The First Casualties of the B-17 Air War - Europe

They were all from the mid-west, all five of them half the crew of the B-17 crew. It was early in the World War II scuffle. everyone was still anxious, excited to get in, do their part.

     These guys were young, all under twenty, from the mid west, cherry faced complexion and wild hair blossoming all over the faces. typical of the teen age kids those days. In the early 1940's, the air crews of the early war were horsemen, farm hands, truck drivers, farm hands, delivery men, and plow boys, and they tell us, " simple folk. Easily trainable."

     Our five guys found their way over to England after fumbling their way through flight training in the mid-west. In England, they joined up with the other half of their crew and their airplane. Now, complete, practice, the great game of molding ten men, 12 machine guns, and another dozen 500 pound bombs into one solid team poured into a mission all focused into one mission.

     Our five from Mud ville, USA are all non commissioned officers, they are gunners: ball turret, left and right waist, radio operator and tail gunner. They ate, slept, practiced and drilled together. 

      And soon, they would know terror together. 

      Their first mission was over France, as a part of a huge fleet attack, bombing railroad marshaling yards, attempting to strangle German supply lines. Flight reports say it went well, the crew functioned well as a time, got home, calmed their nerves, hit the mess hall, and that was that.

      The alert flat for the bomb group said mission next day - over the south of France, it was still early in the War. After breakfast and briefing, they were off the end of the runway briefly after sunrise. In massive air attacks involving large numbers of B-17s, there were occasional mid air collisions. Several B-17 pilots reported two bombers collided, and our guys were in one. 

      The five guys from middle America our five gunners were in the back end of the one 

B-17 accidentally cut in half by the other similar airplane. The back end of their airplane folded over at 24,500 feet up over Calais, France, and slowly began to sink towards the earth. The gunners from Mud ville, were stranded on in the inside left clawing madly at the inside of their half airplane trying to reach the opening so they could roll out into the open air, their parachutes wrapped around their shoulders, hands or fastened hastily anyway they could.

       The tail began to spin clockwise as a falling leaf does, picking up speed as it goes further and further down the four and one half miles down, the men still desperately clawing at the insides of the plane.

       The other pilots report no chutes. 

       These five boys were the very first air casualties of the Air War over Europe against the Germans. The first to give their lives in the long long list of many that would lead to the end of the tyranny, blood-lust and murder that had gripped the world.

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Afghanistan - a report fom the front

In the museum yesterday, 8/11/12, I encountered an Army Company Commander just back from Afgh on leave. Asking questions of him about conditions, he was first reticent, but opened up.
    This is the kind of guy we want over there representing our country. He said, he just lost two soldiers because "we were not allowed to shoot at guys with cell phones that set off IEDs."
    "Don't believeh what you see in Hurt Locker he said, it's all BS. If we shoot a civilian with a cell phone, we have to do it AFTER the explosion, NOT before."
    I asked him what happens when you do shoot the guy with the cell phone, assuming he's the guy who blew up one of your vehicle?
    The company commander said, " all hell STILL breaks loose, it's politics. the locals raise hell, they turn against us, throw rocks. One minute they love us, the next...you never know."
    I have heard this and saw this before, the Captain is too young to know, it does sound like Viet Nam all over again, and I was a HAWK on VN.

French Canadians - The Separatists

I went to Canada several times when I was a young man. A few times to Fort McHenry, a time or two I located the spot where my grandfather and his brothers and sisters immigrated from - Hamilton, Canada. But, I never paid much attention to Canada - they talked funny, it was cold up there, and Niagara Falls was wet and misty.
     Big Falls, running river - got it. Every time I met people from Canada down in the US, they were always falling south into America looking for jobs and talked funny. Nice people but I never caught on to why they came here.
     During Vietnam, I why the hell did they do that? I thought Canadians ALL spoke English? What's going on up there? Then I read, hear, watch OUR news and I hear about possible cessation of areas around and including Quebec into a separate French state.
     They tangle with the central Canadian government, it's all settled, no soap, and that's that. But, everyone up there is still hot under the collar about this French thing.
      Two weeks ago, three middle aged French Canadians walk into my B-17 Museum in Tucson, I show them around, and in the process, we talk. I know nothing and they enlighten me.
      It's all about language. They tell me the French are afraid of losing their French identity -legally- and being forced to speak, read, write English and any and all signs of their French heritage wiped away by Fiat. They are not only scared to death of it, they are angry as hell about they say they see as creeping governmental interference in everyday life.
     For instance: Street signs, say, "Jones Street" has to be posted that way on the top of the sign, and the French translation MUST appear below it. They see it as a secondary or lowering of their French status. All sorts of examples are creeping around them and they are annoyed as hell about it.
     As they explained more incursions into their private French lifestyles, I found myself getting more heated over their discomfort. At one point, I hollered out, " THEY CAN'T DO THAT - I'D FIGHT THEM!!" One of the older men laughed at me, breaking the tension.
     " How typical American, "  said, " you've got the right to do it down here. Under Canadian law, we don't." I was shocked. The concussion of freedom hit me full force. My own Constitution gave me the right to raise hell whereas these three middle aged men couldn't do what I take for granted because, as they said, they ran the risk of jail for demonstrating against what was now a law.
     As they left, I found myself raising my fist and speaking out to them, " go back and raise hell you guys." Every day in that Museum, I learn another story about someone else in the world living out under hardships I would never learn in a textbook, or watching our news-media.
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A Chicago Cop Talks to Me

       It was mid morning two days ago when a Chicago cop walked into my Museum with wife and kids, down vacationing in Tucson. Three days in, he's relaxed now, unwinding, letting a lot of stress out. I work with two ex-cops who immediately glued themselves to him comparing notes.
       " Chicago is too damned dangerous " he says. He's been on the force 17 years loves his job, middle management street cop. " I carry a pistol every time I leave the house, on duty, off, even going to the store. Something ALWAYS happens, " he says.
       He tells us Chicago has 12 to 14 MURDERS every weekend, ' without fail.'
       " Don't believe anything your read in the papers or on TV. Its far worse. We've got coded radio signals we use when we talk to each other, "  he tells us. Some of the bad guys are so vicious, so deadly, that when they receive warnings from radio dispatch sometimes they will say, " S.O.S."
       " What that really means is SHOOT ON SIGHT."
       He and some of his family have been on the Obama family security details when the first family arrived back at Chicago for a stay. Obama security team insists that Chicago PD block off the entire city block, and patrol does so on foot, outside, in the rain. He's said the family has never invited the patrolmen inside the house to get out of the elements.
       "I don't know one city cop who likes them. Not one. Now, understand, I'm sure there are some out there, but I haven't met them yet, " the Chicago cop told us. He carries his pistol, CPD ID and other tangent ID while travelling around the country.
       We asked him how the immigrant situation is in Illinois, his response was that Illegal immigrants, when identified by CPD, contacted Immigration Customs Enforcement (the Feds), are instructed that the DOJ said to " kick them loose," they don't want them. Our cop friend told us he personally knows where he can pick up a dozen illegals in the Chicago area, but because ICE said forget it, he does too.
        And so do the local cops.
        And guns? He tells us there are so many guns in Chicago, they couldn't even begin to count them, let alone control them. They leak across the border from Canada, and up from the south.
        IF Chicago Cops stop someone suspected of being in the country ILLEGALLY while in the of a crime, must fill out so much paper work justifying the stop based on "profiling" that sometimes, they arrest the suspects on larceny, or robbery.
        The new legislation on "profiling?" Signed into law by Senator Barack Obama and enforced by Mayor Rahm Emanuel, he said to us.He, his wife and son went on for a pleasant hour visit in our Museum here in Tucson.
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Russian Handguns ......Move to liberalise their laws

I am told their is a law moving within one of the Russian dumas to liberalise their laws to allow the carrying of handguns within their legal "state." Russian guests at our B-17 Museum here in Tucson have told me that lawlessness has reached such a level that gun-crimes are beyond the capabilities of the local Russian police to handle them.
     The "bill" before the Duma (I don't know if I have that spelling right) says that all citizens must have firearms training before acquiring a pistol, a small fee,and free bullets are being discussed.
      The Russians I have encountered are a little hesitant about it, but do see the necessity of it as most are frightened of being unarmed in the face of the viciousness of the "outlaws" they say break into their homes and terrorize their women.
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Union General Dan Sickles

This is something that was told to me by someone who is a self-styled "Civil War" expert. Someone who teaches the subject occasionally at Gettysburg College, site of the tidewater battle.
     So there, enough of the qualifcation.
     Unknown to many, me included, I was told that General Sickles was, off-stage, a little difficult when given direction. Read: I don't like being told what to do.
     He damned near sunk us at Gettysburg Battlefield, but, luckily, the command Geenerals planned properly and saved the day on the final defense of Cemetery Hill, no thanks to General Dan.
     More about that later.
.     So, as the story told to me goes, when General Dan was away, going his own damned thing, Scott Key's kid was across the street doing the Mrs. Quite a lot, so I was informed.
     The Mrs, as the story goes, had no objection.
     General Dan finally got word of the above in between firing off his own guns somewhere, rode back to DC, hung out down the street and watched the kid crossing the street and entering his house and prompting shot the interloper dead on his steps.
     No, no trial, no big deal. Apparently, as was the day, his skills were needed at the front more than at the end of a rope so justice is as justice was in 1864
     What do you call that? Compassionate Passion?
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The Late Andy Rooney in a B-17

We all probably know that Rooney flew two missions on a B-17 during World War II. He was based in England and flew over over the English Channel into the first mission into Germany.
     It was in a wing of 500 B-17s that struck Wilemshaven, a location that manufactured ball bearings. As most men know, those components are vital to making engines.
     A B-17 has two decks in the nose: the top deck is the cockpit where the pilot sits in an almost cocoon like left-seat. On his right is a rather wide panel of buttons, lights, dials and switches wedged between he and the co-pilot on the right side of the compartment, also wedged in to the other side of the small space. In between them stands the flight engineer who doubles as the top turret gunner.
    In the lower deck, right under the three men are the navigator, sitting on his office chair, at his desk,and in front of him, in the nose is the bombardier/machine gunner.
    Andy Rooney was only 24 when he was assigned as a reporter for Stars and Stripes newspaper to doa story about Ameicas first strike into Germany's heart land. As he described it, he was not very nervous - right up until the navigator keeled over blue in the face from lack of oxygen.
    Rooney was in modern parlance, just short of a peace activist, admitting in his book that he had flirted with Socialism back in his day. And, when you read his book, "My War," one can easily discern his political leaning. He was photographed for the cover standing in front of a load of 1000 pound bombs in Class A uniform, holding a rose. We got the message, Andy.
    He hated most of the Generals, particularly General Patton, claiming credit for being one of the "nagging " reporters who always chased him for negative comments.
    In the cramped lower deck of the navigator/bombarder's quarters, Rooney was strapped into a tight spot on the right bulkhead between one of the yellow oxygen tanks and an aft  bulkhead at the end of the small compartment.
    About 45 minutes before the IP, they were jumped by all the enemy fighters in the world and the shooting started. The navigator collapsed. Rooney called up to the 20 year old pilot asking instructions. The pilot told him what to do and he did it, his oxygen mask iced up. Andy cleared it, got him back on his feet, breathing, and shooting both .50 caliber machine guns in minutes.
    The mission was successful, the pilot said that Andy probably saved the airplane and Rooney got a medal for it. He was geniunely embarassed about it.
     Rooney flew another mission out of another English base which he described as uneventful. To get a true picture of Andy Rooney, I recommend picking up a copy of his book, My War. It will turn around your mental picture of the man.
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Catch - 22,+ an old, Bold Pilot from 15th Air Force

I was in the B-17 Museum in TucsonI  when this old guy walked in wearing a crinkled leather jacket. He waddled over to a chair, caught his breathe and said, " C'mere, kid."
     At 72, arthritis raising hell, I momentarily appreciated the comment. " you everf fly one of those things, " he asked me with a kind of, I'm gonna dump all over you look on his face.
     I backed off, No I told him.
     " And you did, Right?" He yes, 15th Air Force in Italy, two years and he quipped, " did you ever see the movie with Allen Arkin, called Catch 22?
     We talked for a while, his group flew the famous Ploesti Air Raids over Rumania, the losses were heavy, and I remember other 15th pilots telling me of 20% losses on each mission. The old guy said, yes, it was true, and after 5 missions, you were considered 100% dead.
      "Incidentally, " he said on the way out the door, " the movie...Catch 22? Everything you saw in that movie was true. Everything. I went through it all. "
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American Airlines vs. US Air Potential Merger

The name of this blog is "Things people Tell Me" as in here say, opinions...I pass them along as interesting. As a former reporter, now docent in a B-17 Museum, I meet tons of super-interesting people, engage them in conversation, ask questions and their lives spill out. Here is one of them.
   I don't normally hear of conversations involving words that contain, profit and loss, or pension over-rides, loss, prevention, risk management, and other more sophisticated financial terms reserved for high-end Wharton School educational classes.
   This afternoon, I did from two US Air flight attendants.
" Don't get us started they said," and they were angry about losing their pensions. Flying for years, and loving it, they interspersed their vindictive against the industry with the hatred of how quickly the commercial airlines dump the pensions of long-term, long-time employees who have grown with the same airlines for decades.
   The reason? One attendant said, the profit margin of a
"really good airlines" was maybe 3%, tops. When JETA fuel jumps 400% as it has recently, airlines can't jump fares because you and I won't fly, so they swallow it and dump pensions and other items just to stay in the air.
   Merging with American Airlines will happen, only just to keep their name around - they are already insolvent.
   The other attendant said that some four-holer left-seat pilots (big jet left-seat pilots) will stand to lose close to a million bucks in PENSIONS.
   I ASKED, " WHAT EXACTLY do pilots do after losing their pensions after flying all those years?" Flying for foreign carriers after the age of 60, until they drop over, or
" anything they can, until the end," she told me.
   One, she knows, dropped out and is serving coffee in a cafe in Evergreen Colorado, nestled high up about 10,000 feet in the Rockys. He has a small cabin just up the Creek, and motors down the road to his job at the cafe every day meeting his customers, serving coffee and donuts. He'll do that, she said, for the rest of his life.
   He was a jet captain for a major airlines for 26 years before he lost his pension.
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Pistols, Handguns, and all things about carrying them

In Alaska, there are three handgun training centers operated by governmental facilities, usually the state police, or the local city government: Fairbanks, Anchorage, and like the guy from Texas, can't remember the third.
    The NRA sponsors instructors who come from one of those centers to travel the lower 48 to TRAIN local police department handgun instructors on how to safely handle pistols for patrol officers in the street.
    By accident, as usual for me, I met the guy, last night in the B-17 Museum while on duty as a docent. What an interesting conversation.
    Alaska, you may know, is one of the states, like Arizona with an open carry lack of laws, that is to say, " you got a gun - go right a head and carry it. No permits, no licenses, no by-your-leave. If you feel so inclined to feel the need, or threatened - do it. The only proviso is you must NOT be a convicted felon, just like in Arizona. IF they catch you, convicted felons, with a pistol, bad things happen.
   However, as logic and day follows the night, the bad guys don't listen to the law, anyway. So honest Alaskans like Arizonans can carry pistols open or hidden at their pleasure.
   I asked the question of him, my Alaskan friend: Since your laws have been dropped, has gun violence gone up, or down? Down, he said. All police in Alaska report that it is quieter. " It's strange...we've become a more polite state," he quipped.
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On Memorial Day weekend, I was at the B-17 Museum here in Tucson, and the perky, lovely, very friendly descendant of Laura Ingalls Wilder walked into our museum, toured our place and we had a wonderful discussion about life, politics and the difference between " Washington and D.C."
    She lives there.
    Washington, she explains is where "real people" live - that's you and I, if we can afford it. "DC" is where the politicos live, and she says, "they come, and they go."
     She was very open about the politics the town, saying that the majority population is "African American," (and has been since the Civil War, BTW). My ancestors were stationed there in Dan Sickles Corps, often wrote back to the family describing the life, the times, and the people there.
     Laura said the folks in Washington were very down on Obama because "he failed to meet their expectations" prior to the election of 08. A lot of grumbling in the hold, so to speak. I asked her whether her finger on the local pulse gave her any indication as to which way they might vote in six months: up, down, or sit it out. She was evasive. 
     My gut feeling, Ms Ingalls was very pro-Obama. 
     We spoke of her famous ancestor, and of the cabin from which the writings grew, the homestead in Sedan, Kansas, just an hour north of Tulsa, Oklahoma and thirty minutes by car from Coffeyville, Kansas. The cabin is still there, a one-room affair with one window, over it hangs a one page copy of Laura Ingalls Wilder's Bible verses she relied on during time of trial and stress. I still have copies I carry with me. 
     Laura Ingalls had been to the same cabin, and to the one room school house 20 yards to the west of it, 
     I felt an instant emotional connection to her, our mutual American roots, the school room, the values. I didn't get time to talk to her about her great grandmother, her time as a child looking out that window watching the long line of Indians trailing over the ridge from time-to-time just 150 yards to the west, a shotgun cradled in her lap.
    But, this is a new day, the 21st Century, with a new economy system, where the government takes care of everyone, or, at least it tries to. 
    No more individualism, like her great grandmother, sitting alone in a cabin, hours away by horse, self-sufficient, armed with a shotgun, confident in her own ability to protect herself, father outside plowing the fields and planting, all the while under threat of deadly attack. 
    Things change. Don't they?
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Life in Australia --- This is Real, not romantic

He walked into the Museum one Saturday recently and spent a lot of time talking with me about life, "down-under." Food, housing, land-mas, ages, families, the 'other inhabitants and such, what it was like to live on a land-mass as big as America.
     Imagine his country, the exact same size as America, BUT, 80% of the 17 million population - yeah, that's it - live within 25 miles of the coast along the northeast and eastern boarder. He told me, that's like having everyone you know living from Boston to  Atlanta crammed from the beach in as far as you can drive  for  an hour.
     And, that's it.... after that, you're on your own.
     Australia and America are about the same size, he told me, so, if you live on the beach in Jersey and you start to drive west bound towards Chicago at 8 in the morning, by lunch, you see nobody. Zip, no cars, zero.
     All of this in a land where carrying a gun is illegal. My Aussie friend, "Joe" says that pistols are a big NO-NO down under. Carry one it's jail. Rifles, you'd better belong to a shooting club and prove it. One can always get a license for a shotgun to go hunting. But, that's it.
     Joe says, drive an hour west into the center of Australia, and no one is there. The entire center of the country is devoid of population. " A large city to us is one with 2,000 people in it." What a place this country must be, I think to myself!!. I ask him, what happens if you are deep within the interior and you get into trouble? What form of back up do you have? He avoids the questions about fire-arms until I press the point.
     He answers, " Many Aussies hide pistols, even though it is illegal."
    Crime rates are going up in Australia, yes, the lax, liberal government is noting with the usual degree of frustration that the gun laws don't seem to work for the people who violate them, since criminal elements go ahead and
violate both civil, criminal laws and the public at large anyway.
    Here in Arizona, open gun laws - the freedom to carry concealed and/or open guns has been the order of the day for nearly two years. NRA and other enthusiasts have been taking informal polls of various police officers since the law was enacted, and, trends have been noted that gun crimes are down, and as one officer noted, " it's been quieter in Tucson since everyone can safely assume everyone else MAY be carrying a weapon.
    Joe, the Australian seems amazed at the local civility.
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Feminism - The War Against Men

"Good Men are like parking spaces - they are all taken," one woman said in group therapy. She almost sit it out though teeth clamped shut. Another, " Yeah, either, gay, married, or lying about both." 
   A third woman chimed in, " my luck? I seem to run into married guys who lie about being married AND gay and they can't face telling the wife, sleep with me and then confess to ME...Jesus!! Thanks a lot!! Now I gotta wonder where he's been with that thing?"
   Women who lose their husbands because they strayed, are as angry ten years later as they were the day the divorce was final. Think of it, as angry THE DAY ten years LATER!! Wasted time. Stuck. "I'll never trust again," some have said with clenched fists. I've seen it. And...they don't.
   Television shows have emerged now in the 21st Century that dwell on women who emotionally snap and kill their male spouse. "Snapped" runs on a cable TV all night long one day a week outlining coast-to-coast stories of murder, mayhem, blood and revenge of women over the edge and bodies of their male victims. "Snapped" is not the cause, merely the symptom. 
   Feminism, some counter, have made it alright to not only fight back, but to chuck the feminine ways and wiles American women have carried for centuries, picking up axes, guns and knives and literally striking down emotional and/or physical tormentors.
   In some cases women have now become as bad, or worse, as their male counterparts. This is getting horrific.
   Male thugs in our society have not yet learned two elements in their relationships with women that would turn off this growing trend: far less alcohol, and more respect for the gentler sex. For instance, women are NOT "Bitches."
   And, for women scorned, men do have deep wounds when they fall in love and lose their mates. They hardly ever show it. More about that later. Both sides have to learn to live with each other, it is a small planet, and we know that a warm, lose relationship with someone of the opposite sex is really one of the three KEY things we all want out of life.
   We need to stop yelling, and hitting, and calling names, and hurting feelings. And we need to listen to each other more. Be quiet...and listen.
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Hot-to-Trot.......B-17 Air Crew Casualty WWII

During the winter, only Americans come to the B-17 Museum, the summer, its Europeans and folks from around the world. It was on a cold winter day that a small crowd of Virginians wandered in, no different than any other crowd came in - I heard a woman sobbing from the back of the plane, under the tail.
    "Oh my God, " I heard her crying, " its my father."  I walked...hobbled really down there, and found an older woman slumped over a wheel chair, sobbing into a large hankerchief, pointing to a crew picture hanging on the wall.
     " Its him, it's my dad, " she cried, and wimpered as her family bent over hugging and running their fingers and hands over her shoulders.
     Her father was a waist gunner on Hot-to-Trot, lost over Germany on its X mission, another casualty on another flight, doing his duty, bombing yet another target, trying to get the damned war over with. It really didn't matter whether it was at the front part of the war or near the end, the plane and most of the 10 crew didn't make it. They were lost, dead was dead, no hope, the explosion happened at about 8,000 feet on the way down, it was quick, very few chutes, no bodies were recovered.
    We copied the crew photo and gave it to her. She wanted to know a zillion things: why the art on the nose, who thought it up, who were the other guys, still alive, where were they? how many other casualties ( WAY too many), was it worth it?
    The family that came with her? Sons, daughters, grandchildren and the family tree that sprung from their union that populated the small town from whence they came. He issued a doctor, farmer, college graduates, electrical workers, a couple of nurses, a family tree that gave his town a lot.
    I imagine if he could see all this, he would be proud.
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Life in Switzerland Money, vacations, Religion

It has been many years since I spent time in Geneva, walked the halls of the Peace Palace, ate Fondue Raclette in the lakeside restaurants and watched the fountains, cruised the massive lakes and walked the streets of sedate Basil.
    Things change, apparently in staid, quiet Switzerland, the "high Bridge at Bern, home of super sleuth spy novels still spans the arcing Aare River snaking through the capital city underneath the windows of the palatial capital of the Bellevue Palace Hotel, but other, more significant things have moved into play.
   Religion has sunken keep into the lives of the Swiss, four or five rooted faiths have gripped  the people and grown into their identity, and although the you, stern Mormons there won't hint at it, "praying ONLY to Jesus Christ, and not to statues in Church" manages to creep into casual conversation 5 times in a half hour conversation as I meet them one Saturday afternoon while touring southern Arizona.
   The major religions of the world have carved out a territory of Switzerland and began proselytizing each other. None that I meet mentions the other by name, but if human nature is any measure, say like the competitive nature of the Jews and Catholics of New York City, each keeping monthly score of conversions from and to each others camps (in televisions appearances), it is likely that consideration is popping up in staid, conservative Switzerland as well.
    I ask of the current financial crisis in Europe? "Not a problem in Conservative Helvetian " I am told. Solid as the proverbial rock, he reassures. The industry in the Central European country =is, will be and forever will be banking: secret banking, confidential banking. Italy, apparently has been hounding Switzerland for names, addresses and amounts for "taxes" owed the Italian Government, he tells me.
    "We are a separate country," he tells me. " How dare they." They will never get our records, no one will, he continued. This must give comfort to many on Wall Street it occurs to me. My new found friend is in banking in his homeland.
    Spending time in America is a yearly adventure with him, four weeks off each year is a benefit of Swiss citizenship. Four weeks off, PAID, and it is the law there. The government revenue is fueled by other means he assures: banking. Of course - it makes sense.
    All homes in Switzerland have guns, all have at least one member who has had compulsory service in the military, and by law, they take their weapons and ammo home - forever. So, their "neutrality" is more than a warm blanket. As John Lennon used to sing, "Happiness (really) is a Warm Gun."
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What a B-17 Pilot told me one afternoon

...he trudged in off the desert floor into the museum, hot and dusty, his 50 mission crush cap worn from years of use, but, out of the closet, he put it on for his visit to the B-17 Museum.
   "I was 19 when I did my first of 28 missions, " he told me. Out of England, called East Anglia at the time, he was part of the 8th Air Force that bombed the German Reich back into the stone ages in 1944 and 45.
   " Gosh," he said, " it was awful." At 89, still using 'gosh,' I thought, what a character - 28 missions stacked with blood, gunfire, explosions, flak and death, this guy, at his age, still says, GOSH like a Montana farm boy, but still standing straight with a boyish smile on his face, he had no regrets.
   "I flew in the middle of the pack, " he added, " in the left seat (command pilot) and most of the 8 hours in the air, I got a severe case of eye strain and vertigo."
   He had to keep his eye on the airplane 70 feet above him right under his nose, in those days, it was "put your wing in my window," they flew so close, so tight, they often bumped into each other. The idea was with 12 machine guns pointed in every direction, the enemy wouldn't dare make a direct attack on the flock of B-17's - too many machine guns.
   "About 30% of the time, the ME 109's killed the pilot and co-pilot in a head on run, shooting right at us. Thank God, they never hit me, " he said. In those cases, the top turret gunner came down and flew the mission, he was the third pilot on board. "Lucky thing," my visiting pilot buddy added, " my top turret was crappy at landing."
   In 28 missions, my B-17 pilot visitor of the day, flew 16 different  B-17s, most crashed and burned on return to their bases in East Anglia. One, the "Dorothy Dee," was so shot up, when he landed at Jimmy Stewart's base (the actor who was sound asleep at the time), he said he could swear the crew was whistling they were so happy to have made it.
   When he left the plane, the ground crew chief told him to turn around and check out his 17. When he did, his jaw dropped. It took him a half hour to count OVER 700 bullet holes. The miracle was not one of the 10 man crew was even scratched.
   The crew wasn't whistling,...the airplane was. The scraped the plane and the boys were bused back to their own base.
   None of the 10 crewmen were over 20.
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From the Museum Floor, Guests Tell me of their lives

As a docent in an aviation Museum here in Tucson, Arizona, I have the honor of meeting many people from around the world who visit the desert of southern Arizona. While here, they visit an aviation museum dedicated to a unique World War II bomber flown by the American Army Air Force in Europe during that war.
    As a docent, a guide, I have the chance to speak with folks from around the world. I exchange points of view, conversation about their lives, mine, a mutual exchange of our cultures, economics, politics, their unique curiosities about Americans, and what it's like to live here.
    Almost to a visitor, they are intensely curious about us. Almost to a visitor they are happy to be here, pleasant, and enormously happy with their decision to visit America. Their intense curiosity with the War, the bomber, and how Americans think and feel is astounding. They can't get enough of it.
    Last Saturday, two Syrian couples helped close the shop with me. They were about mid thirties, two husband and wives, very pleasant, highly fluent in English and both about to move to the US. They will move here because of America's dedication to "family values." Although, they say, we have moved away from it the last decade or two, with the coming election they feel the possibility of a Republican president and more modest, conservative values in the country's mainstream may restore the richness that our country had under Reagan.
   This from two mid-30's Syrian couples who are moving here on the CHANCE that we may politically move to the right. In their own country, they admitted, after some pressing, that of course, Assad had to go. We spoke briefly about my exposure to Egyptians who had frequented the Museum briefly six months ago, right after the outbreak of the Cairo riots. They had said after Mubarak had fallen, the same henchmen were still in power. The Syrian couples agreed, " nothing has changed there, " they added. Then they agreed that in Syria, the whole organization would have to topple, not just Assad, else nothing would change. " It would be just like Egypt, and it would be chaos," they said.
   When I explained the rich fabric of my pool of international exposure inside the museum and how alike we all are, they readily agreed that the world is now - in their words a "global village." Jobs, a bad economy, lack of family values, pornography, violence, etc, plagues their homeland, Europe, and other places as well as ours. It was NOT a surprise to them the things I discussed, at all.
   The globe is shrinking. They were more cosmopolitan than I thought. More later.
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