The Cost of Freedom: A True Story

Freedom has a cost, as we are reminded every Independence Day.  For those engaged in the fight, it can mean Adventure, but it can also mean Catastrophe, two common themes in Noah’s Boys adventures.  My father experienced both by personal experience during World War II.  Here is the first episode of his true story.

“I’ve always wanted to fly.  But my career did not start as a World War II Co-Pilot in a B-17.  My career actually started much earlier, with model airplanes, when I was a little kid.  I always wanted to design them, so I worked out the carvings for the frame and covered them with paper.  My first was a Spad from WWI --Eddie Rickenbacker’s airplane.  I enjoyed pouring over books and magazines like “Dusty Ayres and his Battle Birds.” To indulge me a bit as a kid, my Dad had paid for an airplane ride in Milwaukee, and it just whetted my interest.”

After high school, I went to State Teacher’s College as an art major.  In fall of 1940, I met and liked a lovely girl named Libby Marshalek.  I did not date her until I had enlisted in the Army Air Force, which at that time was building up: war was coming soon.

We only had a date or two before I was called to active duty, but wrote letters back and forth. 

As a cadet—a potential officer awaiting orders to flight school-- I got to finish another semester at State Teacher’s College.  I was given an Army Air Force pin to wear: that pin was important, as it showed that I was not a draft dodger!  When my number came up in 1942, I reported.  My group left Milwaukee on a steam-powered train with worn out old passenger cars.  We took the Milwaukee road to Omaha, and then on other railroads to California.  I did Basic Training in Santa Ana, California (actually, 2 times).

The first few days on active duty were difficult.  I especially recall running the Physical Training course.  One time we had to cross a river on a rope, hand over hand, and many fell in.  On the same course we had to climb up a tree, grab a rope, and go hand over hand to the next tree.  I saw a cadet in front of me dislocate his shoulder, and he had a bone sticking out. I was not involved in his rescue.

  

After two weeks of “basic training” some of us were sent for more “basic training” at Grand Forks State College in North Dakota.  Again I was on a PT course crossing the river hand over hand—but this time my hands became so tired that, though nearly across, I could no longer hold the rope—I fell into the river!

At Grand Forks State we were given ten hours with an instructor in a Taylor

“Cub” to see if we could stand flying—with “spins’ and “stalls” –without getting airsick. The airsick or otherwise unsuitable “washed out”.  The Ground School had a list of assigned courses that I took.  Several courses I had had in my 2.5 years at Wisconsin State Teachers College.  In the gap time I took Geopolitics and a few other courses.  As part of our “Basic Training” we also went on a firing line and fired rifles, pistols, and then shotguns at clay targets. 

Music. 

Russ Miller, a music major at State Teacher’s College was also in my group of cadets, and he formed the “Russ Miller’s Air Cadets” band.  I got to be the lead saxophone by borrowing a Conn alto sax! We got to play once a week over the radio.  Of course, I also played my clarinet (named “Elmer”—I painted the case as seen above). For wartime it was great fun!  The other cadets in my unit were jealous of me at times, because I got to go off on playing gigs, while they sometimes had to scrub floors!  One very late night (2 AM) I returned to the barracks, and jumped into my bunk.  Imagine my surprise when the bed collapsed and I fell down into a big pile of bottles! It made an awful racket, and awakened everybody!  My buddies had replaced the bedsprings with strings, and piled up empty coke bottles underneath! 

Because there was a wait for Flight School to become available, I next returned to Santa Ana for “Basic Training” a second time.  One night I saw a P-38 flame down and crash, killing the pilot.  It was my first view of air death!"  

-------------Return tomorrow for the second episode, in which my father continued his flight training.

NOTE: Photo is my father's actual wreck, obtained from the German youngster who took it many years later.

 G.M. Horning