IN REMEMBRANCE

What always struck me was the average age of the men (most of whom were still really boys) serving in the various Armed Forces during the war, especially the ages of the pilots, gunners, navigators and bombardiers. Most pilot officers were 21, 22, 23 years old. The average age of all the men who fought in the war was only 26 years old. So many kids, and I mean kids joined up after lying or producing phony documents to alter their true ages. There were 16 and 17 year olds ready to serve their country and lay down their lives. They came from everywhere, farms, small towns, ranches, big cities, you name it.

Courage, sacrifice and heart are ageless.

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Some fighter pilots entered combat in 1942 with less than one hour in their assigned aircraft. The 357th Fighter Group went to England in late 1943 having trained on P-39s. The group never saw a Mustang until shortly before its first combat mission. A high-time P-51 pilot had 30 hours in type. Many had fewer than five hours. Some had one hour. One hour.

With arrival of new aircraft, many combat units transitioned in combat. The attitude was, "They all have a stick and a throttle. Go fly `em." When the famed 4th Fighter Group converted from P-47s to P-51s in February 1944, there was no time to stand down for an orderly transition. The Group commander, Col. Donald Blakeslee, said, "You can learn to fly `51s on the way to the target.

Just as amazing was the AAF training of Navigators. The Army graduated some 50,000 during the War. And most of them had never flown out of sight of land before leaving for a war zone. Yet the vast majority of them found their way across oceans and continents without getting lost or running out of fuel.

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My step moms father flew B-29s and later B-50s. I happened to know the FE on FIFI a few years back when the CAF brought it to town. I arranged for a visit, he kept saying thanks for the visit, everyone there kept saying the same thing. We all have little moments that make us feel proud, I flew myself and my step brother to his brothers college graduation. On the way home the alternator belt broke and made the cabin smell like burnt rubber, I didn't declare but I did land at the nearest airport. The B-29 pilot thanked me later and said he approved of my actions, it was his grandson after all.
 
The stories are amazing.

In another life of mine, a fella' in my old church went through personal belongings after his dad's passing. He was stunned to find a diary and bayonet, along with other items.

My congregant never knew the details of his dad's service. Like many of our fathers, there was little detail given to family members and other non-combatants about the experience he had known.

Tom found through the scribbled notes of the diary that his dad had been a combat Marine on Guadalcanal at the age of seventeen and had killed other men with the bayonet that had been kept all those years. It was a side of his father he never knew or imagined, and he struggled a bit to embrace it.

Although tongues loosened a bit with the passing of years, many of that era simply carried their personal burden alone and hidden beneath the future life and family they were making.

Most I know/knew who served in WWII rejected the title of "Greatest Generation" and would only note they "did what they had to do" - nothing more or less.

I'm grateful they choose to do so.
 
My father had one uncle killed in Sicily (after whom I'm named) and another who fought and survived every major land battle of the Pacific Theater as a Marine BAR man.
 
My grandfather lived though Pearl and then re upped for Korea. Left that country only after threats of taking his legs off for the gangrene. Best person I've ever known.
 
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