Fighter Pilot

By Lt. L. C. Beck Jr.

Fighter Pilot is the incredible story of a World War II fighter pilot, 1st Lieutenant Levitt Beck, Jr., who was shot down in German-occupied France and hidden by members of the French underground. There he wrote this story of his life practically up until the moment he was discovered. He perished in Buchenwald concentration camp, but his manuscript was delivered to his parents after the war, who took on the responsibility of seeing it published posthumously in 1946.

Lt. Beck was shot down near Havelu, Eure-et-Loir, France on 29 June 1944 on an Armed Reconnaissance mission to the Mantes-la-Jolie/Gassicourt area. Although he initially managed to evade capture, he was eventually taken prisoner and, together with more than 167 other Allied airmen, was on a convoy that left Paris on August 18, 1944. He was interned at the Buchenwald concentration camp on August 20, 1944, where he became ill from maltreatment and undernourishment and died of “Lungentuberculosis” (phthisis; pulmonary consumption) in the camp hospital on October 31, 1944, aged 24.

His remains were never found and he continues to be listed as MIA (Missing in Action). He is believed to have been cremated in Buchenwald the day following his death. He memorialized at the Luxembourg American Cemetery, Luxembourg City, Great-Duchy of Luxemburg.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Arcole Publishing
• Release date: Jul 31, 2017
• ISBN: 9781787208063

Lt. L. C. Beck Jr.

Levitt Clinton Beck, Jr. (January 2, 1920 - October 31, 1944) was an American pilot in the U.S. Air Corps during World War II. Born in Houston, Texas, to Levitt Clinton Beck, Sr. and Verne E. Beck, following his brother Floyd Meredith’s death, the family moved to Huntington Park, California in 1932, where he graduated from Huntington Park High. He then attended Los Angeles City College (LACC) for a year and a half before studying at the University of California in Santa Barbara. During World War II, on March 23, 1942, he enlisted as a Private in the Air Corps at March Field, California, training as a Pilot. He graduated on November 30, 1942 and was sent to Luke Field, Phoenix, Arizona for advanced flying. He was promoted to the rank of First Lieutenant on November 9, 1943, and a week later reported to Congaree A.A.F. near Columbia, South Carolina. Following a period of mission training and preparation for overseas movement, he departed for overseas service as a pilot with the 406th Fighter Group/514th Fighter Squadron (9th AF), at the time stationed in Ashford, Kent, England. Lt. Beck was shot down near Havelu, Eure-et-Loir, France on 29 June 1944 on an Armed Reconnaissance mission to the Mantes-la-Jolie/Gassicourt area. Although he initially managed to evade capture, he was eventually taken prisoner and, together with more than 167 other Allied airmen, was on a convoy that left Paris on August 18, 1944. He was interned at the Buchenwald concentration camp on August 20, 1944, where he became ill from maltreatment and undernourishment and died of “Lungentuberculosis” (phthisis; pulmonary consumption) in the camp hospital on October 31, 1944, aged 24. His remains were never found and he continues to be listed as MIA (Missing in Action). He is believed to have been cremated in Buchenwald the day following his death. He memorialized at the Luxembourg American Cemetery, Luxembourg City, Great-Duchy of Luxemburg.

Book preview

This edition is published by Arcole Publishing – www.pp-publishing.com

To join our mailing list for new titles or for issues with our books – [e-mail]

Or on Facebook

Text originally published in 1946 under the same title.

© Arcole Publishing 2017, all rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means, electrical, mechanical or otherwise without the written permission of the copyright holder.

Publisher’s Note

Although in most cases we have retained the Author’s original spelling and grammar to authentically reproduce the work of the Author and the original intent of such material, some additional notes and clarifications have been added for the modern reader’s benefit.

We have also made every effort to include all maps and illustrations of the original edition the limitations of formatting do not allow of including larger maps, we will upload as many of these maps as possible.

FIGHTER PILOT

by

LT. L. C. BECK, JR.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Contents

TABLE OF CONTENTS 6

DEDICATION 7

ILLUSTRATIONS 8

I SEE IT NOW 9

FOREWORD 10

AUTOBIOGRAPHY 14

CHAPTER ONE—The Fourth of July 18

CHAPTER TWO—My First Victory 21

CHAPTER THREE—My Escape From Crash 24

CHAPTER FOUR—Underground Plans for My Escape 30

CHAPTER FIVE—View From My Window 34

CHAPTER SIX—A Rough Little Encounter 41

CHAPTER SEVEN—Part of Our Job 46

CHAPTER EIGHT—Ole A Flite 54

CHAPTER NINE—High Stakes 58

CHAPTER TEN—The Real Test 63

CHAPTER ELEVEN—D-Day 67

CHAPTER TWELVE—Robot Bombs 71

CHAPTER THIRTEEN—Day Dreaming 74

CHAPTER FOURTEEN—French Comrades 78

CHAPTER FIFTEEN—Farewell Letters 85

FELLOW OFFICERS WITH LT. L. C. BECK 92

A PILOT’S THOUGHTS 94

THE LAST CHAPTER 96

EXCERPTS FROM LETTERS 107

SCROLL RECEIVED BY LT. L. C. BECK’S PARENTS. 115

REQUEST FROM THE PUBLISHER 116

DEDICATION

To Mom and Dad, who gave me the opportunity to achieve the greatest ambition of my life—to become, to know, to live, and if need be, die a Fighter Pilot; and to every Fighter Pilot of the United States Army Air Forces.

ILLUSTRATIONS

Photograph of 1st Lt. L. C. Beck, Jr. (Flyleaf)

Loopy, Blinky and the Sheriff receive the Air Medal at Ashford Airdrome. (Flyleaf)

Receiving the Air Medal Award at Ashford Airdrome, England, May, 1944. Arrow indicates Lt. L. C. Beck, Jr. (Flyleaf)

A Flight. Arnold—Gaudet—Ike—Beck—Long—Dowell  (Flyleaf)

The good old beach days at sunny Florida. Van and the author at Lido Beach Club

Home, Sweet, Home. No. 5, Park Avenue, Ashford Kent, England

The Big Boy. That big windmill on front ain’t there to keep me cool, either.

This is the view I have from my window.....

A sample of the menu sheets upon which the manuscript was written A Flight

Mrs. Mesnard’s house, showing the room where Lieutenant Beck lived

Chapel of Anet Castle

Anet (Eure-et-Loir) Rue Diane de Poitiers

Castle in Anet (Eure-et-Loir) 11th Century, West facade, hemicycle and Louis XIV Pavilion

I SEE IT NOW

(Written in 1940)

BY L. C. BECK, JR.

I WATCHED the day turn into nite,

Creeping shadows reached the sky;

Birds flew to their nests,

Still singing as they went;

All mankind lay quiet at rest,

As though to heaven sent.

Quiet ne’er before was like this—

Even wind hung softly about the trees,

As if afraid of waking birds,

Sleeping in their nests;

‘Twas like another world to me,

And I found myself wishing—

Wishing it were true.

I’ve suffered—and have hated it,

But in my mind a thought was born,

Making a new path for me—

On which I now find my way.

I see it now—

While I suffer here

I must not question of it;

It is the way of life—

Too much happiness would spoil me;

I’d grow too fond of life on earth

And the after life I seek

Would not be so sweet—

We must have our troubles here;

—Our hearts torn by loss,

—Our hands made bloody by war,

—Our future left unknown.

FOREWORD

DURING EIGHTEEN hectic days and nights of R.A.F. bombing, AA.F. aerial combat and with German convoys moving through the little village of Anet, France, to the battle lines, viewed from the third floor window, of his tiny room, over a French café First Lieutenant L. C. Beck, Jr., the author of this book, fulfilled the desire, which had been his, from the very beginning of his training in the U.S.A.A.F....to write of the Fighter Pilot, his spirit, his daring and his idealism.

Lieutenant Beck had been in hiding, sheltered by the keeper of the café, following his escape from a forced landing, south-west of Paris.

On the night of the 16th of July, 1944, Lieutenant Beck placed his manuscript in a handmade pine box, put it inside a tin box and Madame Paulette and he buried the package under the shed, in back of the café.

Plans had been made for Lieutenant Beck to escape to a selected spot, from which he was to fly an American plane back to England.

The Lieutenant hoped to return after the war, to dig up his manuscript, which he planned to take home with him for publication. In the event the escape from German-occupied territory did not succeed, Lieutenant Beck had the promise of Madame Paulette his writings would be unearthed and mailed to his parents in California.

After the liberation of Paris, the French Underground, faithful to their promise, notified the Lieutenant’s parents of their son’s manuscript and its intended release after the war.

The A.A.F. Air Technical Service Command of Los Angeles checked with the War Department in Washington. The Military Intelligence Office in Paris secured the box and the manuscript was held for months in their secret files, until the last bit of information, which was invaluable, could be obtained from it.

The subsequent drama in the life of Lt. Beck as revealed in the manuscript follows in the story.

* * * * *

Nell Dye Mellinger, a very close friend of the author, in whose home he resided while attending college in Santa Barbara, California, has the following to say regarding the story:

"Fighter Pilot is a story of the glorified life of one of America’s finest youths. Lt. Levitt Clinton Beck’s autobiography from his birth to his entrance into World War II, is an inspiration for any person to help make the world a more peaceful and happy world in which to live.

"From his entrance into World War II to the close of events, one is living his life; so clearly are all details depicted.

"His landing his plane in German occupied France with absolute composure; his fortunate friendship with a French school teacher; the concealment of his manuscript, ‘Fighter Pilot’, are events of paramount interest.

"His continual calmness and clear thinking, his competence to adjust himself under the most trying circumstances; his ability to write without undue expression of fear and distrust of those around him, is incredible.

"His unswerving loyalty to his parents and close friends, was a conspicuous characteristic of the author of Fighter Pilot.

"I found the manuscript of Fighter Pilot equally as thrilling for the Youth of Yesterday, as it is for the Youth of Today. I was enthralled and captivated to the end. I predict a great future for Fighter Pilot."

AUTOBIOGRAPHY

IN DIGGING way back in my book of memories and trying to scratch out something of myself, that I might at least care to read to my grand-children, I find at once, that to make mention of my life before joining the United States Army Air Forces, it was:

* * * * *

Well, it wasn’t quite that bad, but there was nothing that I did that was spectacular or even very nearly so.

I was born in Houston, Texas, January 2, 1920, and spent twelve wonderful years there. I was lucky enough to have an older brother, Floyd Meredith, five years older than myself who set an example that really gave me something to strive toward.

My brother and I had attended Sunday School regularly, as most young Americans do, but at the age of twelve, when my brother died, I had to decide for myself on some solid philosophy of life and death. My brother’s words before he passed on confirmed my belief that death does not separate the deceased from the living, but that the loving spirit of the departed continues to be near their loved ones, living in their hearts, enriching their lives with greater strength and spiritual values.

Now after twelve more years I find that I am more firm in that belief than I ever have been. Perhaps that, with the help I received quite early as a Boy Scout, and later under the guidance of our wonderful Y.M.C.A. director, Homer A. Gould, and the love and unselfishness shown me by the most wonderful parents a guy could ever hope to have, probably accounts for the fact that I am writing now, of the dream, that had been mine since childhood—to fly in the Army Air Forces.

A lot has taken place in the last twelve years.

A decided break in my life, by moving with the folks to Huntington Park, California. New schools, new friends, and new obstacles encountered. When I made first string, my first year at Huntington Park High, I thought I had really done something. I put everything I had into it and later served as Student Coach. It was all thrilling but not quite as much so as flying over the high school buildings in a Cub. I had soloed at the age of sixteen and had 65 hours of solo time when I enlisted in the Air Corps. First I had to have a little college time, however, so to L.A.C.C. I journeyed daily on the street car. It didn’t appeal to me, after a year and a half of it.

When Mom and Pop fixed it up so I could attend U of C{1} at Santa Barbara, I was really hitting on all four. My time spent there was invaluable and I shall never forget it or the Mellinger family, in whose home I lived. Life must have been an inspiration there as I wrote a whole book of poems in between classes and the times when I would pick up my tenor sax and clarinet and shove off down to the El Paseo on Saturday nights, for an evening’s work with the band.

Speaking of bands, I guess I played with a dozen or more and very fine places, too. Everything from College Symphony concerts to jam sessions, where the jive was really jumpin’.

A little taste of Frat life, but just a little, as there was much too much to do for that, and besides there was a girl, back home.

It all added up to a call from the Draft Board, when somebody started a war, just when everything seemed to be so peaceful.

I enlisted in the Air Corps at March Field, California, March 23, 1942, and reported to Santa Ana, California, May 15th, where the Yes, Sir, No, Sir and Thank You, Sir started. Also March, drill, walk and parade. Watched airplanes fly over and wondered where they kept ‘em all. Hadn’t even been close to one yet, ten weeks later, but going to school all day and half the night.

When you got in bed someone would say, Fall Out. When you got out someone would say, Fall in. Then Fall out...then—oh, well, it wasn’t too bad. It only took seven months or so to get those wings and bars and then you were through. Look out Japs and Jerries—I’m all set now.

It was pretty nice, those ten weeks at Santa Ana, close to home and friends and there was always someone at the gate to drive you home on those twenty-four hour passes, weekends. After bringing you back, they would get a big kick out of seeing you in the Sunday dress parade and you would march and inhale dust to try to help your squadron win the banner, for best formation and stuff, or die in the attempt.

It was tough leaving there, knowing that it would be a heck of a long time before you could even get a letter, much less, see the folks, but primary at Fort Stockton was ahead and that meant, do or die. It would be just like going back home again, so close to Houston, you thought, and it would take no time at all to run over and see some of the old gang. As the days went by, however, there never seemed to be an extra minute, but you were flying now and meeting all the requirements. Plenty of going to school again though and drilling in the spare time.

I wrote the folks that it would be swell if they could drive over. That was all they needed. Maybe you don’t think it was a revelation to see them and visit with them, every chance I had, and was able to get a pass away from the base, over the weekend, to stay with them at the hotel. Those two weeks went by all too quickly, but graduation was coming up and more excitement, moving on to basic at Pecos, Texas.

The folks had visited that base too,