail. After my discharge, I returned to my hometown of Chowchilla, California, where I reside today.

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The Japanese attack Pearl Harbor.

These days, I still enjoy occasional meetings with the local Chapter of the Pearl Harbor Survivors Association in Fresno, California, and at 86, I’m still one of its youngest members!

A FIGHTING CHANCE

By Robert L. Knott

I joined the Navy on December 11, 1939, at Richmond, Virginia. I went through boot training at Norfolk, Virginia. After boot training, I was shipped to the West Coast at Long Beach, California, which was the homeport of the Pacific Fleet, where I went aboard the USS Nevada, a battleship. The fleet was transferred to Pearl Harbor in Hawaii, as their homeport in 1940.

I was aboard the USS Nevada at Pearl Harbor when the Japs attacked Pearl Harbor, December 7, 1941. The ship came into port on a Friday after maneuvers at sea. We came into port to change the main battery projectiles for a new type of armor piercing projectiles. We unloaded the main battery shells on Saturday, and took on the new shells on Sunday. We had been setting the anti-aircraft batteries one hour before sunrise and secured one after sunrise.

The Japs came in later and bombed Pearl Harbor, and I was aboard the Nevada at that time.

I was below deck in the first division compartment when I heard a loud explosion outside. I looked through the porthole on the starboard side to see a plane bombing the Navy Air Station on Ford Island and strafing the ships as he went by. About that time, a torpedo hit the port side. The concussion almost drove me through the porthole.

I started to topside for my battle station. We had to cast off the mooring lines so as to get underway. Before we left the dock, we were tied up astern—that means back of—of the USS Arizona when she blew up. The same planes that dropped the bombs on the Arizona dropped a large bomb on us in front of one turret. It went down and hit the armor deck, blowing up all the decks and setting large fires. The concussion knocked me off the pointer’s seat after the guns were taken out of action. The turret had to be abandoned to fight fires; a piece of shrapnel hit me under the neck. I felt something burning, and I felt some blood coming down my neck. I had a shipmate put adhesive tape over the wound; my neck healed that way eventually.

The chief quartermaster got the ship underway when we got in the middle of the channel. The dive bombers hit us, killing most of the anti-aircraft and five-inch broadside gun crews. The ship was ablaze. The Japs tried to sink us in the middle of the channel. We had to beach the ship because we were sinking across from the seaplane base. The stern was at the bottom, and the boat was down. The fireboat Hoqa was alongside helping to put out the fires. We had to move the dead men off the anti-aircraft batteries so we could man the guns. That night, all hell broke loose when all the guns were firing because there was a report that Japs were coming in.

I stayed on the guns until the next afternoon, at which time we were relieved. We had no place to sleep, so we were sent over to the beach to sleep in the arena. The uniform of the day was short pants and undershirts, white hats, shoes and socks, causing the skin to burn on some of the men, killing them. There were dead bodies all over the place.

The only clothes I had were my shorts and undershirt. They issued us new shoes and pants, and shirt and hat. That evening, they asked for volunteers to fill out the crews on the St. Louis.

I volunteered to go aboard the St. Louis. I wanted a fighting chance, since the St. Louis was the newest ship in the fleet at that time.

We left and went to San Diego and picked up an aircraft carrier and destroyers under Admiral Halsey, and made a raid on the Marshall and Gilbert islands. We came back to Hawaii and loaded up with the First Marine Division. We had Marines all over the ship’s decks, and we went to Midway Island the night before the attack.

After we left Midway we went to Alaska. The Japs had already taken over Kiska and Attu islands in the Aleutians chains. We made a raid on the islands and bombarded the Jap airfields. We were attacked by a lot of planes with no hits. We then patrolled the Bering Sea. My watch was pointer on the five-inch anti-aircraft gun. The guns sat on the side of the ship. We used to take turns sitting on the platform and having a smoke. I was doing just that when I saw a torpedo coming right to me. It was traveling fast, and it headed right where I was sitting. All I could say was Oh shit. But we were lucky—the torpedo went under the ship.

Once, later in the war, we got hit by a torpedo, which blew about 60 feet off the bow. We had to come back to the States to have a new bow put on. It was back in the States that I met a wonderful woman. We were married for 59 years.

I continued my tour of duty in the Pacific until my enlistment was up. I left the ship in Everett, Washington, and went to Bremerton to be discharged. I am now 86 years old, and it is a little hard to remember every event.

MY SOUVENIRS

By Louis Munschy

I was a high school senior when the bombing of Pearl Harbor drew America into WW II. Like many of my classmates, I was eager to get involved in righting the score. So, after graduating from high school in 1942, I enlisted in the U.S. Navy, with an interest in flying.

Before the end of 1942, I’d found myself in Camp Farragut, Idaho—Navy boot camp. Technical training took me to aviation machinist’s school in Norman, Oklahoma, and later aerial gunnery school in Purcell of the same state. My follow-up training took place in Burbank, Crow’s Landing, Moffett Field, and the Alameda Naval Air Station (Squadron VPB 123), all in California. Then it was back to Hutchinson, Kansas, for B-24 school. Over that time, I achieved the title of Aviation Machinist’s mate 2nd Class (AMM 2/C) before being assigned to overseas duty.

My first flight assignment off the continent would become one of the most memorable events of my life. Our crew of eight men were assigned to deliver one of two B-24 (Army PB4Y1) Liberators to Hawaii. These planes were to be used for photoreconnaissance assignments in the South Pacific area. Both aircraft left from San Diego, California, in the dark of night. We were to fly out together. As we headed westward across the vast, open Pacific, we entered a large storm front. After our on-board radar unit failed, we became separated from the other B-24 and had to proceed alone toward Kaneohe Bay, Hawaii. As we flew on and deeper into the storm front, we began to encounter a nasty headwind that had us closely watching our fuel gauges. Eventually we realized the inevitable—we were not going to make it all the way to Hawaii on the fuel we had left. We radioed a mayday to Hawaii and prepared to ditch at sea.

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Louis Munschy 2/C Plane Captain Combat Air Crewman flew with crews on B-24 bombers.

When our fuel finally ran out, our engines just stopped. With the heavy rain and rolling seas below, our planned ditching turned into just a crash landing. Our B-24 broke up into three parts on impact.

I don’t know how I got out of the plane that morning, but I ended up in the water somehow. Aside from a bad cut over one eye and some very sore ribs, I was otherwise OK. In the rolling waves, I swam to and climbed up on a wing of our sinking B-24. I managed to release a wing raft that luckily inflated. Then I helped our radioman into it.

I returned to the plane and released and inflated a second raft and helped our co-pilot into it. I returned to the wreckage that remained afloat to look for more survivors. I could not see anyone. When I felt the wing begin to sink, I returned to the rafts. As I tethered the rafts together, I noticed that I had not yet inflated my own Mae West life jacket. As the three of us sat in the rafts in the rolling seas and heavy rain, we could not see any other survivors about us, even as the dawn began to break.

After several hours in the stormy seas, we were quite relieved to see a Navy crash boat approach us. The other B-24 had made it to Hawaii some 20 miles farther on. With our final mayday broadcast, the Navy was able to locate our crash site. To our further relief, we found out that three of our fellow crewmen were also picked up individually, still afloat in their Mae West jackets. To our dismay, we found out that two of our crewmen—Pete Varner and Jim Fowler, who had braced themselves over the bomb bay doors—were probably killed on impact and likely went down with the plane.

On reaching our intended destination, Kaneohe Bay on Oahu, I was hospitalized for two days, patched up, and X-rayed to find that I had broken two ribs. A day or two later, our remaining crew returned to our pickup area to drop flowers over the crash site in memory of our two lost crewmembers.

In the months that followed, I flew with B-24 crews on patrol and bombing missions out of Okinawa into the East China Sea, China, Korea, Korea Straits and the Sea of Japan. Flying now in Navy B-24 Privateers (PB4Y2), our assigned missions included the disruption of supply shipping to Japanese garrisons on several small islands about the South Pacific.

On one memorable mission, I served as an aerial gunner when we encountered a Japanese cargo ship and personnel barge near a small, unnamed island. We strafed the barge, but as we attempted to bomb the cargo ship, our bomb bay doors failed to open all the way. With some climbing around in the bomb bay, we managed to undo the jam manually and open the doors. Then we made three bombing passes over the ship, and as we left the area, we could see the ship in flames and circling, with a bad list to one side. We believe that it eventually sank.

On one of my final flights with most of my original crew, I flew aboard a B-24 dubbed Jackass Jenny. Our assignment was to fly out on a two-plane patrol over a small, Japanese-held island off the coast of Korea. As we neared the island, the lead plane ahead of us attacked an enemy radio/radar installation built into the side of a tall hill. They radioed back to us to tell us that they’d only encountered small arms fire on their approach, so our pilot decided to fly in closer to the target. But this time the Japanese defenders below were ready for us and fired anti-aircraft shells as we approached.

As top-turret gunner, I had a poor view of the target ahead, so decided to turn my turret to face sideways so to strafe the target as we flew past it. Just as I had turned, an AA shell struck our left wing root. Shrapnel from that shell-burst hit our tail gunner and myself. The tail gunner just had to pick a small piece of shrapnel from his ear. I wasn’t so lucky. Two pieces of shrapnel passed through my seat and entered the small of my back. Had I not turned around when I did, I would likely have suffered a more serious and perhaps fatal gut shot.

As I was helped out of my top-turret, I can remember being able to put three fingers into one of my wounds. A fellow crewman, Ray Blazak, sprinkled sulfa powder around my wounds and patched me up as best he could. I had a desperate fear of bleeding to death before we could return to our base. So I really sweated out our return flight. Fortunately, we made it back to base. I was hospitalized, patched up and received a Purple Heart award and later returned to duty. As for Jackass Jenny, it wasn’t to be so; I heard that she was too damaged to ever fly again.

As the war wound down, I received the sad news that my good friend, Joseph Farmer, was killed while flying as a tail gunner. He was hit by machine gun fire from a ship that was being bombed. Ironically, a cease-fire order was announced the following day.

Not long after VJ-Day, I received an honorable discharge from the Navy and returned home to marry and raise a family. I don’t feel that I can call myself a hero for any duties I’d performed while in uniform. I simply did the job I was trained for.

Today, memories of my long-ago experiences seem to fade at times, but I simply give my back a rub. Those two pieces of shrapnel, my souvenirs, are still there to remind me that it had all really happened.

MY SURVIVAL

By Bob McNutt

My enlistment in the U.S. Navy began in August 1939. While in boot camp, we received word that Hitler invaded Poland. I had an older brother who fought in the U.S. Army and was gassed in WWI. Eventually, three of my brothers would also fight in the Army in WWII. I felt more comfortable being a sailor—little realizing what the future had in store for me.

By 1940/1941, I was assigned aboard the destroyer USS Monaghan (DD 354) as a Fireman 1st Class. On December 7th, we were docked in Pearl Harbor and looked forward to a quiet Sunday morning routine. I had changed into my dress whites and anticipated attending mass aboard another ship. Suddenly, we were ordered to get the ship underway and leave the harbor immediately. We were under attack. The sleepy harbor about us came to life as the sights and sounds of war began to erupt all around us. As we had just entered the port the day before, our boilers were still warm and easily stoked, and we were able to get under way pretty quick. I was ordered up one of our smoke stacks to remove its canvas cover and, in a hurry, ended up having to use my pocket-knife to just cut it away.

On our way out of the harbor, we were alerted by the USS Curtis that a small submarine had been sighted in the channel. Soon afterwards we noticed a small conning tower ahead of us and we were able to turn into it, ramming it with a glancing blow.