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What
Did I do in WW2
By:
Guy E. Myers
I graduated from high school in June of 1942. In July of '42 along with my father, I registered for the Selective Service draft, as all male
citizens between the ages of 18 and 65 were required to do. I was 4 months past
my 18th birthday and Dad was 4 months shy of his 65th
birthday. A couple weeks later I received a four page questionnaire to fill out
and return. I filled it out with exception of one question which I left blank.
It asked what draft classification did I think I should be. I thought that was
their decision and not mine.
A couple weeks later I was notified by mail
that I was class 2-C which meant farm deferred. The head of the local draft
board was a neighboring farmer and a friend of my father. He knew that Dad's
health was failing and that he needed my help at home on the farm. I knew this
to, but I wasn't too happy with their decision. I felt that I should serve my
country as many of my friends were doing.
In the Fall after the farm work had slowed
down, I tried to enlist in the Navy V-5 program to become a naval pilot. My
left eye was not quite perfect and I was rejected. I went back twice after
eating many carrots; still the eye kept me back so I gave up for the time
being.
During the Winter of '42-'43 a recruiter
came to my local high school looking for people to go into a meteorological
program. I took the written test, passed and a friend drove me to Rochester, New York for the physical. My blood pressure kept me from being accepted. My ego
was really shattered when the examiner told me I would be likely to shoot my
own men because of my physical condition.
I worked for my father through the Spring,
Summer and Fall of '43. In late Fall on a Sunday morning I drove over to Youngstown to buy a Sunday paper. While buying the paper I became engaged in a conversation
with a fellow that I knew slightly. He told me the draft board was breathing
down his neck and to avoid being drafted he was going up to Buffalo the
following morning to enlist in the Army Air Force. He asked me if I would go up
with him. The next morning he picked me up and we went up to the recruiting
office in Buffalo.
I took a 6-4 physical which is a very
strict one. To fly you must be in top shape. I did fine until my blood pressure
was taken. As usual it was high. The old Doc asked me if I really wanted to
pass. I assured him that I did. He slowly got my mind distracted by asking
questions about my farm life, the weather, and other things and as he talked he
kept taking my blood pressure. Finally, he said that he guessed that 132 was
okay and I had passed my physical. I then approached several tables in a row
with officers behind each one. The first officer checked my paper and told me I
was fit for any branch of the military. I stated that I wanted Army Air Force.
He said okay and asked for my draft card. I handed it to him, he looked at me
kind of funny and told me I couldn't enlist with a farm deferment and that I
must have a 1-A. This was news to me and I told him I'd be back soon with a
1-A.
The next day I went over to talk with the
head of the local draft board. I told him I wanted to go in the Army Air Force
but needed a 1-A. He was very reluctant but said he'd talk to my father. The
following Sunday morning he drove into our yard. I went into the house and he
and Dad had a lengthy conversation. After he left Dad came to me and asked me
if I really wanted to go. I told him I did and he replied that he
wouldn't stop me. A few days later I had my 1-A. This meant going through the physical
over again. I did, with the same old problem cropping up but this time after
several tries I was okayed physically and was sworn into the U.S.A.A.F. on December 23, 1943. I was told to go home until I was notified when and where to report for
active duty. Shortly after January 1st I was notified to report to Fort Dix on January 12th.
On the evening of January 11th
my sister drove me up to Niagara Falls where I took a train to Buffalo; my first train ride. In Buffalo I got on a train to New York City and arrived in New York City in the morning and boarded a train to Trenton, New Jersey which was near to Fort Dix. I took a bus to Fort Dix and joined the gang who had arrived to help win the war.
Every so often the man in charge called out all the names on a huge list and
until everyone on the list had arrived, we waited. It was cold and the sole
heat was a small potbellied stove in the center of our waiting room, which was
a large hut. Finally all showed up and we were herded over to a huge warehouse where
we were issued all of our GI issue clothing. Also at this time we were given
our first series of shots. About 1a.m. we were pointed to a large two story
barracks, told to find a spare bunk and go to bed. I heard some mild sobbing
and fell asleep. At 5a.m. an amplified bugle woke me up. We fell out into the
company street and stood and waited and froze to death. After about 20 minutes
of this we sort of marched to chow (breakfast). I'm going to skip ahead to the
following Sunday when I discovered what K.P. meant as I was on it. Ten of my 12
days at Fort Dix consisted of K.P. and any other dirty tasks that the people in
charge decided to have us do. They made sure that our time at Fort Dix was not pleasant and I feel that it was done one purpose.
At this time we all boarded a troop train
and left Fort Dix. No one was unhappy to leave. No one would tell us our
destination. We all hoped it would be Miami Beach which was a basic training
base. We were not that lucky and wound up at Kessler Field, Mississippi. We
arrived between midnight and 1 a.m. and here again we stood around and waited;
at least it wasn't cold like Dix had been. Our number was too large for one
class and we were split into 2 classes 149 and 150. I was in 149 and since my
friend from home was named Thompson, much further in the alphabet, he was in
class 150. I didn't see him again for over a year.
I went through 6 weeks of basic training
which included marching, rifle range, guard duty, K.P., many lectures on
everything imaginable and anything pertaining to Army life. They also gave us a
battery of tests both mental and physiological. These were called physcomothive
tests. They warned us that few of us would go on to become AAF Navigators,
Bombardiers or pilots as none were needed. I believe those who passed were all
college graduates. I failed and boarded a train over to Tyndal Field, Florida to attend 6 weeks of gunnery school.
We arrived at Tyndal the 1st
week of March to find the school full and no openings for a couple of weeks. We
moved into tents in an area called Skunk Hollow. The next 2 weeks consisted of
many days of K.P. and any other menial tasks that could be thought up. No fun
at all.
Time passed and we started school My
spirits rose and I began to learn something of interest to me. We learned to
put a 50 cal. Browning machine gun together blindfolded, learned to operator a
flexible turret, fire on moving targets with both single and twin mounted machine
guns. We also did some skeet shooting that I really enjoyed. All this in
addition to running around a drill field before chow each night. For the first
time, I was enjoying what I was doing and we were treated like humans. At the
end of 6 weeks we graduated and were given a stripe. I was PFC with a slight
raise in pay. And again it was wait. We must have waited about 2 weeks before
we left Tyndal Field. We finally boarded a train for Westover Field in the
state of Massachusetts. At Westover we would meet the rest of the members of
our crew. I was a tail gunner. To back up a bit out being a large class, we
were divided in half the last week and half boarded trucks and went over to Apalachicola for a week of air to ground machine gun firing from the waist window of a B-17
bomber. This was my first airplane ride. At weeks end it was back to Tyndal.
We met our crew at Westover and we were
each given a 10 day delay enroute (like a leave or furlough). I enjoyed my time
at home saw some friends, went to a few parties, met some new chicks, then it
was back to Westover and reality. There was a war on.
At Westover we learned that we would be
getting our O.T.U. (Overseas Training Unit) at Chatham Field, just outside of Savannah, Georgia. We went by train to Chatham Field and found it to be very humid and very
hot. (mid June) We had six weeks to train together as a crew. There was much to
learn and our lives would depend on how well we learned to operate together as
a crew. We were treated well with a pass on Saturday nights if we so desired, I
didn't like Savannah too much and stayed most weekends on the base. Time passed
quite fast but I did learn that we were doing dangerous wok and witnessed a
mid-air collision of two B-24's, maybe 50 yards off our wing. One plane limped home but all perished in the other plane. Very scary to a kid! We started O.T.U.
with 56 crews and I doubt that more than 50 finished. It was a case of eager
inexperienced pilots being pushed too hard, war weary B-24's and some poor
maintenance on the part of the mechanics. I recall one incident that never
should have happened. A bombardier forgot an item that he needed. He asked the
pilot to wait while he went and got it. The props were idling and he tried to
walk between two props without thinking and you can imagine the result. Last
mistake.
At the completion of O.T.U. we went by
train up to Mitchell Field on Long Island with the purpose of picking up a new
B-24J and flying it overseas. We were there three days while our crew checked
out the plane. It was okay and we flew north to Grenier Field at Manchester, N.H. We spent the night there and flew to Gander, New Foundland. Here the
weather turned sour and we spent a week waiting for decent weather. Nice bowling
alley and I bowled a lot. Finally left Gander and flew to the Azores. Spent one
night there and flew on to Marrakech to North Africa, from there to Tunisia, from Tunisia up into Italy. Landed in Goia for our assignment. We were assigned to
the 450th Bomb Group and into 722nd Bomb Squadron. Each
group has four squadrons. We landed at our new home and prepared for our new
life as a combat crew in the 15th Air Force.
For the first few days we had no duties.
I'm speaking of the enlisted men and don't know about the officers. They could
have been learning and doing practice flying or whatever. I flew my first
mission with a strange crew as their tail gunner. It was milk run (easy) to Larissa, Greece on September 22nd, 1944. The rest of the gunners also flew their
fist missions with strange but experienced crews.
Our living quarters was a six man, pyramid
type tent with a concrete floor with wooden boards up about 3 feet from the floor level. I didn't know the dimensions but the outside perimeter was just right
for 6 men to sleep. We were issued each, two army blankets for warmth, no
pillows so we each used our flight jackets, B-15 type for a pillow. Nothing
fancy but substantial till we finished our missions. Southern Italy is fairly
warm through the winter and we only saw snow once. It was gone before noon from the sun.
I believe I flew two more missions with
experienced crews. One I flew along with Bentley our bombardier. Another quite
easy mission. Then we flew a couple as a crew and faced heavy, intense, and
accurate flak. It was scary and I had to wonder why I wasn't back on the farm.
About this time my pilot flew as co-pilot
for the Colonel, the Group Commander, and it was a rough mission. Here I must
explain something. The lead plane had a lead bombardier who took over the
flying of the plane on the bomb run. He used the Norden Bombsight and actually
controlled the flight of the plane and the dropping of the bombs. Under the
tail turret of this lead plane was a large flare that went off when the bombs
left the bomb bay, all the others bombed when they saw this flare go off to get
a good bomb pattern. I knew nothing of this as being a tail gunner I never
could look forward only backwards. This flare made a terrific bang when it
went off, which scared the pants off of me as it was located right under my
rear end. The flak had been very bad and that bang told me I must have been
hit. I quickly felt with both hands checking my bottom but no blood appeared
much to my surprise. At this point the bombardier called me and asked if the
flare had gone off. I answered, "so that was what that big bang was." He
apologized for not warning me ahead of time. The entire crew including the
Colonel thought it was very funny. I didn't.
We began flying as a crew and the missions
went by very slowly through the winter months as the skies over Europe in the
winter are not good as front after front passes through. We would be scheduled
for a mission, go to breakfast, got to briefing pick up all our flying stuff
including flak vest, flak helmet, parachute, .45 pistol, etc
and go to the
plane. Wait maybe 1-2 hours until a red or green flare was shot up from the
tower. If green we went, if red we returned the stuff and went back to our
tent. This was repeated almost everyday until we got the next mission. In. No
fun at all, of course, some days if they knew before hand the weather was bad
they wouldn't schedule a mission and no one woke us up.
At the end of 18 missions we were sent to a
small rest camp for a week All I can remember is, we lived in a nice old hotel
with nice beds with bedding and we ate our meals at tables with silverware and
tablecloths and a violinist wandering around and played requests. At the end of
the week we returned to the base and more missions. December was rotten weather
wise over Europe and little flying was done. January wasn't much better so we
played some poker and got on each others nerves. February was some better and
March was better yet. In March we went by 2 ½ ton trucks over the Apennines to Rome to rest camp again. We took in the sights of Rome, ate good and were
trucked back to our base to finish our missions.
On April 12th I returned from my
34th mission and learned that our President had died. On April 14th
I flew number 35 and relaxed. My war was over.
A few days later we boarded a B-24 and flew
to Naples to await a troopship to return us to the U.S. We hung around about a
week and boarded the S.S. Maraposa in Naples harbor and sailed for Boston, U.S.A.
Lucky me I drew K.P. all the way to Boston. It really wasn't too bad as all I did was carry urns of coffee from the large
coffee makers to the mess tables. We were the first to eat and we ate a little
better than the other troops.
Two days out of Naples, Germany surrendered and we no longer sweated submarines. Three days later we docked in Boston harbor and debarked. We boarded a train and went to Camp Miles Standish. Steaks,
real milk and lots of other good stuff. Next day we located our clothing and
boarded a train for Fort Dix, New Jersey. At least now I was S/Sgt and I didn't
need to cringe when I approached a PFC or Corporal.
Two days at Dix to wait for our paperwork
to be ready and I headed for Buffalo by train with a 30 day furlough in my
hands. Arrived home on May 20th my Mother's birthday. It was a wild
30 days as some of my old buddies were also home. After 30 days I reported back
to Atlantic City, N.J. for reassignment. I was quartered in a hotel on the
Boardwalk, slept in beds with sheets and pillows and ate at tables with
tablecloths and silverware. I saw two big bands; Gene Krupa and Woody Herman; I
didn't dance by I sure listened!
My stay at Atlantic City was lengthened
somewhat by my blood pressure. I was there about 10 days longer than I would
have been ordinarily. They finally decided I was okay so I was up for
reassignment. I had choices of four fields in Texas or one just barely over the
Texas border in Oklahoma. Then they added I could take a test to qualify to
got to Central Instructors School to become an instructor gunner with a chance
to go somewhere outside of Texas. I took and passed the test and boarded a
train for Laredo, Texas. Arrived there about 3 a.m. and couldn't believe the heat. This is mid-summer and Laredo is on the Mexican border.
I began school which was a six week course.
At the end of the fourth week they closed the school because Japan was surrendering, and no more gunners were needed. We were excess baggage and were
offered 10 day furloughs. I went home and helped Dad harvest our peach crop. I
obtained, through the Red Cross and finally the family doctor, two extensions
and didn't return to Texas until the peaches were all harvested.
After returning to Texas it was back to
eating and sleeping and lying around. The U.S. Military began discharging
personnel on a point system. Points were earned by time in service, time
overseas, battle stars, decorations, etc. They started at 105 points and kept
dropping 5 points at a time as people were discharged. I had 80 points and when
that number was reached, I was discharged. The date was October 25, 1945. This story is true to the best of my knowledge and the best that my memory can
recall.
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