My history has deep Woodburn roots. My grandparents went out to homestead in Montana but returned to farm near Woodburn. Grandfather and Grandmother Horton's house is still standing, still being lived in. It must be 150 to 175 years old, has been remodeled and added onto, but is still where it stood. When they were in the process of remodeling, all the old-time lathe and plaster stripped off, we found axe hewn 2x4s. Everything was axe hewn. One time they tried to move it a few feet, but the house was not rigid enough, so they set it back on the existing foundation. We put in heating and air conditioning for the people who lived there, but it is the same place where we used to go for Christmas in horse and buggy days, before graveled roads. When my grandparents retired, they moved to an apartment in Woodburn. The house sat empty for a few years and then was purchased by the existing owners, named Courtney. My grandparents lived out the rest of their lives in Woodburn and are buried in the cemetery, up on the hill.
My father, Cecil Horton, was born and raised in the Woodburn area. As a young man, he also went to Montana, possibly to live there and hunt deer in the Little Big Horn Mountains. He and a couple fellows got caught in a snowstorm. People thought they had probably died, but ten days to two weeks later, they found their way out. He spent about two years in Montana and then returned to Iowa. It was in this time-frame that Dad and Mother, Cleo Pearcy, were married.
At some time, in younger years, Dad took a correspondence course in engineering out of Chicago. He was quite a mechanic for those days. He did his own entire machinery repair, welding with anvil and forge, and also was a carpenter. When we moved from Woodburn to Lacelle, Dad bought a house and moved it to another part of farm. He sawed the lumber, dug a basement, put up cement walls, and it is still standing. This would become more meaningful later - Paula Neidt's dad assisted my dad with the plumbing. Both of my parents are now deceased.
I had three sisters - Wilma, who married Gene Fry, and twin sisters, Charlotte, who married Wendell Jones, and Carolyn, whose husband was the late Fred Timmons. Mom had a Maytag washing machine with a gasoline engine. When Carolyn was a toddler, two or three years old, she was "helping" Mom, and got her arm caught in the washing machine ringer. It rolled up her arm to her shoulder, and took the skin off her arm pit. In an article praising the ingenuity and skill of Dr. Harken, Mickey Thomas reported that our mother, Cleo Horton, rushed Carolyn to Harken's Hospital. I remember that Dr. Harken read a book about skin grafting, and went to Chicago to visit with other medical specialists about it. He came back, read instructions while doing the repair work on her arm, using little pieces of skin about the size of a pencil eraser, from her chest. She remained in the hospital 30 days with her arm tied up in the air; during which time Grandmother Horton stayed with her.
We grew up in the mid-30s, Depression days, the situation made worse in 1936-1937 by a drought. One whole summer, my sister Wilma and I herded our cows along the road because the pastures were burned up. Mother would fix sack lunches for us and we stayed at our job all day, and brought the cows in at 4:00 p.m.
I attended a country school called the "round-top school" south of Woodburn for about five years. In the mid-40s, we moved to the Lacelle area and I attended James school until eighth grade graduation and started to high school in Osceola the following fall, 1944. I didn't know until school started if I would be going to high school. There was no transportation provided in those days, and I stayed in town with various people, going home on weekends. One with whom I stayed most was my great-aunt, Esta Benson McGuire. I asked her, when she was 100 years old, to write something about her life.
I have what she wrote in a spiral notebook, and it is included at the end of my story. I remember her as stone deaf, doing domestic housework for Rich Robinson, Paul Ostrus, and Bob Killmar. She did the white shirts for all the white collar workers in Osceola. Apparently in her younger days, she was quite a lady about town. Cleo Herndon told about a time when she worked in the laundry at the hospital, and had quite a following of friends. In my 74 years, I never knew her husband. He died at an early age. They had one son.
Wilma was four years older than I. She went three full years in LeRoy and the folks decided she should finish in Osceola. She didn't like Osceola High School. To catch the bus, she walked 1 ¼ miles, one mile across fields - hay fields, corn fields, bean fields - then rode another seven or eight miles, all on mud roads. She told the folks if she had to finish in Osceola, she would just quit, so she went back to school in LeRoy and graduated from there.
Charlotte married Wendell Jones - one of the "Jones boys" from Van Wert. He retired from John Deere at Ankeny. The Jones' had a large family - four boys and five girls. Wendell is the last of the living boys in the family. Wynette Van Dyke was one of the girls.
I graduated in 1948, at which time I enlisted in the Navy and had to wait until September, when I was 18, to be inducted. I had originally signed up for Naval Aviation Cadet, but the classes were full and I'd have had to wait about six months, which I didn't want to do. I took the second choice, which was communications radio operator. I was sworn in on October 17, 1948.
I was sent to California and was stationed on a Navy destroyer for a period of time, was discharged, came home, and in 1951, I reenlisted in the Air Force. I went to Omaha, Nebraska Offutt Air Force Base, where I was assigned to the communications squadron for about 1 ½ years and then transferred to Wahoo, Nebraska, where there was a radio receiver site in the Nebraska ordnance plant. I was there about two years and was transferred to Great Falls, Montana assigned to a KB29 refueling squadron. At that time in-flight refueling was experimental.
For an idea of what was involved: if you need gas in your car, you drive in, stick the nozzle in the gas tank, pull the handle, and fill the tank. That is basically what we did at 15,000 to 20,000 feet, flying two airplanes worth multi-million dollars. The KB29 refueled jet fighter aircraft. The B47 and B52 receiver aircraft was so close that from the boom operator's position, I could look down and see the Aircraft Commander's eyeballs. He was a maximum of 40 feet away. I had a B47 receiver stall off the boom one time, and he fell 5,000 feet before he regained control. We thought he was gone. He came back up, gave us the high sign and went on his way. He was scared and so were we. I have logged approximately 2,000 in-flight refueling contacts, and approximately 2,000 hours of flying time in tankers as a combat crew member. At the beginning, we were attempting to find out if it was a workable project. We proved that in-flight refueling could be accomplished.
I was discharged, reenlisted, and came back to Lincoln Air Force Base, in Lincoln, Nebraska. I arrived there in January 1954, and was assigned to another refueling squadron, which had no planes at that time. I was still in communications as a radio operator. We were to refuel B47s, and our organization was declared combat ready in approximately 18 months. Sometime within that time frame they eliminated the position of radio operator on board tankers. I had gained quite a bit of experience in refueling as a boom operator. I had always been an instructor radio operator on a crew, so consequently, unofficially I was a combat ready boom operator, but the crews were not allowed to have us on board because we weren't in the right career field. We finally got our career field changed, and I went from a Student Boom Operator to a Combat Ready Boom Operator in one flight.
Our organization was transferred in 1959 to Detroit, Michigan to Selfridge Air Force Base. This was a SAC (Strategic Air Command)-wide reorganization plan to disburse combat hardware, that is, separate the tankers from the bombers in case of a national disaster. SAC was an idea founded by General LeMay in World War II for low-level, very accurate daylight bombing. Two air refueling squadrons were moved to Michigan at the same time. About 5,000 people and 40 airplanes hit Selfridge Air Force Base within 60 days. Housing was very critical, rentals were unavailable. We lived in a motel for 30 days trying to locate rentals and ended up purchasing a house on the GI (Government Issue) bill.
We had an alert organization, in which we spent 50% of our time on 24-hour alert and 50% of our time flying routine training missions and filling squares for requirements. We were there until the summer of 1961, when the Cuban crisis came up in July. Russia was supplying missiles to Cuba and anywhere within the United States was within their range. When President Kennedy called Russia's bluff, and said "Get 'em out," they finally began to dismantle them. The Bay of Pigs basically said, "We will assist you in a revolt," but we backed down and left people on the beach to be slaughtered. That is why it was kept quiet. If Russia had succeeded in establishing a missile base in Cuba; the whole United States would have been within the range of the inter-ballistic missiles just minutes or seconds away.
I was an instructor boom operator on a full instructor crew. My discharge came up, and I elected to leave the service. I received my discharge on the 17th of July and a week later they extended everybody 12 months. I can actually narrow my career choice down to less than two weeks, either retirement from the military or civilian life. I had served approximately 12 years; I was not subject to recall.
Few civilians realize how real and how imminent the danger was during those years. We were constantly on the alert status, preparing for the worst possible scenario. The alert status was: from the time they rang the bell, to get cranked up, taxi, and take off, which would normally take 45 minutes to an hour. We lived near the airplanes, approximately 300 feet away from any one airplane. We ran to the airplanes. Our primary goal was to get airborne, our receivers refueled, top them off, and be in a retaliation mode. Omaha, SAC headquarters, was the prime target, A #1.
While we were in Michigan, we prepared for the situation if/when there were inbound missiles in route. If we got into a have-to-fly configuration, in which we knew we had 30 minutes to an hour before the missiles reached their targets. We reflexed to Great Falls, Montana, in the August time frame. It was very hot, our fuel load was all prearranged and loaded, and we were in a briefing. After the briefing officer had given the flight crews all their instructions, he asked if there were questions. An engineer raised his hand, was acknowledged, and said, "Sir, according to my calculations, this airplane will not fly with this fuel load. What do we do?" The briefing officer said, "Do anything to get the airplane off the ground. Dump the fuel. Don't spray anybody behind you. Don't block the runway. Somebody might make it, but don't worry about it because if you get into this configuration, there won't be anything to come back to anyway because missiles from Russia are enroute."
When we were in Great Falls, Montana, our refueling route was into Canada. To say how serious this was, we had a certain altitude, a certain heading, a certain air speed, and a certain time to cross from the United States into Canada. If a plane wasn't on those marks, it was shot down. It was an unknown. We had a predetermined time, route, and air speed, and if we didn't meet that criterion, we were the enemy as far as anybody was concerned. In an emergency war operation you were either friend or foe. If a friend, you had to be on course, on time, on altitude. If those requirements were not met, you were not friend, you were foe. No questions asked. This was the standard operating procedure for combat crews. We studied times, we studied our emergency war plan, we had it all memorized. When crews strayed off course a little (maybe 1 ½ miles or less) even if it might be a routine training mission- there were fighters assigned to verify the identity of the aircraft.
We had practice alerts, and we never knew what the situation was until the Aircraft Commander got the radio turned on and received instructions from the control room, which was controlled by SAC headquarters, who originated most of the practice alerts. On all of these alerts we went to the airplane, turned on the radio, received instruction, and either went back to bed or maybe we would crank up in preparation for take-off. We still didn't know what the situation was. In some cases, we actually taxied, and in some we made an aborted take-off, before the control room called to order, "Taxi back." The crews had to travel as a crew, not as individuals in a staff car. That is how serious it was.
Another interesting feature was, as a combat crew member, the crew was required to go through survival exercises, both basic survival training and advance survival training. The advance survival training was conducted under a simulated war time condition. An operation conducted across Idaho, Nevada, and Montana - some of the wildest parts of the United States. The situation was: We were a crew that was down in Russia and there were air/sea rescue planes that were going to pick us up. Some of the crews never got picked up; consequently, if this had been the real thing, they'd have been gone. Fortunately, ours was one of the few crews was that was picked up successfully, from a little runway in Idaho, similar to the one we used to have on highway 69, just north of Osceola, across from what is now the Rehabilitation Center. The only way we could communicate was with the old CRT3 Gibson Girl, which was by international Morse Code communications. We gave our position, received instructions, and were told what time of day to be at a certain place for pickup. The airplane appeared, and when it landed we had a total of three minutes to get seven people, our bags and baggage on board the airplane. If everybody wasn't on board in this amount of time, those who didn't make it would be picked up at a later date. Fortunately, our crew made it on board with about 1 ½ minutes to spare.
SAC headquarters was located in Omaha, Nebraska, which for all practical purposes was from "pine to palm," coast to coast, in the heart of the U.S.A. At that time it was established there were no missiles that could reach those headquarters. If they flew an airplane in, they had all kinds of time to get there. That became true for the most part, but with the improvement of missiles and airplanes, it became more and more vulnerable. Air Defense Headquarters was located in Colorado, deep in the heart of the Rocky Mountains, back in the mountains, solid stone. The control room was so constructed - everything set on springs, no vibration, all climate controlled it was impregnable.
I have been down in SAC headquarters at Offutt Air Force Base, and to give an insight of the type of communications, I had the privilege of going in on a Labor Day Weekend tour. In the SAC control room, they had a red light on the wall that represented each one of the bases of SAC command world wide. They flipped a switch at SAC headquarters, a red light came on in each control room, and the only way the red light could be turned off was by somebody in that control room. If I remember right, there were 132 to 140 SAC bases at that time. It took less than five minutes to put out every light. That was instant communication world wide between SAC bases.
Family life in the military service calls for commitment and adjustment by the entire family. The wife must be happy wherever she is, and she is under dire, extreme circumstances and pressure. The family must be willing to tolerate such situations as we had one foggy morning in Lincoln. We were on the alert status, when we were alerted, cranked up, and taxied, having aborted take-offs. In this instance, we had take-offs, and went overseas to a predetermined site. A plane took off every 30 minutes, not knowing what was going on with the rest of the crews in the squadron. Only SAC Headquarters knew. The crew that took off first received their briefing in the air, met a bomber, refueled him, and continued on to a simulated wartime mission; and the tanker, which was our plane, flew on to a predetermined base. Thirty minutes later another plane took off from Lincoln Air Force Base and met another bomber. None of the flight crews knew what was going on, whether the hammer had been pulled back, the trigger had been pulled, or if it was a routine operation. Finally, after about 10 or 15 airplanes had disappeared, word of what was going on began to come back from the destination field. We had 20 airplanes going overseas for 120 days. That's the only time we ever flew, and we always met receivers. You have to remember that there were mechanics involved, lots of mechanical problems, but every tanker hit every receiver and every receiver made their destination.
The wives and families never knew what was going on when there was a base alert. All combat crew members had to have bags packed 24 hours a day and every bag had to be in their car so if we were at home, not on alert, and a base alert was called, the crews that weren't on alert had to get to the base, be briefed, with their bags, etc. etc., and the crews on alert were the ones who were going first. They were on their way. The combat crew member at home didn't know what was going on. He just left. He was called and briefed without anybody saying "boo" to the wives. It takes a lot of understanding on the part of mates to cope with this. Kids at home ask questions tough questions, and there is nothing they can be told because nobody knows anything to tell. Military spouses, wherever the mate is assigned, must accept this and be content.
I was married in 1952 to Joyce Fluke, and we had two children. I was stationed in Lincoln, Nebraska, but overseas in Thule, Greenland on an overseas temporary duty, when my wife took the kids down to the gravel pit, which was the popular place to swim. There were no community pools in those days, and Lincoln, Nebraska is not the coolest place in the summertime. Ricky was on a rubber inflated mattress. My wife, who couldn't swim, was near him and slipped. He fell off the mattress; she tried to grab him, and drowned. People got Ricky out of the water and resuscitated him. Our daughter, Vicky, was just a toddler. She was on the bank, wandering around, and for a while no one knew who she belonged to.
I had been in Greenland approximately a week or ten days. I came back on the first plane I could catch from Thule. Of all the times I had flown, the only time I ever felt uneasy was flying over the Arctic area and seeing the icebergs. At 15,000 feet, you had a life expectancy of about 15 seconds after bailing out, because the shock of the water would kill you. I came back, identified my wife, and stayed there during the rest of the tour. I rejoined my organization when they came back from overseas. From then on I had a working arrangement with the military. I hired babysitters, and if l had to go back overseas, I brought my two kids back to Osceola, where they stayed until I got back from temporary duty overseas. In five years I had six tours from 90 to 120 days each time.
Paula Neidt and I had known one another when we were in school. Her father, Paul, was a mortician, a licensed embalmer in Missouri and Iowa, and worked for Webster Funeral Home for twenty years. When WW II broke out, both her parents worked at the Ankeny Ordnance Plant. When the war was over and the plant was closed, they returned to Osceola and went into the appliance and plumbing business. In the rural electrification program, Paul wired some 500 houses in Clarke County.
The organization I was in still has reunions every two to three years. We will have one this year. We went to one reunion in Shreveport, Louisiana, at Barksdale Air Force base, at which they allowed any of the old combat crew members who wished, to fly on a mission. There were some 40 of us. The KC10 weighed more empty, sitting on the ramp than the KC97, which I flew, fully loaded for a mission. We flew a mission four hours long, took off from Barksdale, flew up over Idaho, Wyoming, coasted out over the water, over Eugene, Oregon, 500 miles, came back, refueled the bomber, and logged precisely four hours. This airplane was humongous! It is in operation today and will be for several years, I feel sure. At that time it was only a tanker but now it has been equipped to haul troops, cargo, or fuel anywhere in the world. If it needs fuel, it can also be a receiver as well as a tanker. They used this plane extensively in the Iraq war both as a tanker and as a cargo ship. If we'd had the KC10 or if I had thought there was any chance of getting into that, I'd have stayed in the service. I would have retired at 38 years of age, with 20 years of service. I chose not to join the reserves.
I was discharged in July 1961, after serving my military obligation. At the time, the Cuban crisis was a hot thing, and I didn't think I would be released. I was on the instructor crew, what they called the "standardization crew," which meant we checked the other crews in the squadron, and, if I may say so, we had one of the better crews in the squadron. When I left, the crew reverted to student status until they got another instructor checked out. So when I left, it was quite a blow to the crew and to the organization, but I'd had some words with my Aircraft Commander.
We had a few safety issues. We lost a plane and the complete crew in Michigan. I had flown with the Aircraft Commander for about three years as our co-pilot, and I knew the engineer quite well. This crew was two airplanes ahead of us in an emergency war (EWO) practice mission and I'd talked to my Aircraft Commander about the condition of the airplane. We were out there waiting to take off. We'd had trouble on #4 engine - the hydraulic pump was out. If we feathered #1 some time after we took off, that meant the squadron would get a black mark for missing a receiver. I tried to talk my Aircraft Commander into going back, getting the pump fixed, falling back in line two or three hours later. He wouldn't do it. He didn't want the black mark on his record for having a crew abort a mission. I argued that we were not aborting the mission; we were only going back for repairs.
When the plane ahead of us crashed, the Aircraft Commander called in and said, "We are going back for repairs." Immediately they ordered the plane ahead of us to fly over the site and see what happened, and he continued on his mission. So everybody had to move up. We went back to maintenance, the plane ahead of us took the place of the guy who had just crashed, and planes three behind us suddenly were in the front line. This bothered me. I knew the fellows who had been killed quite well, and it got to me. I sometimes have trouble with my employees making decisions. I told one fellow, who was hesitant to make decisions, "I'm going to tell you something I learned years ago. As a combat crew member, you're at 15,000 feet, and you've got to make a decision, and you've got to stand by it, and you don't have all day because you can't park the airplane and go on. When you're out on a service call and you must make a decision, you can't wait all day - make your decision, tell me about it when you get back, we will talk about it, but I'll defend you."
We went to Detroit at a time when there was a military change of policy, to diversify - that is, to separate the bombers and tankers, keep them on separate bases, so if somebody broke through they wouldn't destroy the bombers and tankers together. This was at several military bases, not just Lincoln. Two refueling squadrons went to Detroit, Selfridge Field; one came out of Barksdale, Louisiana and the other one came from Lincoln. We all hit Detroit in the same time frame.
There were several incidents that affected me and made me the person I am now. Because of military classification, not everything was told at the time. We had bombers that were flying overseas, normal, routine flights. When the bombers reflexed overseas, they were refueled and flew nonstop, from wherever their point of departure was, to wherever their point of arrival was. One of the refueling stations was the Azores, which are volcanic islands in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. It was one of the main stops both for commercial and military refueling, prior to flying nonstop to Europe. What I saw there made me realize for the first time that not everybody had lots of food.
We had in-flight lunches - usually a cold roast beef sandwich between two slices of white bread spread with a little mayonnaise, maybe a couple of pickles, and an apple or orange. Lots of times we didn't eat them because we weren't hungry - and they weren't that appetizing - but it was food. When we landed, little kids from about three to about seven years old would meet us at the airplane. They came right out in the flight line, to the rear door of the tanker, where we unloaded our trash. They took the garbage and away they went. The Azores are a Portuguese possession and the people are Portuguese. They fish for a living. Every morning, seven days a week, you can buy fresh fish from the men who have just come in from their fishing trip. That is their living. One time in the Azores we rode out a hurricane, and they evacuated all the tankers to North Africa. They took out every airplane except one that was in the hangar for engine changes and that happened to be assigned to my crew. So I rode out the hurricane in the NCO (Non-Commissioned Officers') Club. I spent ninety days there.
In one case, we went to the Azores from Lincoln, Nebraska, through Newfoundland to the Azores, for duty in Spain. When we left Lincoln we were delayed eight hours because of an engine fire and arrived in Newfoundland eight hours later after completing a refueling mission. We were to depart from Newfoundland after a crew rest, when we had another engine fire. We got that repaired and departed from Newfoundland to the Azores, during which time we lost another engine. That made three engine malfunctions on the way to the Azores. We arrived with 30 passengers on board, were met by Air/Sea rescue because of the passenger load we were carrying, and escorted into the islands. When we landed, we went for crew rest on the way to Spain.
Because of all the engine failures, we had a test hop during which we lost a fourth engine, which
was an engine change. We reflexed from there and took another plane into Seville, Spain, because we had alert duty and had to be there. Even though we didn't have any bombers with us in the Azores, we pulled alert duty, which is a world wide deal - 137 SAC bases all had alert duties and we all went different places. I was a radio operator on the crew and they didn't require that position for alert duty, so I had two weeks in Spain. We only had to check in with the Aircraft Commander each morning at 8:00.
That gave me the opportunity to tour Spain quite extensively. I went to see a bull fight, in which they actually killed the bull. I would never go see another. I found it gruesome. The animal is tortured with banderilleros in the shoulders. Then they send in the Matador, and he puts an end to the bull. If the bull happens to kill the Matador, he is a hero, put out to green pastures, and doesn't have to fight any more. I spent approximately 10 days touring Spain on my own, with some other crew members that weren't required to be on alert duty. We would check in each morning, and had the rest of the day free, so I had a pretty good trip around Spain. If I remember right, we had five crews on alert duty, during part of the cold war with Russia, who was enemy #1. It was all kind of hairy. I didn't think too much about it at the time, but as I think back about it, I realize how serious this was.
Every person in military service would have stories. There is one about a reconnaissance RB47 that did nothing except try to penetrate and observe. Captain John Lappo became known in the 50s when he flew a 2 ½ million dollar reconnaissance configured bomber under the world's longest suspension bridge that connects the upper peninsula of Michigan with the lower. He was a member of the 8th Air Force's 352nd Bomb Squadron of the 30Pt Bomb Wing of SAC. President Eisenhower had forbidden any flights over Soviet air space, saying they amounted to "acts of war," but General LeMay had other ideas. His goal was to expand his network of bases where SAC bombers, RB47s, could strike an intelligence-gathering offensive against the Soviets. his objective was to know all he could about Russia's order-of-battle, the location of its war machines, and their electronic nomenclature, including the offensive and defensive capabilities of each. Accordingly, Captain Lappo and 26 other pilots flew three missions, consisting of nine aircraft each, over the polar ice cap from Thule, Greenland into Soviet Union airspace.
At the time of this account he had become Major Lappo. He flew into Russia airspace, but because of thick clouds, overshot his target. A later account, in a documentary, "Spies in the Sky," quotes Major Lappo as saying, in essence "We went in about 30 miles, and I spotted our target." He tripped their radar sites, made a run for it and got out before they were shot down, but when they hit the neutral air space, the Russians went back. Fortunately, they made it. General LeMay called them in and said, "I ought to give you guys more than a pat on the back, but if I give you some kind of a medal, it means I have to go to Washington and explain to a bunch of Congressmen what you were doing, and I'm not going to do that. So you did a good job, I give you a pat on the back, and go get 'em."
We had four bomber squadrons but that was for organization only. Everybody did different things but had one goal in common, which was to see that these bombers got into wherever they were to go, but that didn't necessarily mean they were the only ones we refueled. We refueled any bomber that needed to be refueled, regardless of where they came from, where they were going, or what they were doing.
Another incident that hit me pretty hard involved a crew that had a JATO Jet-assisted take off), which meant they strapped jet bottles on the fuselage for short-field quick departures. It would be similar to a plane taking off from an aircraft carrier. This crew was practicing, which they had to do once or twice a year because this was entirely different. The crew had tripped the JATO, but they had a fuel leak. An investigation after the crash determined that fumes from the fuel vent ignited, setting ablaze 18,000 pounds of jet fuel. The Aircraft Commander realized what happened, called in and said, "We are on fire. Bail out." N.V. Meeks, the pilot, got enough altitude for the crew to bail out but he stayed with the plane. He realized where he was going, and maneuvered the plane to miss a school full of kids. He attempted to eject but his lap belt didn't release, and he was killed.
I had an Aircraft commander who went to KC135s first. He believed that every man was just as important as any other. For him there were no barriers between officers and enlisted men aboard that airplane. His job happened to be in the left front seat, the bomb operators were in the back. It didn't make any difference to him. Each job was equally important. When we came back late at night or something, we'd go by the tavern and have a beer; everybody took their turn buying, and then went home. He believed that each crew member should be able to step into another crew member's position. One time he called me up-front to take the seat which is the Aircraft Commander's position, and land the airplane. I made the approach from the turn on the final, lined it up, and actually had a controlled crash landing that we walked away from. The landing gear was some 60 feet behind us and 20 feet below us. Never having that feeling before, it was rather strange. We hit pretty hard.
The 307th Bomb Wing has a historical organization that keeps track of all the deaths, locations of where people are what they are doing, I get a newsletter every quarter, and they now have it on the internet, which has every newsletter they have ever printed. History is history when you're part of it. It boggles my mind sometimes to look back and see how many of these people are actually gone - three of my Aircraft Commanders and their wives. They all had kids but I don't know where the kids are. I've read that WWTI people are dying at the rate of 1500 a day.
I was released from military duty on 17 July, 1961. The government moved us bag and baggage, along with three kids, but leaving Michigan and returning to civilian life was quite a change in lifestyle! I had become accustomed to being in Detroit, Michigan, Lincoln, Nebraska, Great Falls, Montana, and Omaha, Nebraska. Now I needed to readjust to my hometown, where everybody seemed to know everybody. Coming back to everyday living was the difference between night and day: not worrying about alert duty, flying here and there, wondering where we would be going on our next overseas duty station. I was on TDY (temporary duty) six times in five years, having my B-4 bag packed and with me at all times, never knowing when the next alert was coming or what could happen - it made civilian life seem dull and slow. Having to call ahead before going to a friend's house for the evening was very different.
We lived with Paula's parents, Paul and Bernice Neidt, for a month before moving to our house at 204 East Fayette. I worked for them during the summer after graduating from high school in 1948 and what I learned then was all I knew about plumbing. I had a lot to learn, both in plumbing and heating when I started to work with them on 1 August, '61. Paul took me under his wing, and I dug some ditches, fixed some faucets, and opened some sewers. He took me on heating service calls, for both gas and oil furnaces, explained the operation thereof, and a couple days later, I was on my own.
Paula's mother passed away in July 1966. Her father wished to quit the business, and pressed me for a couple weeks to take over. Paula and I visited with Ben and Zerilla Cole about the venture and they encouraged me. It was intimidating! There was a lot to learn! After five years, I barely knew the difference between black and galvanized pipe. I didn't think I was capable of handling it.
On our way home from seeing Paula's mother in the Des Moines hospital, her dad insisted on a decision - either yes or no. He told me if he could do it, I could do it. With his confidence in me, and having visited with Ben and Zerilla about it, I said I would try it, providing he would assist me if I got in trouble and needed help. He said he would, and I also told him he wouldn't have to wait a lifetime to see if I could handle the operation.
Paul took me to Des Moines and introduced me to the wholesalers he dealt with over the years. One owner gave me a little advice, 'Watch your accounts receivables, spend more to collect a $20 account, and you will have less trouble with the larger ones." Now in 2005 Paula and I are still plugging away in this operation. Having served the public all these years, I have discovered his advice was good. I would recommend it to anyone.
One day a friend asked if I would serve on the Osceola Water Board. I was appointed in the mid-'70s. This was about the time the dam was raised to maximum height allowed by the watershed and Iowa Department of Natural Resources. When I was appointed, the maximum daily usage was approximately 500,000 gallons per day. Today it averages 1.2 to1.4 million gallons per day. The Board has just completed a water plant renovation, increasing the maximum capacity to 3,000,000 gallons per day. This renovation was a $4,000,000 investment and it will tie the system into a grid that will eventually serve all of southern Iowa together. All of Clarke County now has rural water from Osceola and Creston.
Shortly after my appointment, I was elected to the Clarke County Development Board to represent the water utility for industrial development. The Clarke County Development Board has filled the first business park and has a second one in the finishing stage. Boyt Manufacturing has been the first company now in the process of building after a bad fire in the summer of 2004. We have attracted a casino for which the Development Board holds the gambling license, and a winery is in the process of construction at this time. At the present time, we have approximately 3,000 industrial jobs in the community.
I have been a member and past president of the Osceola Eagles, as well as a member of the Masonic Lodge and the American Legion Post in Osceola. For hobbies, I take a lot of pride in our yard and my garden. This takes more time than I have but I keep trying to stay ahead of the weeds. My neighbors think I have a lot of farming equipment for the yard. It is like the old saying, "You can take the boy off the farm but you can't take the farm out of the boy."
Another hobby I've had is flying. I got my private pilot's license in the early '70s, followed by a commercial pilots' license and an instrument certificate. I went a step further and acquired a multi-engine rating. I made some charter flights for local industries. I also flew some local
citizens and friends to Disney World for a short vacation. We made several trips for the weekend
on the Mississippi to be with Paul, his sisters, and other relatives who lived there, and who also
loved to be on the river. It was not exactly a vote of confidence that Paula also got her private pilot's certificate. She says that way she might stand a chance to land if something happened while we were in the air.
I have had some major health problems: major ear and eardrum repair in 2004, cancer and cataract surgery in 2005. Otherwise, I am in good health with no known complications at this time.
I am often asked, "Why are you still working?" I feel a responsibility to the people I have worked for in the past. They are, like me, part of the older generation and need a little assistance. Things are getting more and more complicated every day and it is harder to keep up with the new equipment that is requiring better and more extensive service.
I remain on the boards because I am a great believer in the longevity of membership. I sometimes think I am too old, and that the water board and development board need new and younger minds and bodies to do justice to overall leadership. However, I believe that experience and knowledge of the history of past decisions, can give direction to the boards’ operation for continuity, understanding, and a cost effective method for functioning. I realize I will not live forever and Osceola will probably go on after my time. I just want things to continue in a satisfactory and productive way.
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Last Revised January 1, 2013