When
my brother was killed I was 19 years old and unfortunately
he was only 23. The way we learned of his death was
rather bazaar and sad. Where we lived was a very small
town where everyone knew everyone. There was a small
Post Office where we picked up our mail. We were waiting
to hear of his promotion from Flight Officer to Second
Lieutenant. I picked up the mail that day and drove
home as fast as I could with a very official letter.
Second Louie for sure. But that was not what it was,
imagine the shock to my parents when they read the
letter (No. 1). No telegram no fore warning. No. 2
letter is a follow up from Colonel Storrie. No. 3
letter is the details of the crash from Army Air Force
Headquarters. My father wrote many many letters trying
to sort out everything. It was extremely trying, especially
for my mother; I don't think she ever recovered from
the shock of it all. She died 7 years later.
My
brother was born in Passaic, New Jersey on February
28, 1923. In 1924, my parents moved to California,
my father being a Landscape Architect with a company
that was developing Palos Verdes Estates. My brother
went to grammar school there and to High School in
the next town. He was a Boy Scout and Sea Scout. Upon
graduating from high school in 1941, he went to work
at Douglas Aircraft Company. He joined the Air Force
in October 1942, and was inducted in February 1943.
He graduated Pilot, four-engine bomber, at Pecos Army
Air Force Base, Pecos Texas and left for combat duty
May 1945. He was assigned co-pilot B-29.
I
last talked to him in May 1945, when he called the
University of Oregon and got me out of swim class
to say goodbye and that he was shipping out. In the
last few years I've thought, I really never got to
know him that well. We were both too young.
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