Joy Neal Kidney's Blog, page 90

Lightning Sky

The Book

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A U.S. fighter pilot captured by the enemy. A father determined to rescue his son. One of the most remarkable and moving true stories of faith and perseverance to come out of World War II.

 

October 6, 1944. Twenty-year-old Army Air Corps Second Lieutenant David “Mac” Warren MacArthur was on a strafing mission over Greece when a round of 88-mm German anti-aircraft flak turned his P-38 Lightning into a comet of fire and smoke. Dave parachuted to safety as the Lightning lived up to her name and struck the Adriatic Sea like a bolt of flames. In minutes, he was plucked from the water—only to find himself on the wrong end of a German rifle pointing straight at his head.

Dave’s father, Lieutenant Colonel Vaughn MacArthur, was a chaplain with the 8th Armored Division of Patton’s Third Army when he learned of his son’s capture. He made it his personal mission to find him. For the duration of the war, as Dave was shuttled from camp to camp—including Dachau—his father never stopped searching. Then in May 1945, Vaughn’s last hope was Stalag VII-A in Moosburg, Germany. Through the barbed wire fence, he cried out his son’s name. Incredibly, out of tens of thousands of POWs, one of them, squinting into the sunlight, turned and smiled.

Father and son spent the next two weeks together celebrating, a forever cherished memory. Over the next twenty-five years, Dave would go on to honor his father on rescue missions of his own, becoming a highly decorated and genuine American war hero. In both Korea and Vietnam, Dave would carry with him the legacy of a great man who gave everything to save his son.

An inspiring, harrowing, and unforgettable chronicle of love of family and love of country, Lightning Sky is a timeless testament to extraordinary lives in extraordinary times.

The Author

I couldn’t find information about R. C. George, although his website does contain photos of the MacArthur family.

My Thoughts

I bought “Lightning Sky” because of the P-38 on the cover, although there is precious little about combat in one. In fact, Dave MacArthur didn’t even fly one until he arrived in Italy for combat, which is where my uncle, Daniel S. Wilson, was based 75 years ago. They served in the same 14th Fighter Group, based at the Foggia Airfield Complex near San Severo, but in different squadrons–at about the same time.

The book opens and closes with MacArthur’s military service in Korea (also Vietnam), but the bulk of the story is about his experiences as a POW of the Germans during the waning months of the European war. The most fascinating part was that his father, Vaughn MacArthur, served as a frontline Army Chaplain with the 8th Armored Division at the same time, and kept searching for where his son was being kept. They were eventually reunited, right before VE-Day.

Dave MacArthur had just been returned to the States that June when a telegram arrived about his father’s loss. Vaughn MacArthur is buried at Lorraine American Cemetery, St. Avold, France, which is where my uncle, P-38 pilot Daniel Wilson, is also buried–along with over 10,000 other young Americans.

There are extensive Endnotes in the book, but not one photograph except for the one on the cover. A fascinating chapter in WWII history.

Leora Goff and the Guthrie County Jail

From Leora (Goff) Wilson’s memoirs:

When we lived in Guthrie Center, the year of 1900, one of our neighbor girls, who was a little older than I, told us about two men who were in the jail. They had been in the penitentiary previously and had learned some art. The neighbor girl must have heard some grownups talking about it.

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We were curious, so one Sunday afternoon, she (Gertrude Moty) and Dot Ferry, my brother Merl, and I (8, 9, and 10-year-olds) went to the jail and, Gertrude being the oldest, did the talking to these men. They told us to get them some pasteboard boxes and glue and they would make us something.

[image error]Leora, right before they moved into Guthrie Center for a year.

So on Monday we went to a store and got the material and took it to the jail. The men put a broom through the bars for us to put the material on. They put the broom out several times, as we had material for each of us. There was a space between the outside windows and the jail cell. The prisoners told us when they would be ready–it was several days, as I remember. They made one girl a doll cradle, one a church, Merl a merry-go-round with cut-out animals riding, and mine was a schoolhouse, just like the one we attended. 

[image error]The old Guthrie County Jail

When we told our mother about what and where we had been, she told us we should never, never go near a jail. I had a feeling we shouldn’t all along, but the excitement of getting those articles made was worth the risk, we thought. 

[image error]Guthrie County Courthouse, Guthrie Center, Iowa

When we found out our “art” was ready, Mother told us to go to the courthouse and ask about getting the things from the jail, so we saw the deputy sheriff. Our parents knew him and just Merl and I went with the deputy over to the jail. He told Merl he would have to carry out some ashes first before getting his prize, so Merl did carry some ashes out to dump outside.

I remember the deputy just unlocking the door wide enough for the men to put the little schoolhouse out–it was about 10″ X 12″–and Men’s merry-go-round. We thanked them and headed for home, relieved and so happy with our prizes. We never bothered a jail again. We kept the items for a long time, and I guess they just got lost in moving, then forgotten. I see Dot Ferry often–she and I are good friends still. (1973) 

Eddie Rickenbacker–America’s World War I Ace of Aces–Landed at Dexter, Iowa

Date of the clipping is unknown, but Eddie Rickenbacker‘s landing east of Dexter was because of engine trouble happened in 1929.

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P-38 Lightning by Jeffrey L. Ethell

The Book

Well detailed, large fold-outs by the Illustrator, Rikyu Watanabe, and brief but interesting text by Jeffrey Ethell about the P-38 Lightning.

The Author

Jeffrey Ethell (1947–1997), who learned to fly before he could drive a car, was an American aviation author and pilot who wrote extensively on aviation and military matters. He held both commercial pilot and flight instructor certificates. 

Ethell was killed when the restored P-38 Lightning he was flying crashed at Tillamook, Oregon, while preparing for an airshow to honor his father, Ervin, who reported 10,000 hours of flight experience, of which approximately 3,000 hours of flight experience was in the P-38–15th Air Force, 14th Fighter Group, 48th Fighter Squadron, North Africa.

Jeffrey Ethell published a series of technical studies of WWII-era aircraft and authored 60 books and over 1,000 magazine articles. He logged over 4,800 hours in more than 210 different types of aircraft, including most of the World War II warbirds.

While still in college in Tennessee in the 1960s, Ethell was awarded research grants from the National Air & Space Museum, Smithsonian Institution. He was a popular guest lecturer. He was featured in the PBS Nova documentary about the military aircraft of the former Soviet Union, and was an expert commentator on many documentaries.

The Illustrator

Rikyu Watanabe, dean of aircraft illustrators, was born in 1927 in Osaka, Japan. In 1943 he volunteered for the Japanese Army Flight Cadet School. When the war ended in 1945, he was at an army air force base in China. Returning to Japan, he studied painting, graduating from Bunka Gakuin University in 1950. One of the world’s leading illustrators, since 1966 he has specialized in aircraft illustration, producing some of the finest aircraft illustrations every made.

My Thoughts

The West Des Moines library used to have a copy of this handsome book, but the last time–years ago–when I wanted to check it out again, it was missing. I figured someone added it to their own library.

I was thankful when you started finding places to buy used books on the Internet, and I eventually was able to score a copy of this book.

It includes the history of the design of the aircraft by Lockheed, wonderful diagrams and photos, plus foldouts of several known P-38s plus diagrams.

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I especially wanted it because it features a large foldout of a P-38L, which was the model of plane Danny Wilson flew and was lost in, February 19, 1945, Schwanberg, Austria.

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Leora Wilson–Role Model

I was about thirteen years old and didn’t want to go to the Black Hills with my parents and younger sister, even though we’d never taken a family vacation before.

“What’s at the Black Hills?” I was more interested in rolled up denim jeans and bobby socks.

“Mount Rushmore.” Mom always wore a housedress and work shoes with anklets. “And take your swimsuit in case we stop at Hot Springs for a swim.” 

I knew I’d be stuck in the back seat of our two-toned blue Chevy with my annoying kid sister Gloria all the way through South Dakota. “Can’t we do something closer?” 

“Maybe we could invite Grandma Wilson,” Mom mused.

“Could we? She loves going places!”

So Grandma Wilson saved the trip to the Black Hills. Just having her along made a big difference in my attitude. Well, in all of us. Grandma sat in the back between Gloria and me, so there wasn’t even any sisterly bickering.

[image error]Back in the day when you could double expose a photo–August 1958. Our family and Gavin’s Point Dam, Yankton, SD. I had no idea we were close to Bloomfield, NE, where Grandma Leora encountered Santee Sioux when she was a preschooler and her family tried to make a go of living in NW Nebraska.

Grandma always wore a dress in those days, carried a handbag, and probably wore a hairnet over her permed hairdo (which she said she got at the “B-parlor”).

But for decades I took Grandma for granted although I enjoyed being around this upbeat little woman. She somehow made things fun by being her positive self. 

Grandma wrote me newsy letters–in college, when I moved away from Iowa with my new husband, even to him in Vietnam. This jaunty little woman lived in a small house in Guthrie Center, Iowa, where she saved every trinket, every birthday card, every souvenir, and every letter. 

[image error]505 N. Fourth Street, Guthrie Center, Iowa

My husband was so surprised to learn that this tiny white-haired woman had lost three sons during World War II, and was widowed not long after.

After she died, at age 97, I read the hundreds of family and letters and clippings she’d saved–from the early 1900s and through the war. Her letters were full of how many eggs she’d gathered and sold, how many jars of produce she’d canned for winter, news of rest of the family. 

Then in my middle forties, I was stunned at the heartache she’d been through. All through my childhood and since I’d gone to the cemetery with her and her two daughters to help decorate family graves for Memorial Day, but didn’t realize that two of her sons aren’t even buried there. One is buried overseas. One was never found.

[image error]Rose and Don Wilson, visiting from Washington State, in his mother’s little kitchen in Guthrie Center.

Leora’s Depression Era years were also poignant–losing three infants, two of them to whooping cough when all nine children were quarantined with it. Her husband was out of work. But because of two sons who joined the Navy during those bleak years, even then her letters revealed an encouraging mother–in spite of having to accept hand-me-downs for her children and reinforcing the thin soles of her own shoes with cardboard.

After the losses of WWII and her husband not long after, Leora made a home for fourteen years for her own widowed mother. She never learned to drive so she walked to church and other activities, which were what her chatty letters were full of, plus how her garden was doing. She sewed and patched at the local hospital for decades, the one woman who could still run the old treadle machine. 

[image error]Leora Wilson writing in her diary. Photo taken by Delbert Wilson, her oldest son.

When Gloria and I were still in school, Grandma would stay with us on the farm to attend our concerts and recitals. I don’t ever remember hearing this little lady complain about anything. 

For half my life, Leora was my cheerful and supportive Grandma. For the latest half, she’s been a wonderful role model of winsome faith and endurance–through those old letters and my winsome memories of her.

 

Danny Wilson, Missing in Action

The 14th Fighter Group had three photo reconnaissance missions February 1, two to Munich, Germany, and one to Prague, Czechoslovakia. Danny’s thirteenth mission was most likely one to Munich because of a comment in his next letter home.

He said that they’d probably heard about our long-range bombers over Germany targets from these bases in Italy. And that the Russians had already taken quite a chunk out of Germany.

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He’d heard the news that the Americans were in Manila and had freed several thousand men from a concentration camp there. He figured that Dale had just as good a chance of being one of the men from that camp as another. News of those being freed bolstered his hopes, and knew his folks felt the same way.

Fifty-six Lightnings, including Danny’s, took off from Triolo field February 7 to escort Liberator bombers of the 304th Wing through the target, which again was Vienna oil refineries. In the target area they couldn’t find the Wing they were assigned to, so they escorted bombers from another. The formations were over the target for thirty minutes, with the inevitable flak. One of the bombers caught fire. Two others were hit by flak over Bratisava, Czechoslovakia. No chutes were seen. All the P-38s landed safely in Italy.

Two days later, Danny was one of ten who escorted two British Halifaxes to a supply dumping area at Crayon, Yugoslavia.

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And the USS Hancock sailed from Ulithi February 10 with Spruance’s Fifth Fleet, headed this time to Japan.

Danny’s combat mission February 14 was to escort B-24s on an attack of the Vienna Florisdorf Oil Refinery. There were two dozen other P-38s on the mission. Ten of them couldn’t fine the bombers they were assigned to, so they located Fortresses of the 5th Wing and escorted them instead. All of the fighters landed at their base safely.

Two days later, forty fighters escorted B-24 bombers to Dingolfing, Germany. Danny was one who after the bombing, “descended to the deck” to strafe in the Regensburg area, where they ran into bursts of flak. It. Wilson was credited with damaging a flak tower there. They also damaged or destroyed twenty-nine locomotives and several freight cars. One plane crashed after an engine caught fire. the pilot was warned to bail out. At 5000 feet the canopy came off. At 4000 feet the plane was over on its back. No parachute was seen.

Danny’s eighteenth mission was on the eighteenth, with forty-five other fighters. They were to escort the 55th Wing to Linz, Austria, but a heavy overcast caused them to turn back over Yugoslavia.

Daniel Wilson, Missing in Action

The target for the February 19 for the 14th Fighter Group was Vienna, but the bombers the two dozen fighters were escorting decided to attack the alternate target of Bruk, southwest of Vienna. A dozen of them, including Dan Wilson, have an additional mission near Graz—providing cover for an experimental skip bombing. This is similar to the skip bombing over water Dale did in New Guinea except that this done against a sixteen-car train. 

After a strafing run, Number 4 of the flight dropped back to take photos of the damage. When he pulled up over the train, the left engine was smoking. When he didn’t return to his formation, two P-38s returned to the area but find no trace of Danny’s plane.

His plane had hit a pole and crashed about two kilometers south of the railroad station at Schwanberg, Austria, in a forest along Sulm Creek in the snowy forested foothills of the Alps. According to his casualty records, the dead American “Flying Lieutenant” found in the wreck was identified by his tags as Daniel S. Wilson. Wehrmacht soldiers kept the tags but turn the body over to village officials.

The next day, a grave was dug at the edge of the Schwanberg cemetery. Daniel S. Wilson was buried in a pine box provided by the village. A service was held secretly by the local Roman Catholic priest. Attending were the bergermeister, the chief of police, and the grave digger.

Someone made a wooden cross for the new grave–in the uppermost lines, entrance on the left side–marked “Daniel S. Wilson  19.2.1945.”

At Schwanberg his death certificate, in German, was registered. And at his base at Foggia, a Missing Aircraft report was filled out for P-38 L1LO #44-24123, which carried weapons manufactured by Colt, Frigidaire, and International Harvester—companies that had retooled for war.

Two days later at their headquarters in Graz, the Wehrmacht reported the death of a member of an enemy air force, recording the place, date, serial number, name, and that two ID tags had been found on the American flyer. 

This information would be how Dan Wilson’s remains would be located over a year later. They wouldn’t learn the details of his loss and burial for four more decades. 

At Triolo field, Lt. Richard Tomlinson had typed up a report on the loss of the plane. His belongings were inventoried by a squadron Personal Effects Officer. 

And the Flight surgeon filled out another form on Dan, adding, “Good man—good pilot.”

 

 

 

Danny Wilson: We Don’t Want Any Heroes

A fighter pilot, Danny Wilson was lost

in February 1945, when his silver Lightning

dropped back to take photos

on a mission over Austria.

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Danny’s last furlough home to Dallas County, Iowa,

was the spring of 1944. His picture, taken in Perry,

shows his solid jaw, broad shoulders. Confident, content.

Silver pilot’s wings against the dark uniform.

 

 

In a snowy forest in the foothills of the Alps, Wehrmacht

soldiers find a dead American flying lieutenant

in the wreckage of his forktailed devil.

 

Wilsons had also taken snapshots of Danny beside

the ’42 Plymouth with his sisters and holding his nephew.

Doris, her first baby due in six weeks, stood behind

Darlene and Danny so her “condition” wouldn’t show.

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The airman who lost his life at Schwanberg, Austria,

in February of 1945, was identified by his dogtags,

which the Wehrmacht kept–Daniel S. Wilson.

 

When Danny began cadet training, Doris wrote,

“I just want you to know, whether you turn out

to be an ace or a grease money,

you’ll still be a swell brother to me.

 

The 37th Fighter Squadron in Italy reported his P-38 lost,

his belongings were inventories, and the flight surgeon added

to a form about Danny’s loss, “good man–good pilot.”

 

And Doris wrote, when she learned he had gotten

his overseas orders, “Danny, you take darn good

care of you, and get back home as soon as possible.

We don’t want any heroes in the family, just all of us home.”

 

At Danny Wilson’s burial were four strangers: the village inspector,

the grave digger, the bergermeister, and the Roman Catholic priest,

who held a burial ceremony for him. . . secretly.

 

His parents received a telegram in March 1945 notifying them

that Danny was missing in action. But they never learned the details

of his death and burial. The daughter born to Doris was the first

family member to see, fifty years later, his casualty records.

 

That fall, after the war was over, Danny’s grave was located

by a British Graves Registration Team, though captured German records, 

in the Schwanberg cemetery. His remains were removed 

and taken to France for final burial.

 

But Danny Wilson’s parents received no other word about him

until January 1946, when the War Department finally reported

that it had received “evidence considered sufficient

to establish the fact of [his] death.”

 

In a carton sent home with his other belongings, Danny’s parents

found a small New Testament. On the page with the American flag,

Danny had written, “I give everything for the country it stands for.”

 

All five Wilson brothers served in the war–two in the Navy,

three in the Army Air Corps. At age 21, Danny was one

of the three young pilots who never came home.

 

 

 

She Said Yes–Guest Love Story by Jacque Johnson

Adel Quilting & Dry Goods Co. calls itself “The Little Quilt Shop on the Prairie” is owned by at least a 4th generation quilter, my cousin Jacque Johnson.

They offer several Block of the Month programs each year–to display a quilt and to break down into monthly steps. Customers come in once a month to pick up the instructions and the fabric for part of the quilt, along with part of a short story that loosely references some of the block names in the quilt.

The Story Quilt is designed by Patience Griffin. Local quilters may begin to recognize Yes and No in this story, but the rest of us will enjoy the sweet spirit behind it.


[image error]Flying Geese block

She was asked to: Host a family dinner – She said yes. Babysit a friend’s kids – She said yes. Organize a fund raiser – She said yes. Play piano at church – She said yes. Make a quick raffle quilt – She said yes. Take a temporary position as a choir director – She said yes. Chaperone prom after party – She said yes. 

If requests came in a written sequence like this, it would be easy to recognize getting in too deep. But, that’s not the way it works. Presented one at a time with days or even weeks in between, these questions all seem like doable or charitable tasks so yes was always the answer that popped out. Sometimes it felt like geese were flying east just to circle and fly straight back west. 

Unfortunately, she was married to a man that always said no. You may not know this but, being married to a No man when you are a Yes woman comes with its challenges. Want to hear a story? 

Moon and Star Blocks

The year was 1994 and Yes had been invited by No to go to the state fair. It was a beautiful evening. They took a ride on the double Ferris wheel, swinging so high the moon and stars seemed just a short reach away. 

I don’t believe either Yes or No expected much of the evening. Maybe that’s why it worked so well. It ended at a George Strait concert where No pretended he couldn’t remember where he parked his car but Yes didn’t believe him, or maybe she just thought it would be fine to sit there together until all of the other cars had left the parking lot. 

Bachelors Puzzle and Crossroads Blocks

Yes was a busy mother of teenagers and No was a bachelor. The choice to not live together but rather just to enjoy each other’s companionship between ballgames and high school concerts was an easy one. So easy it went on for 7 years and included an anniversary trip to the state fair every year. 

One Christmas Eve, No got down on one knee and Yes said – – – – well, she said yes! They were married on the 7th anniversary of their first date. It was wonderful and it was transformative. 

House Block and Heart Blocks

No was used to living alone and it took some gentle nudging to get him to move over enough to let Yes into his space. Because Yes was always saying yes to everyone for everything, No sometimes felt left out or pressured to do something out of his comfort zone (also known as the recliner and TV). After a particularly heated debate on the topic followed by a cooling off period, Yes was fixing supper and not wearing a very happy face. Safe to say that supper may have been a little burnt around the edges that evening. No walked into the kitchen and said, “I am just an old man, stuck in my ways and I know I can be aggravating. Will you forgive me and will you still love me?” – – – – – She said yes. 

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Tree applique’

Love is like a tree. The roots go deep and sustain us through the gentle breezes and the brutal winds. The trunk tethers us together while the branches allow us to go our separate ways – – – – even from Earth to Heaven.

Adel Quilting & Dry Goods Co.
909 Prairie Street
Adel, IA. 50003

If you would like to participate, call us at 515-993-1170. We ship!



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Love is like a tree. The roots go deep and sustain us through the gentle breezes and the brutal winds. The trunk tethers us together while the branches allow us to go our separate ways – – – – even from Earth to Heaven.

Forgotten Fifteenth: The Daring Airmen Who Crippled Hitler’s War Machine

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About the Book

November 1943—May 1945—The U.S. Army Air Forces waged an unprecedentedly dogged and violent campaign against Hitler’s vital oil production and industrial plants on the Third Reich’s southern flank. Flying from southern Italy, far from the limelight enjoyed by the Eighth Air Force in England, the Fifteenth Air Force engaged in high-risk missions spanning most of the European continent. The story of the Fifteenth Air Force deserves a prideful place in the annals of American gallantry.

In his new book, Forgotten Fifteenth: The Daring Airmen Who Crippled Hitler’s War Machine, Tillman brings into focus a seldom-seen multinational cast of characters, including pilots from Axis nations Romania, Hungary, and Bulgaria and many more remarkable individuals. They were the first generation of fliers—few of them professionals—to conduct a strategic bombing campaign against a major industrial nation. They suffered steady attrition and occasionally spectacular losses. In so doing, they contributed to the end of the most destructive war in history.

Forgotten Fifteenth is the first-ever detailed account of the Fifteenth Air Force in World War II and the brave men that the history books have abandoned until now. Tillman proves this book is a must-read for military history enthusiasts, veterans, and current servicemen.

The Author

Barrett Tillman (b. 1948) was born into a NE Oregon ranching family and developed an early interest in aviation history. He learned to fly as a teenager, was first published at age 15, and graduated from the University of Oregon with a journalism degree in 1971. He has worked as a newspaper reporter, book publisher, and magazine editor, but has been self employed all but seven years since graduating from college. Though best known for his histories of US naval aviation, he also has published six novels plus short stories, and has sold a screenplay.

Tillman continues writing nonfiction books and has written more than 550 articles in the US and abroad. He frequently appears as a commentator on TV documentaries in addition to his speaking appearances. The recipient of six writing awards, he lives with his wife in Arizona.

Tillman’s web site and blog are found at http://www.btillman.com.

My Thoughts

Lt. Daniel S. Wilson served in the 15th Army Air Force, 14th Fighter Group, 38th Fighter Squadron, based at Triolo in the Foggia complex, near the Adriatic coast of Italy, from late 1944 through early 1945. His brother, Lt. Dale R. Wilson, was Missing in Action in New Guinea, having flown several times over the treacherous Owen Stanley Mountains.

Dan Wilson also flew over mountains, the snowy Alps, on his missions. Established by Maj. Gen. Jimmy Doolittle (in November, 1943, before being transferred a few months later to command the 8th Air Force in England). Bomber and fighter groups of the 15th Air Force were based around the same area of Italy. Their missions were mostly in Austria, Yugoslavia, and eventually Germany.

The winter of 1944-45 was a miserable one, with heavy persistent rain and dense clouds, keeping operations from proceeding. Dan Wilson experienced that, but was also kept busy trying to scrape together materials with other pilots to build a shack for a decent shelter during the winter.

Forgotten Fifteenth takes the reader from Tunisia to the move to Italy and combat over occupied Europe, especially oil refineries, through heavy flak and anti-aircraft fire around these heavily guarded industrial sites.

An appendix lists all the units of the 15th Air Force and the name of their bases, bombing statistics, names of leading aces, sources, notes, and a bibliography. Very thorough.

Danny Wilson: Last Letter

Dan Wilson’s last letter was written on lightweight airmail paper. The fountain pen ink bled through a little so is hard to read.

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February 11, 1945

Italy

Dear Folks,

Received your V-mail letter of Jan. 27, yesterday. Very glad to hear from you. I hadn’t had any mail for about a week. Also received the Jan. Reader’s Digest. I’ve read several of the stories and articles in it already and the other three men in this shack have read it also. It’s interesting reading for everyone. Thanks a lot for sending it, Mom.

I wrote in my last letter of several prisoners being freed at Manila. I found out later that the majority were found to be civilian internees; but there were several hundred military personnel included. The more territory that the American armies take from those Japs, the damn sure closer it becomes to the day when we hear from Dale.

When you wrote that Dale was missing on a straffing [sic] attack on an airdrome, I can understand the circumstances they were up against.

Well, I have been flying some this week; but the rest of the time has been the same routine procedures. When it rains, a guy can’t do very damn much anyway. Today is cloudy, but it’s not raining, yet.

I think I’ll wait for the noon mail to see if I received any. If I do, I’ll probably have something to write on in answering them.

Well, I got some mail alright! A big letter with picture of frosty trees in front of place from you written on Feb. 1. Also a good letter from Junior and a V-mail from Doris.

I think I’ll just answer your letter as you have them written in your letter.

Glad you got the map that you have. Seems that you can spot things out damn well on it.

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Glad you’re sending that film you mentioned. I figure that it will be plenty of film alright. The ones with the cameras and film like to keep the negatives themselves; and send them home to have them printed, as it’s hard and sometimes impossible to get them printed here. To get them developed into negatives is a simple process and can be pretty easily done here, though. So, I’ll soon be able to gather up some negatives to send along with the pictures, and maybe you can get a few extras made of the better ones and send one of so to each of the rest of the Wilson family.

Yes, Junior is too far along in flying to be taken out of it. They have been taking air force personnel into the infantry, but as yet I haven’t heard of air-crew personnel transfered [sic] to it.

Junior is doing O.K. there with the AT-6. Says it’s foggy there in the mornings; being along the coast. His letters recalls to me of the same things I did. Seems that they’re trying to get some of them into being a damn “Flight engineer” on a damn B-29. Of course that doesn’t go for a pilot that’s all out for fighters. Junior’s in line for the P-51 or P-47.

I haven’t heard from Donald for some time. He’s without a doubt the one in the family who’s seeing and in on the most action.

I’m glad you wrote in detail about what happened to Dale’s plane. And those letters the other folks have written to you. I think it’s great of you to all correspond with each other. Yes, Dale will be walking in there at home sometimes, soon.

This is about all for now. I’ll put in a couple of pictures that I have now.

Wishing you the best of everything.

Love always,

Dan

[image error]Leora noted, “Rec’d Feb. 24”