The latest installment in a series of reports from the 2009 American Veterans Center Annual Conference. Scroll down for the other posts....
As the previous session closed I couldn't remember who would be next, but the room was still buzzing and so I felt a bit sorry for anyone having to follow General Pretraeus. I shouldn't have worried. Up next were Major Theodore "Dutch" Van Kirk, navigator of the Enola Gay, and WWII flying ace Colonel Clarence "Bud" Anderson. Both of them were fascinating, making their session seem far too short.
Anderson and Van Kirk sat together at a small table, in a much more intimate and focused setting than the Seabee panel earlier that morning, as if two friends were simply sitting down to talk. Their aviation experiences in WWII hadn't intersected, but they seemed to have developed a friendship over the years of such sessions.
Like so many veterans who spoke, Van Kirk began by talking not of his historic flight, but about the people with whom he served--the rest of the crew of the Enola Gay and how they had all passed away. "I have a very lonely feeling," he said sadly, "because I'm the only one left."
Van Kirk was rather matter-of-fact about his famous mission to bomb Hiroshima, perhaps a reflection of the feeling he said they'd had that day. They were very busy just trying to make it happen--the most recent tests hadn't been entirely successful--and so didn't have time to think too hard about the big picture of what they were doing. They hoped they would be successful because they couldn't imagine the Japanese continuing to fight when such a weapon stood at America's disposal, but "We didn't know if it would work or not," he said. Even as they flew toward Japan, a technician in the back was busily trying to assemble things to properly arm the bomb. "Carrying the bomb didn't worry me," Van Kirk quipped, "Deke in the back messing around with black powder worried me!"
After bombs away, the plane turned so tightly that it nearly broke apart, then hauled tail to get as far away from Nagaski as possible in the 41 seconds before they expected the bomb to detonate. Van Kirk said the crew tensely counted down the seconds, wondering whether it would work at all. The flash of light alerted them to their success. Even miles out and facing away from ground zero, Van Kirk reported that light flooded the interior of the plane, followed soon by the shock wave that bounced them around. By the time they'd gathered themselves and turned back to do a damage assessment, they couldn't see anything but smoke.
Upon their return, the crew of the Enola Gay were greeted by "more generals and admirals there to meet us than we'd ever seen. If Japan had bombed us that day, they'd have won the war," Van Kirk joked as the audience laughed.
Van Kirk said one of the most common questions asked is how the crew was chosen. Only half-kidding, he continued, "I always thought it was because we were expendable." In seriousness, he said Tibbetts was chosen as the pilot and Tibbetts had the opportunity to choose the rest of the crew. They'd flown before and, "He wanted guys he knew."
An audience member asked about the controvery over the Smithsonian Institution's display of the Enola Gay and its effects on Nagasaki, the focus the display placed on the suffering of the Japanese, and what some saw as a perspective sympathetic to the Japanese fighters while dismissive of the American perspective. Van Kirk responded with the first hint of intense emotion and looked down as he replied with great seriousness, "It was a horrible weapon." Both his mood and that of the audience darkened considerably. He agreed that people suffered greatly, though he thought the bomb ultimately saved lives. "But you start thinking like that and you're not going to win many wars," he finished emphatically. A murmur swept through the audience and a chill went down my spine as I considered our current concerns amid an extremely casualty-averse mindset.
Bud Anderson picked up the baton from there, and his very first words were emblematic of the feisty, irreverent and brutally honest approach he displayed throughout his comments. "I was darn glad they dropped the bomb!" he exclaimed. "It ended the war, and saved Japanese lives in the long run!" The WWII veterans in the audience applauded immediately. On the subject of revisionism and the Smithsonian's Enola Gay display, Anderson mentioned a run-in he'd had once with a curator at the Smithsonian. The curator reportedly later said, "It's really hard to write hsitory when so many so many of those guys are still around." Anderson's contempt was obvious as he waved his arms and spat, "Give me a break!"
Anderson began his presentation by saying that it truly was "The best of times and the worst of times." The best of times in that it mobilized the country: "I know we had our political differences, but once the decision was made, even politicians got together and spoke with one voice," he said. Echoing other WWII vets who had spoken, he added, "The whole country mobilized. The patriotism was incredible! I haven't seen anything like it since. Think Desert Storm times one thousand." He also mentioned women in the workforce as a positive. "They've never looked back," he said with satisfaction.
On the "worst of times," he brought up the staggering number of war-wide casualties, mentioning that the numbers are so huge that historians can only estimate. "How do I rationalize it?" he asked, struggling with making such numbers real. In answer, he pointed to the squadron level--in his squadron there were only 28 men from the original unit that headed to war (50% were KIA or POW). The 8th Army Air Corps (of which he'd been a part) had more WWII casualties than the entire USMC. "That's the sorrow and the worst of times part," he finished heavily.
That seemed to be as serious as Anderson wanted to get, though, for he soon turned to explanation of a little factoid that he said people often ask about--his "1/4 kill" from the 16 and 1/4 with which he's credited. He told the story of one bright spring day when he was involved in a close escort of B-17 bombers. He looked up and saw four German Messerschmitts in perfect formation, noses pointed at them in attack. It was a wild fight and made him very nervous, for the P-51 model which he flew looked a lot like the German planes and as he put it, "B-17 gunners shot anything that pointed their nose at 'em,"
Fortunately he survived without suffering any friendly fire and soon went looking for the plane he was sure the Messerschmitts had been escorting. They found the German transport plane far below them, "all alone. I felt sorry for him... for a millisecond," Anderson cracked with a grin. "What a great opportunity for my wingmen to practice!" he then thought. So he lined them up in a typical training pattern and they each took a run at gunning the transport plane. They eventually knocked it out of the sky, gaining them each (in Bud's mind) 1/4 of a kill. As he saw two of the transport's crew members parachute to safety in an open field, Anderson said he had an additional creative thought, "Let's give this guy a thrill." So they buzzed him as if to strafe him with their guns... just to watch him run. He laughed, recalling how they chased one crew member across the field and into the trees.
It occurred to me at that moment that in some ways there is very little different between 86-year-old pilots and 24-year-old ones.... which made me smile.
Later I found Anderson at a table signing books and other autographs. I told him I had to shake his hand just so I could make my friends jealous. He stood at my approach and I asked if he were still flying, as that was the report I'd read. "Absolutely," he replied with a mixture of joy and pride. With a twinkle in his eyes, he said he'd flown a P-51 just a few days before. He may be 86 years old, but he still has the spirit of a young fighter pilot... and the handshake of a man twenty years his junior.
That sense of youth was an unspoken theme among many of the 80 and 90-year-old WWII veterans I observed or interacted with. Some were frail around the edges, but in spite of that none seemed truly old, and all had a passionate spirit that invariably surfaced if one listened long enough. They were humble and matter-of-fact about their service, with many saying they simply did what everyone else was doing, what had to be done. Still, I can't help but think that WWII veterans really are a special breed, not simply for their courage in facing down the scourges of Naziism and Japanese imperialism on the battlefield, but for the very way they lived their lives afterward.
We are very blessed to be standing on their shoulders today, and to still have a handful of them among us...
[Part I: WWII, racism and courage; Part II: General Petraeus; Part III: Band of Brothers; Part IV: Seabees; Part VI: Iwo Jima; Part VII: U.S.S. Mason; video excerpts from various sessions are posted at navytv.org. photos above are taken from the official Flickr feed.]
As the previous session closed I couldn't remember who would be next, but the room was still buzzing and so I felt a bit sorry for anyone having to follow General Pretraeus. I shouldn't have worried. Up next were Major Theodore "Dutch" Van Kirk, navigator of the Enola Gay, and WWII flying ace Colonel Clarence "Bud" Anderson. Both of them were fascinating, making their session seem far too short.
Anderson and Van Kirk sat together at a small table, in a much more intimate and focused setting than the Seabee panel earlier that morning, as if two friends were simply sitting down to talk. Their aviation experiences in WWII hadn't intersected, but they seemed to have developed a friendship over the years of such sessions.
Like so many veterans who spoke, Van Kirk began by talking not of his historic flight, but about the people with whom he served--the rest of the crew of the Enola Gay and how they had all passed away. "I have a very lonely feeling," he said sadly, "because I'm the only one left."
Van Kirk was rather matter-of-fact about his famous mission to bomb Hiroshima, perhaps a reflection of the feeling he said they'd had that day. They were very busy just trying to make it happen--the most recent tests hadn't been entirely successful--and so didn't have time to think too hard about the big picture of what they were doing. They hoped they would be successful because they couldn't imagine the Japanese continuing to fight when such a weapon stood at America's disposal, but "We didn't know if it would work or not," he said. Even as they flew toward Japan, a technician in the back was busily trying to assemble things to properly arm the bomb. "Carrying the bomb didn't worry me," Van Kirk quipped, "Deke in the back messing around with black powder worried me!"
After bombs away, the plane turned so tightly that it nearly broke apart, then hauled tail to get as far away from Nagaski as possible in the 41 seconds before they expected the bomb to detonate. Van Kirk said the crew tensely counted down the seconds, wondering whether it would work at all. The flash of light alerted them to their success. Even miles out and facing away from ground zero, Van Kirk reported that light flooded the interior of the plane, followed soon by the shock wave that bounced them around. By the time they'd gathered themselves and turned back to do a damage assessment, they couldn't see anything but smoke.
Upon their return, the crew of the Enola Gay were greeted by "more generals and admirals there to meet us than we'd ever seen. If Japan had bombed us that day, they'd have won the war," Van Kirk joked as the audience laughed.
Van Kirk said one of the most common questions asked is how the crew was chosen. Only half-kidding, he continued, "I always thought it was because we were expendable." In seriousness, he said Tibbetts was chosen as the pilot and Tibbetts had the opportunity to choose the rest of the crew. They'd flown before and, "He wanted guys he knew."
An audience member asked about the controvery over the Smithsonian Institution's display of the Enola Gay and its effects on Nagasaki, the focus the display placed on the suffering of the Japanese, and what some saw as a perspective sympathetic to the Japanese fighters while dismissive of the American perspective. Van Kirk responded with the first hint of intense emotion and looked down as he replied with great seriousness, "It was a horrible weapon." Both his mood and that of the audience darkened considerably. He agreed that people suffered greatly, though he thought the bomb ultimately saved lives. "But you start thinking like that and you're not going to win many wars," he finished emphatically. A murmur swept through the audience and a chill went down my spine as I considered our current concerns amid an extremely casualty-averse mindset.
Bud Anderson picked up the baton from there, and his very first words were emblematic of the feisty, irreverent and brutally honest approach he displayed throughout his comments. "I was darn glad they dropped the bomb!" he exclaimed. "It ended the war, and saved Japanese lives in the long run!" The WWII veterans in the audience applauded immediately. On the subject of revisionism and the Smithsonian's Enola Gay display, Anderson mentioned a run-in he'd had once with a curator at the Smithsonian. The curator reportedly later said, "It's really hard to write hsitory when so many so many of those guys are still around." Anderson's contempt was obvious as he waved his arms and spat, "Give me a break!"
Anderson began his presentation by saying that it truly was "The best of times and the worst of times." The best of times in that it mobilized the country: "I know we had our political differences, but once the decision was made, even politicians got together and spoke with one voice," he said. Echoing other WWII vets who had spoken, he added, "The whole country mobilized. The patriotism was incredible! I haven't seen anything like it since. Think Desert Storm times one thousand." He also mentioned women in the workforce as a positive. "They've never looked back," he said with satisfaction.On the "worst of times," he brought up the staggering number of war-wide casualties, mentioning that the numbers are so huge that historians can only estimate. "How do I rationalize it?" he asked, struggling with making such numbers real. In answer, he pointed to the squadron level--in his squadron there were only 28 men from the original unit that headed to war (50% were KIA or POW). The 8th Army Air Corps (of which he'd been a part) had more WWII casualties than the entire USMC. "That's the sorrow and the worst of times part," he finished heavily.
That seemed to be as serious as Anderson wanted to get, though, for he soon turned to explanation of a little factoid that he said people often ask about--his "1/4 kill" from the 16 and 1/4 with which he's credited. He told the story of one bright spring day when he was involved in a close escort of B-17 bombers. He looked up and saw four German Messerschmitts in perfect formation, noses pointed at them in attack. It was a wild fight and made him very nervous, for the P-51 model which he flew looked a lot like the German planes and as he put it, "B-17 gunners shot anything that pointed their nose at 'em,"
Fortunately he survived without suffering any friendly fire and soon went looking for the plane he was sure the Messerschmitts had been escorting. They found the German transport plane far below them, "all alone. I felt sorry for him... for a millisecond," Anderson cracked with a grin. "What a great opportunity for my wingmen to practice!" he then thought. So he lined them up in a typical training pattern and they each took a run at gunning the transport plane. They eventually knocked it out of the sky, gaining them each (in Bud's mind) 1/4 of a kill. As he saw two of the transport's crew members parachute to safety in an open field, Anderson said he had an additional creative thought, "Let's give this guy a thrill." So they buzzed him as if to strafe him with their guns... just to watch him run. He laughed, recalling how they chased one crew member across the field and into the trees.
It occurred to me at that moment that in some ways there is very little different between 86-year-old pilots and 24-year-old ones.... which made me smile.
Later I found Anderson at a table signing books and other autographs. I told him I had to shake his hand just so I could make my friends jealous. He stood at my approach and I asked if he were still flying, as that was the report I'd read. "Absolutely," he replied with a mixture of joy and pride. With a twinkle in his eyes, he said he'd flown a P-51 just a few days before. He may be 86 years old, but he still has the spirit of a young fighter pilot... and the handshake of a man twenty years his junior.
That sense of youth was an unspoken theme among many of the 80 and 90-year-old WWII veterans I observed or interacted with. Some were frail around the edges, but in spite of that none seemed truly old, and all had a passionate spirit that invariably surfaced if one listened long enough. They were humble and matter-of-fact about their service, with many saying they simply did what everyone else was doing, what had to be done. Still, I can't help but think that WWII veterans really are a special breed, not simply for their courage in facing down the scourges of Naziism and Japanese imperialism on the battlefield, but for the very way they lived their lives afterward.
We are very blessed to be standing on their shoulders today, and to still have a handful of them among us...
[Part I: WWII, racism and courage; Part II: General Petraeus; Part III: Band of Brothers; Part IV: Seabees; Part VI: Iwo Jima; Part VII: U.S.S. Mason; video excerpts from various sessions are posted at navytv.org. photos above are taken from the official Flickr feed.]
I don't believe everybody should be in the Military. But I do believe everybody should find their place and fill it. I remember a disabled old man from my Hometown who did exactly this. He sent packages to the troops in Viet Nam. The Troops told LBJ of this man's work. Well, word went out quietly to find this man. A local policeman, actually Special Operations Veteran from Viet Nam, heard the the story and confirmed the facts. The City Leaders knew and approved all of the plans. The Police Officer would be off duty and in uniform. He would stop by this local coffee shop everyday at a certain time. Sure enough, the man and his wife came in to "their" seats at their appointed time. The coffee shop and parking lot were packed full of Vets, we all knew and were "marching to the same drummer". Nothing needed to be said, the police car with the off duty officer, who went over to the couple and asked them both to come with him. Everybody stood up and either smiled or toasted them. The policeman and everybody in the coffee shop and parking lot are friends. They are taken to a rather large nearby military base, the head o base security knew them and Secret Service knew head of base security. Again, everybody is marching to the same drummer. Air Force One lands, The couple alone are taken to speak with LBJ alone. He speaks of their service mindset as being a National asset. Fuzzy, in some ways, you remind me of that couple and their dedication.
Fuzzy, thank you again, too. You've done a really fine job of putting us in the room, and yeah, I'm jealous too, but more for the opportunity to be there than the handshake...
You're a good egg, FbL, and it doesn't get any better than that.
And Grumpy, that IS a great story. Thanks for telling it!
I absolutely agree, Grumpy. I don't believe for a moment that my volunteering at the USO or doing the work I do changes the world. But it IS a few more drops in the river of all the other people filling a place in all this that changes the environment in which our active duty and veterans are operating. We all have a role to play. Fortunately many other people out there are better suited to fiercer and more kinetic roles than I am... ;)
It doesn't change The World, but it *does* change Some Worlds...
"It doesn't change The World, but it *does* change Some Worlds..." by BillT. Again you hit it out of the ballpark. The concept of "Worlds" is one that is hard to get a grasp on, in this context. Some people make the transition easily into Military life and some have a tough time with it. Even after they are in, then you have deployments, meaning more transitions. Each one of these transitions is a "World". My time frame is 40+ years ago or Viet Nam, we had guys in our barracks, who would just give up. This is back in the US, they would commit suicide. After a search of their areas, they would find the letter or note. After a careful examination of the document, they found some interesting patterns. 1. Was this event preventable? Answer- Yes! 2.How? Help my family to understand I have changed. Normal is gone! It is never coming back. This was a difficult issue even for Military Families.
Fuzzy, this last one shows just how important you are to our troops. The question is this, Does anybody out there, *care about us, without their political agenda?* This means more than words can ever express.
Be careful, the last question is and has been consistent with Department of Defense Policy on Politics in Uniform for the last 40+ years.
Fuzzy, THANK YOU, for your service, from a grateful Nation.
FbL you are so self effacing but you have respect for good reason. I would rather see World Changes from people like you or the old man who sent packages (thanks for that Grumpy) than a grandiose show of Change from any esteemed Ruler.
You show them someone gives a rat's arse which is more important than I can convey. Mana from heaven is cheap by comparison. If I can just be just a fraction as worthy.
We all do our part. As I said above, the drops come together to form a powerful river...
About the 'unsung heroes', they are an evil of War, accept the honor in their names. The more you speak/ write you're bringing honor to all of them. "Those drops form a powerful river"..., Fuzzy, you are *SO* right! I'm glad you're in the battle and you're on our side.
With Deepest Respects/ Grumpy