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Mr. Richard J. Sherman
Sir:
No language has words effective enough to express the
level of my appreciation for your kindness in sending that article
from “Flying Aces” to my wife, Sandy. As you
probably gathered from speaking with her, she’s one in ten million. It was her tenacity that resulted in finally locating
you and your (to us) priceless copy. That
same tenacity has held us together for forty years, now.
I wonder how many fond memories that
account brought back to you. It was
a delight for me both for the thrill of the images that were evoked
and pride in my Dad. Corny in places, yes,
especially by today’s standards; but clearly perfect for the time
and what the ‘un-chosen’ ground-bound masses
expected. It also reiterated the old Marine
Corps adage: “Flying is like making love – and you can do it longer.” (Or words to that effect).
The reason for my excitement is simple:
I never knew my father, and have until only recently gained little
information beyond the super-hero image my mother painted of him. He went off to war when I was two. Bottom-line summary of his life: he died during
WWII, in an attempt to save another man’s life.
To me, that says volumes, but if you’re interested in a
synopsis of what we’ve learned over the last couple of years, read on.
He was born a poor sharecropper
not really – it just seems they all start that way. . .
He was born in Jersey City
, NJ
, about 1898, to an upper-middle class family. His
father’s trade was described as “Gold Beater.” He
first soloed at Mineola ,
Long Island , in 1915. From
there the record is sketchy until 1925 or ’26.
Many different versions of his WWI years exist. He was purported to have flown combat missions
in Europe , but no firm record of
that has been found to date. What is
a matter of record is that he was court-martialed for desertion and
several additional charges near the end of the war.
He was sentenced to life imprisonment at
Fort Leavenworth
. He claimed he was
attempting to get into action when he left his unit (which was stateside
at the time). He further claimed the
real reason for his problems was that he was caught sparking with
his Lieutenant’s lover. The former is supported
by the fact he finally won a full pardon and was later accepted as
an officer in the Marine Corps Reserve. He
commanded the Marine Reserve Detachment at
Opa Locka , FL
while at the same time serving as a senior pilot
for Pan Am. We’ve recovered several photos
and news clippings of that period and are heartened by the discovery
that Pan Am’s records are being catalogued by the Richter Library
at Miami
University
.
WWII looming as a possibility, he
resigned from Pan Am and contracted with the Civilian Pilot Training
Program, teaching prospective military pilots how to fly. He moved to
Maryville , MO
in late 1939 or early ’40 and ran the CPT program
for the college there. When WWII finally
broke out he campaigned heavily to go on active duty with the Marine
Corps, but was told he was “too old for combat” (age 43). He then turned his attention to the Army and finally
wangled a commission as Major in mid 1942. Once
in the Army he progressively sniveled his way up from desk jockey
to full combat duty through any means he could find available – whether
political contact or trickery in wangling assignments closer and
closer to the enemy. His path took
him from Washington
, DC down
through South America , where he
flew (number as yet unknown) PBY missions hunting subs.
We have one account where his aircraft was damaged and one
crewman killed during an encounter. Because
his experience with Pan Am gave him a great background and experience
with routes in the area, he was assigned (or assigned himself) to
lead a squadron of Havocs to Africa
. The squadron commander had aircraft problems
en route and had to divert, so Dad happily assumed command until
the old skipper could catch up. That was a
joyous period for Dad, who in his letters to friends, recounted several
tales of exciting combat missions against the Germans in
Africa . During that time
he was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross, but we don’t have
a copy of the award letter itself, so we don’t know the details of
the action. Recognition for his performance
allowed him to capture the ear of a general who was willing to give
him an actual combat billet, rather than the hook-or-crook methods
he had used up to that point to get into the fray.
His assignment was as Group Tactical Officer to the
308th Bombardment Group in
China , ostensibly
to plan for P-38 deployment as fighter cover for the bombers. It is clear from his writings that he felt a man
was not a man unless he joined the fight – which he did whenever
possible, according to the few remaining men who remember him from
that era. He would assign himself as Observer
on bombing missions and was known to take control of one of the 50
cal’s when they were under attack by enemy aircraft.
On 29 July 1943 he was in a B-24 as an
Observer when the aircraft ran out of fuel about 25 miles short of
his base. The pilot ordered the crew to bail
out, but the Chinese Observer popped his chute inside the aircraft. The rest of the crew got out safely, but Dad and
the pilot – Lt. William Chenowith – remained with the plane to attempt
a dead-stick landing rather than consign the Observer to certain
death. All three were killed when the aircraft
hit a berm during the slide-out. For that
action he was awarded the Silver Star. That
account was furnished to us by Midge Meany, the tail gunner on that
mission.
And that’s about what we know.
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I would love to hear any tales you
would care to recount of your era and experiences.
I heard you spent 15 years or so in the Corps, yourself. I also understand you got your wings around the
same period as my Uncle Carl Schmidt. He
retired as a Bird Colonel in ’73. His
residence is in Jacksonville
, FL
– after moving around a few times to find a suitable community. At one time he lived in a retirement/weekenders’
community in Shannondale
, WV
. I was present at one of the community club
gatherings as one after another individual arose to introduce himself
as Jim or Joe Schmuckatella, retired widget maker, etc. and, “I love
Shannondale!” Carl rose and said, “I’m Carl
Schmidt – I’m an unemployed Fighter Pilot.” The
only ones in the house who even giggled were members of my family. I was not surprised when he moved to J’ville among
a nest
of retired Marines a short time later. His
pictures, in his youth and later:
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