90 Years - 64 Years!

I was born at 0620 on November 11, 1918 in Hillsdale, Michigan. This was the first celebration of Armistice Day - celebrating the signing of the peace treaty,(at 11:00 AM France time) - ending World War I), at Versailles, France.
The year 1918 was a critical one, as the world was experiencing an influenza epidemic. I never talked to my Mother about it, but now, I wish that I had. So, I don’t know whether either of us had it, but I doubt it. Or, we probably wouldn’t have survived.
I was talking to Fabi, our Receptionist at Quail Creek, the other day. I mentioned that my 90th birthday was coming up next month. She asked me what I attributed to living so long. Then, after I told her that Marie and I would be celebrating our 64th wedding anniversary in December, she asked each of us as to “what was our secret?” I never dwelled on these questions before, although I, too, thought about them - primarily due to my Mother living almost 100 years. Too, only my Grandparents L’Amoreaux celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary. So, it wasn’t too common when I was growing up. Centenarians were few and far between , also.
So, I guess now is the time to reflect on how I should answer the question of reaching the “Old-old” age category, and long marriage. (Theoretically, our marriage should never have lasted. We dated only a few times and hadn’t seen each other for about four months before our wedding day!). But, maybe this is the secret! But, where do I start? And how? What do I say? Well, here goes.
When I was growing up in Hillsdale - and later in Berea, Ohio - I didn’t receive the smothering attention from my parents, that today’s smaller families receive - even though I was the first born, with one sister and two brothers. Back in the 30’s mothers and fathers worked much harder, with longer hours, than they do today. They had longer workdays, and workweeks, without all the labor-saving devices of today. My Dad used to work Saturdays later changed to Saturday morning (No overtime pay for Saturday work back then - until the Great Depression.
We were raised to be responsible for our selves - to a point where they could trust us to comply. My parents never became involved in my school-work! It was my responsibility to perform, and if not, to answer to the teacher. I don’t remember if the PTA was invented back then. I do remember that I never saw them attend one of my sporting events - whether it was sandlot baseball or high school -athletics.
When I was very young - probably 8 or 9 years old - in the 1920’s, I had a magazine route in Hillsdale. I sold the Saturday Evening Post, Ladies Home Journal and Country Gentleman magazines - door to door. In the summer, I would pull the heavy magazines in my wagon. In the winter, I would haul them on my Flexible Flyer sled. I didn’t have an “Allowance”, so this was my spending money. When I was about 10, I got a paper route. I saved enough to buy my first bike - a 26 inch one. I don’t know where I got the experience to make these decisions, “on the job training”, I guess. I must have gotten some advice from my parents, at such an early age, but I just don’t recall any.
During the school year, I would come home from school and check on my Mom to make sure that she was o.k., change my “school clothes”, and head out to play with the neighborhood kids until supper time. During the summers, I would fix me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, wrap it and put it in my pocket. (This would be my lunch.). Then, I would head out into the neighborhood. Others would do the same. We would round up our bats, gloves and baseballs, and head to another neighborhood to play their team. No parental supervision here. A left -over player, or a spectator, would serve as umpire. After the game we often would head for the sandstone quarries in Berea. The abandoned Quarries had filled with water, and were deep and cold. We would go “skinny dipping” in the ice cold water. It’s a wonder we all didn’t get cramps and drown. After our diving and swimming it was time to head home for supper - tired but
I don’t think I realized about all the trust they placed in me, and yet I remember my Dad telling me that all they expected of me was to try my hardest, and give my best effort. This is all that they could ask. This philosophy seemed fair enough to me, and all I could ask in return. Such trust was very strong! I never would have considered disappointing or disgracing them with unacceptable behavior.
I remember “testing” my Dad when I was around 10 years old. We were playing outside one night after supper, and he called me over to reprimand me for something I’d either done - or hadn’t done. Instead of complying, I just started running around the side of the house. I guess I figured that the “old guy” couldn’t catch me (he was 38). Surprise! I hadn’t taken too many steps, and I felt his hand on my shoulder. He took off his belt and gave me a couple of whacks. I am sure that he told me not to do that again - as if I hadn’t learned a lesson. And yet, my Dad was compassionate, with a good sense of humor.
My Dad played the e-flat alto -horn ( similar to a French horn.), in the Hillsdale and Berea Community Bands. I used to carry his horn from the car to the bandstand and back - I was so proud of him, and it was such an honor. I can thank him for my great appreciation of music today - even the Dixieland Jazz Band - that plays for us here, at Quail Creek! I wish that I had talked to him more about his horn because I later played the same horn during my sophomore year in high school. I knew that his family were all musical, because their mother (my grandma L’Amoreaux) taught all nine of her kids how to play at least one instrument. My Dad also played the violin. My Dad got four other young musicians together (they were all in their 20’s) and formed the L’Amoreaux Orchestra. (Quintet would have been more descriptive - Dad on the violin, a drummer, sax, piano and trumpet players. His piano player, Dudley Vernon, wrote the tune for the score “Sweetheart of Sigma Chi”. At one time, my Dad had the original score(?). The orchestra would practice in the evenings at our house in Hillsdale, and play for square dances on weekends. I can attribute my music appreciation to listening to the community band concerts and the quintet practicing at our house.
My Dad taught me how to drive a car. I don’t remember, but he apparently just had to sign off on it. I don’t remember taking a written or driving test. He taught me the great responsibility to, and for others, I had as a driver. I would like to thank him for my training. I have had only one accident, and a couple of tickets, in 75 years of driving. While we had only one car, it wasn’t a problem. I would tell my Dad where I was driving - and he would tell me what time he wanted me home with the car! He didn’t ask who I would be with, but I am sure that he knew that we double and triple dated.
I traveled a lot on my Dad’s rail pass. First of all, to get places, and too, I really enjoyed the thrill of riding on the trains - fast or slow. I enjoyed the dining cars, the Pullmans and the Observation cars. I enjoyed the sounds and smells from the engine and couplings between cars - the smell of the mohair upholstering. I didn’t enjoy the smells of the toilets or the engine soot flying in the open coach windows- (there weren’t any air conditioned cars back in the 30’s.). He never refused letting me use it - or ordering me a separate pass on a non- New York Central rail road. I went from Ypsilanti to Niagara Falls with my sister Jeanne (20 months younger) during the winter of 1939-40 when the weight of the frozen ice, was too much for the suspension bridge, between New York and Canada and it fell down into the Falls and Niagara River. We walked around the area - took some pictures - and caught the next train home. I also visited New York City, and their World’s Fair, in 1939, and the San Francisco Exhibition, in 1940. My Dad got “passes”, on “foreign” railroads for both of these trips. I also visited my Aunt Nellie, in Chicago, alone, when I was 5 or 6 years old. My parents put me on the train, and the conductor delivered me to my Aunt Nellie, at the Englewood Station in Chicago. Somehow, I knew that if she wasn’t there when the train arrived, I should go to the large black policeman (Uncle Charlie”) and wait with him until she got there. On one occasion, she wasn’t at the train to meet me, when the conductor told me to get off. I spotted the policeman, and went over and asked him if he had “seen my Aunt Nellie? He told me to stand next to him until she got there. Sure enough - it wasn’t long until she arrived. I don’t remember being scared or worried - that’s the way it was supposed to happen.
My Dad was a good bowler. The alleys weren’t air conditioned, so most of the bowling was done during the winter months. He belonged to a railroad -bowling league, when we lived in Hillsdale. There was a regional railroad -bowling tournament in Chicago, which their team entered. He took me along with him which, at about 10 years old, I thought was pretty special!
My Dad was compassionate. He became a convert to Catholicism twenty years after my Mom and Dad wee married. I don’t remember her putting any pressure on him, he must have known how much it meant to her, and started taking “Instructions.” My Mother and Dad took care of Mom’s mother and her aunt Nellie (her Mom’s sister), when they could no longer care for them selves. This went on for a few years. For a couple of those years, she was taking care of both of them at the same time in our home in Ypsilanti. They both died there. My parents had a downstairs bedroom, and bath. An example of his compassion, was suggesting to my Mom that they give up their bedroom to her mother, and they would move upstairs - where there was no bathroom. After Grandma’s death (both Grandma Flood and Aunt Nellie died in our house.) Aunt Nellie inherited their bedroom until her death.
My Dad was more conservative than my Mother. I remember him turning down a promotion with the railroad during the Depression, because he didn’t want the added responsibility. Yet, he was compassionate. After our recent move from Vallejo to Fairfield, I ran across a big bundle of letters that I had written to Marie - both before we were married, and when I was overseas in the South Pacific. She had saved all of them. I was browsing through them last night and ran across one from my Mom and Dad to her while I was in the South Pacific. Here is an excerpt written by my Dad to her: (Circa Nov. 1, 1945 - Ypsilanti.)
“Dear Pete: Wonderful Fall, but won’t be long and we will be shivering and shoveling snow again. Too bad you aren’t out here when we have nice warm weather like you do in California. Don’t know what to tell you about Ray, isn’t it wonderful that he is really coming?
I think if you two can swing it , that it would be wonderful for him to go to school, with this scientific age coming up. A fellow without a good education will kind of be left behind I would think. (my Dad was just a high school graduate. He had to start working to help his family support his mom and dad Still, he has learned a lot while in the Army which should make his college work much easier. But, hat is something you two will have to work out. (My Dad was just a high school graduate. He had to start working to help support his mom and dad.)
It might seem hard to have to sacrifice for a few years, but after that, when the fruits of his hard work have produced, you will thank yourselves a a million times, that you gave up something now for a lot more later on. Then, there is the possibility of going into some kind of business for himself, and being your own boss, which means a lot. And he might contact Ray Russo (my cousin) as he is in the American Airlines and might be able to do something for him.
There are so many things to consider when he gets back and you two talk things over . Am sure you will come to the right conclusion. Whatever you decide, always remember a 50-50 proposition is always the best. The idea of one doing all the sacrificing, and not the other, will never work out.
Here I am preaching instead of advising. Any way, I know you get what I mean.
It is going to be wonderful to look forward to seeing you two again, and hope it may be soon. So glad your Mother is improving.
Love,
Dad.
(Note: I can’t remember how much my Dad’s words of wisdom played in our decision for me to go to college, while Pete works to support us, along with the G.I.Bill. In any case, I went to The University of Michigan for a year , and then transferred - and finished - at Cal -Berkeley. Pete worked as a Secretary at Kaiser-Fraser at willow Run, Michigan, Kaiser Industries in Oakland and California research in Richmond (Cal).

My Mother had a great zest for life! She was also a very brave and courageous woman. She lived alone - as a widow - for 30 years. She enjoyed something as simple as “people watching” from our 1936 Chevy, listening to the band concerts on Saturday evening in Berea. She would take her bath first thing in the morning and dress, so that if anyone invited her to go to the Mall, or to a movie she would be “ready”, and wouldn’t keep them waiting. All of her younger friends, and the family, knew this so she received many invitations for an outing. Speaking of not wanting to inconvenience people to wait for her, she told the story of waiting in the front door-way for Virginia and Pete Parin to pick her up for 5:00 Mass on Saturdays. On one occasion, the paper boy delivered the paper while she was standing there. On the following Saturday, the same thing happened! The young paper boy said, “Mrs. L’Amoreaux, are you still waiting?” She had a good relationship with him. She used to bake cookies just for the mailman, paper boy and Parins’ young son, who mowed her lawn!
The first sign of the support, and closeness of our family, was probably when I graduated from the Air Corps Bombardier School - when I received my 2nd Lt. commission and Bombardier Wings. The Class was 42-15, the date was October 31, 1942 (almost 66 years ago!) and the location was Victorville, California. My Mom and Dad, sister Jeanne and Youngest brother Jack were there from Ypsilanti. My brother Bob would have been there, but he was busy with the Coast Guard. I can still remember how proud I was to have all of them there.
The next time I got to see my Mother was in March 1943, We had just received our new B-17, and we were on our way to flying it, and our ten man crew, overseas. At the time, we knew not where our final destination would be. I knew that we were supposed to fly out of Morrison Field at West Palm Beach. I don’t remember that this information was “Classified”. In any event I told her the location. I can’t remember if it was her idea or mine, But the next thing that I knew, she was on the train heading for Florida! She arrived during the time that we were supposed to be there. The only catch is that our crew hadn’t arrived yet! Fortunately, I was able to get her a hotel reservation in West Palm Beach. In the meantime, we had left Kearney, and were flying routinely to West Palm. Near Jackson (Mississippi) one of the engines started running “rough” (this was a new airplane?) Our pilot, Ken Spinning, feathered the prop, leaving us to fly on three engines. He got permission to land at Jackson, and we proceeded to land there. After the mechanics examined the faulty engine, he said that we needed an engine change, and it would take about a week!
So, I was in a quandary:- My mother was waiting for me at a hotel in West Palm Beach, and I was stuck on the base at Jackson - some 900 miles away. So, I phoned her and asked her if she could take the train to Jackson. Otherwise, we might not get to see each other before we took off for our overseas destination. She agreed to do so, and I don’t remember her complaining. I made a reservation for her at a hotel in Jackson and waited for her arrival. I particularly remember one evening meal we had together at the hotel. She liked shrimp and frog legs. Both were on the menu, and she ordered both! Things seemed to be happening so fast that it was a blur. I don’t remember asking her about her return trip to Ypsilanti. What was strange, I don’t remember taking me to kindergarten on the first day of school - yet, here she is twenty years later seeing me off to my overseas assignment!
Speaking of Mom’s “zest for life”, she liked to travel - anyplace - anytime! I was home on R & R Leave after returning from overseas. (November, 1943.) I planned to pick up my 1941 maroon Chevy convertible. My folks garaged and drove it while I was gone overseas. It was only proper, as they were making my monthly -car payments of $37.00/month. (When I first enlisted, I was receiving only $21 a month as a private!). My new assignment was pilot training, and I was assigned to Santa Ana for processing. In passing I didn’t think much about it, and asked her if she would like to ride along? The next thing that I knew she was busy packing her suitcase to go along. She left a note on the kitchen table for my Dad to read, when he returned from work that evening. “Dear Pete: Have gone to California with Ray. Love, Bessie.”
And off we went.
I left her off, at the Union Railroad Station in L.A., for her return trip. Without a reservation, she was on “Standby” for a seat - with the military having priority. The next day, I drove to the station to check on her. Much to my surprise, she was still sitting in the same place as the day before! I checked the next day - and she was gone. She told me that she got on the train but “Standing Room Only”. So she sat on her suitcase. Finally, a military person offered her his seat. But then, she didn’t have anything to eat. She said that she was afraid to go to the diner, because someone would take her seat. Finally, someone would bring a sandwich back to her! She sat up for three days on the train. When she got home her ankles were so swollen she could hardly walk. She spent two days in bed.
When Mom was my age now, she took two trips to Europe - Ireland and Italy!
During my last two years of high school, and first year at Baldwin Wallace college, Dody Curtis and I went “Steady”. She still tells me how thrilled she was when my Mother gave her a surprise party on her 16th birthday - the only birthday party that she ever had.
I used to hang out with my brother Bob and his friends - even though they were younger than I was. We would stay out late on Saturday nights playing cards at one of our houses, even pitching pennies below the street light. Many nights we would bowl. We would wait until midnight, when the ally’s would “Close”. The owner would let us bowl for “free”, but we would have to “set” our own pins. They were all set-up manually, but all the regular pinsetters had gone home. We would bowl a game ‘ and low score bowler would set pins. I usually won the “honor”. You didn’t know how difficult and hard work it was to set bowling pins until you tried it. It was so late the other guys were afraid to go home, so they came home with Bob and I. The next morning, their mothers would call and ask if their son was there. My Mother would ask them to “Hold”, and she would check. She would look at the shoes on the stairs, and knew who the owners were. Then, she would return to the phone with her answer.


After writing all of these pages, I haven’t answered Fabi’s questions! I have pointed out the big influence that my parents have played, by their example, in forming my character. I also have had other mentors, such as Sister Edith, a Dominican Nun, who taught my 7th and 8th grade classes at St. Mary’s School in Berea. She was also the principal. She taught me the Latin responses and the proper procedures as an altar boy.
Mr. Judson was also a big help. He was my Scoutmaster for Troop 215 at the Congregational Church in Berea.
I also had the extra curricular activities in high school - band and athletics (football and track) which taught me discipline, teamwork and sacrifice.
Each of us should try and recall what helped to form their character, careers and philosophy of life. While it is sometimes painful, it also brings back many pleasant memories, and what has really mattered during the ensuing years.
Some of us attribute our fate to “being at the right place at the right time”. I like to think of it as “Spirituality.” I have always tried to do my best. And to treat the other guy as I would like to be treated in the same situation. I have tried to use my time the best way that I could. I have always looked forward to learning new things and seeing new people and new places.
In 1993, Marie and I visited France. We spent a week in Meschers where my French ancestors lived, before leaving as persecuted Huguenots in 1685. It was not only a thrill, but I had a strange feeling in just walking the same ground that they did, so many years ago.
From Meschers, we went back to Paris and took a bus tour of France.
Our stop at the American Cemetery, above Omaha Beach, was very emotional for me. I can’t explain it. All I know is : that when I looked out on those 10,000 white crosses, tears came to my eyes as I kept wondering “Why them and not me? Why was my life spared? In the “Big Picture” what is my mission? This feeling is still with me. I continue to try and answer the question, and try to do the best with my time that I can.
Marie and I visited Italy in 1985, and I had a similar feeling of guilt. We were riding on the tour bus through Naples - on our way to the Isle of Capris. I had seen Naples before - many times - in a much different setting. I was riding in the nose of a B-17 at 25,000 feet, setting up the Norden bombsight for a 6,000 pound bomb drop on the shipping in the Bay of Naples. Naples was one of our roughest missions - both German fighter wise and flak wise. We lost a few crews who could not get out of their disabled planes. Others managed to bail out and, hopefully, were captured in the water, or on the ground. But, on this beautiful sunny day such a scene seemed very remote. I never knew how close the German 88 shells, or the 20 mm cannon shells from Goerring’s (yellow -prop spinners) ME-109’s and FW -190’s were coming. Just as well. But, again, I was spared! On this peaceful day, today, war seemed very remote.
So, Fabi, I don’t feel that I have given you very satisfactory answers to your two questions. I have tried to have at least give you some framework and background that have gone into my life, and Marie’s and our nearly 64 years of marriage.
The October 27th Wall Street Journal had a quarter page ad by Wachovia Securities. (Wachovia has been taken over by Wells Fargo).
“THE WISDOM OF AGE. THE STRENGTH OF EXPERIENCE.”
While this is good theory, I don’t know how many of us measure up.

Ray L’Amoreaux.
October 25, 2008.
October 29, 2008.

Wednesday Outing - Travis AFB Museum

Wednesday Outing - Travis AFB Museum - Oct. 8, 2008.
The six passengers, Kelli and Tony, Pulled away from Quail Creek at 10:40. We are headed to Travis Air Force Base Museum, for our Wednesday “Outing”. I am looking forward to the day. I saw the Museum many years ago, when it first opened. I know that they have added planes since then.
It is a beautiful day - warm and no wind! Tony heads South on Dover. He turns left onto Airbase Parkway. We take this nice boulevard all the way on to the Air Base. Not much traffic going either way this time of day. I haven’t been out here in many years. The last time was at an Armed forces celebration - many years ago. They featured the Army’s parachute team, and the Thunderbirds stunt group.
We passed the David Grant Medical Center. The hospital has been enlarged since I last saw it. We arrived at the Main Gate - and were cleared to enter - at 0952. Now, There is plenty of local traffic on the Base - moving in all different directions.
What a coincidence! Tony parked in front of one of the planes stored outside that was very familiar to me. It was a Convair T-29, the same type that I flew at Mather Field in Sacramento during the Korean War (1951 - 1953.) If I checked my old flight log, I might have flown this very plane as we had a lot of the T-29’s at Mather. I flew B-25’s out of Mather, before transitioning to the Convair. This Billy Mitchell twin-engine medium bomber was the same type of plane that General Jimmy Doolittle and his group flew off the Hornet on their 1942 raid on Tokyo.
The narrative plate stated that it was one of the best transport plane produced after the workhorse C-47 - during WW II. It was an easy plane to fly, and with it’s wide landing gear it was very pilot forgiving, and safer. We flew B-47 pilots up and down the State - with legs up to Seattle at the northern end, and over to Phoenix, from Los Angeles, at the Southern end. Occasionally, we would fly a couple of hours out over the Pacific, and back, to give the students in the back over-water-navigation training. Two pilots manned the B-47. The plane didn’t carry a navigator, or bombardier, so the pilots were trained in all three skills. Generally, we cruised at about 160 knots and at 8,000 feet. We used oxygen above 10,000 feet in the daytime, and 8,000 feet at night. We filed a flight plan because we were controlled by the FAA. We would radio a position report to their control every hour we were in the air. The cockpits were very comfortable - roomy with soft chairs - instead of the usual cramped sitting area.
Normally, we would make a practice -ground controlled approach (GCA) landing after each mission. A few times it was because of necessity due to poor landing visibility.
The T-29 was very similar to the Convair 240, that the airlines were flying - except for the configuration in the back. In the T-29, tables and chairs were installed for the instructors and students, replacing the passenger seats on the airliner.
Kelly saw that I was interested in the plane, and offered to take my picture - with it in the background. Then, I walked around to get a close-up look at some fighter planes parked nearby.
Parked on the ramp nearby were the following fighter aircraft - F-104; F-105; F-86; F-84-F; F-101-B; and a F-102A. While I had heard of these planes, I had never seen them up close like this. Nearby was a C-45H which interested me. I flew a similar one on a cross-country trip from Maxwell Field, in Montgomery, Alabama to Willow Run, Michigan, and return. The Air Corps used this plane as a transport during the war, as well as to train some twin-engine cadets, The C-45 was changed a bit and used for other trainers such as the AT-7 for navigators, and the At-11 model, for bombardier training. While I didn’t fly this latter model, I did have over 100 hours flying in it as an “Observer”. This was when I received my bombardier training at Victorville - on the edge of the Mojave desert. We would drop 100 pound practice -sand bombs on nearby targets. The AT-11 bombardier training plane plane had a top speed of 215 mph, and a service ceiling of 20,000 feet. But we cruised at 150 during our bombing runs - usually flown at 8,000 feet. We had a few low-level drops.
It was at Victorville, that I ran into “Flying Sargeants”. Due to a shortage of pilots, the Air Corps decided to dispense with the 2nd Lt. commission for these civilian pilots, and bring them in with Staff Sergeant rankings. They were all experienced and good pilots. They later were promoted to the rank of “Flight Officer”.


Next to the At-11 was a huge Douglas C-124 Globe master - a four prop job that had a gross weight of 216,000 pounds when fully loaded at take-off.
Also, one of the Lockheed family of C-45‘s; AT-7‘s and AT-11‘s was the Lockheed UC-78. Many student pilots referred to the UC-78 as the “Bamboo Bomber”. I did fly this latter model in Basic-Flight Training, along with a similar model - the Cessna AT-17 - out of Minter Field in Bakersfield. Student pilots, who were likely to end up as multi-engine pilots were usually assigned to fly twin-engine trainers in their basic- flight training; where “fighter” pilots would receive their Basic training in a plane like the Vultee BT-13.
Just before entering the large hangar, there was a O2A, which I had never seen before. It had a front and rear propeller, and was used for observations. It certainly was distinctive looking.
Inside the hangar was a Stearman, which brought back many positive memories of learning to fly, during my Primary Flight Training. I also met my future wife there! (We will be married 64 years - and have five daughters - on December 23, 2008!). My training was a little easier because I was a Student Officer, rather than a Cadet.
The Strearman PT-13 was a tricky plane to land, but very good for stalls and acrobatics. The landings were difficult, because if you had the slightest amount of drift at touchdown, there was a good chance that you would ground loop. The main reasons for this were the narrow landing gear plus, the plane was a biplane, and this extra-wing weight made it top heavy. Without a nose wheel, we made dead-stick - three-point (usually) landings, This condition reduced the control of the aircraft close to the ground.
I was very fortunate to have an experienced civilian - Instructor pilot, who had many flying hours - barnstorming; flying the mail; instructing; crop dusting etc. While I never had to use his admonition, I never forgot his words of wisdom: When practicing “simulated engine failure” (power off), he told me to always maintain my safe flying speed (above a stall) - even if I had to fly through a brick wall. It would still be safer than a “stall” and
“spinning in.” So, I was very happy to see an “old flying friend” once again.
I was hoping that they would have the Norden bombsight on display in the hangar. Not seeing it, I asked the operator of the Gift Shop, and he located it for me. What a thrill to see it once again after many years.
This instrument was an amazing invention - so unique, innovative and accurate. During our bombardier training, the instructors said that the sight was so accurate that a bombardier could drop a bomb in a pickle barrel from an altitude of 25,000 feet! While this might be a stretch, but a good bombardier - with a good pilot, plane , auto-pilot and bombsight - under ideal flying conditions probably could drop a bomb within 100 feet of a bulls eye
I used this type of bombsight in the nose of a B-17 Flying Fortress on 50 combat missions, and it performed “as advertised”. It was so valuable, and such a secret, that we bombardiers carried 45 caliber pistols to protect it, when we carried it to and from the vault to the plane. If we were shot down we were instructed to fire our pistol in the eye-piece and destroy the sight, rather than let the Germans capture it intact.
Another feature of the bombsight was it’s reliability. In North Africa, the summer ground temperatures could be 100 degrees in the morning at take-off, and yet below zero, at noon, over Italy when we were on the bomb run. Old-timers may recall a cover of Life Magazine which showed a bombardier student with a black ring around one of his eyes. All of us bombardiers looked like this when we returned from our missions. The rubber padding around the eyepiece got so hot that they started to melt.
And so, reluctantly, we had to leave a very memorable place.
We left the Travis AFB Museum at 12:15 and headed back aboard our mini-bus. We turned right on to Burgan Blvd. We turned left on to Travis Blvd. to Air Base Parkway. Tony takes a left turn, and we pass Peabody Road across Walter Road. We pass the intersections with Clay Bank Road and Dover Avenue to Heath Avenue. Then, down Pennsylvania to Mimi’s for lunch. We arrived at 12:35.
After a nice lunch, we loaded back on to the bus at 2:10, and back at Quail Creek at exactly 2:30 - right on time!
RCL - 10/13/08.