Dreams, Love and Survival
Excerpts from Memoir about the author’s days as a B-17 bomber pilot with the 8th Air Force 305th Bombing Group.
Foreword
The inspiration for the preparation and publication of this memoir was born in 1988 when, under strong persuasion from an old friend who was also an 8th Air Force veteran of World War II, I joined the 8th’s Historical Association. Subsequently, I also joined the 305th Bomb Group Memorial Association, the group I had served with in England and flown 35 missions as a B-17 heavy bomber pilot with them.
After attending a couple of reunions and renewing friendships, the memories of those times crowded in on me, leading to a revival of interest in the box of old correspondence between my wife and myself covering our experiences during that period. For us, the bond formed during those trying days has remained steadfast for over 55 years.
Ray and Doris
This is a story of two youngsters from Brooklyn, N.Y. who met at a political rally and dance in the midst of World War II (February ‘43.
The girl was Doris Kadisch, 18 years old at that time, involved in progressive politics and doing her bit for the war effort by working in a war plant. She was bouncy and energetic with a head full of brown curly hair, cut close, with dancing brown eyes which immediately captivated the boy, Saul Levine, twenty at that time. She learned he was a graduate of the Brooklyn Technical High School, going to night engineering school, Cooper Union. He had enlisted in the Army Air Corps and was waiting to be called for pilot training as an air cadet.
February 7,1943
Hello Doris,
Remember the rather timid, crummy dancer at the Fairplay social who stuck like a leech all evening and then didn’t even offer to see you home? Well, that’s me!
I certainly hope you didn’t find my letter too childish, but I was really anxiously looking forward to seeing you again. I don’t know whether it was fate or what, but the next day I received a telegram to report Thursday to Atlantic City, N.J. for basic training. Being a reserve air cadet, I was subject to a 24 hour call and they hollered. I was happy to leave, except for one thing, I regretted not being able to meet and get to know you better. You certainly impressed me as someone a guy doesn’t meet very often and who he doesn’t want to lose track of.
If I’m not making myself obnoxious, I would like to hear from you, about yourself, your activities, your opinions, etc. As for me, I’m a thoroughly ordinary individual, perhaps with a better than average desire to help in bettering this world for the future and definitely am a lousy dancer.
To victory in ‘43.
Sincerely,
Saul
Pre-Flight Training: The Saga Begins
From basic training, the air cadets, of which I was one, were sent to pre-preflight training at college training detachments located at various college campuses around the country. I was sent to Colby College in Waterville, Maine. The purpose was to upgrade our math and engineering background. Having had two years of night college at Cooper Union in New York, I qualified early and went on to the Air Corps Classification Center in Nashville, Tennessee.
Part of this phase of training was ten hours of flight instruction in a small Piper Cub.
In Nashville, I went through the Army Air Corps psychomotor and psychological tests with the inevitable question, «Do you like girls?» Evidently, there were grave concerns about homosexuals filtering into the system. I guess I gave the right answers, although at that stage of my life, homosexuality was a vague concept to me. I qualified for pilot, bombardier or navigator training, so I was given my first choice, which was pilot training. However, I learned later it would have been pilot training anyway, as this was the great need at the time. So off I went to pre-flight training at Maxwell Field, Alabama. I found it most interesting since we were subjected to strenuous physical training, discipline and subject matter covering flight theory, engineering, engine mechanics, and Morse code, as well.
The upperclassmen have complete control over the lowerclassmen (called «Zombies»), putting them under continual pressure to eliminate the less dedicated cadets. Demerits are handed out for any infractions of the rules: dusty shoes, not saluting or replying too slowly to questions and so on. The demerits add up to one hour walking tours with a rifle and a cadence of 128 steps per minute.
March 1943 Pre-preflight training Waterville, Maine
Dear Doris,
About my course here. April 5, I will start flying. This preliminary instruction will last about a month, after which I will be sent to be classified at Nashville, Tennessee. About nine months from that time I hope to have my wings.
Here’s to a firm, everlasting and rather unique friendship.
Saul
June 7, 1943 Preflight training Maxwell Field, Alabama
Dear Doris,
At long last, I’ve reached what is considered first base in the long run towards home plate — my pilot’s wings. Maxwell Field houses 8,000 cadets and officers all getting set physically and mentally for flying duty.
The West Point class system is used to enforce discipline. The upperclassmen have complete control over the lowerclassmen (called «Zombies»), putting them under continual pressure to eliminate the less dedicated cadets. Demerits are handed out for any infractions of the rules: dusty shoes, not saluting or replying too slowly to questions and so on. The demerits add up to one hour walking tours with a rifle and a cadence of 128 steps per minute.
Our routine starts at 5:30 A.M. with the blast on the loud speakers. By 5:55, we’re dressed, have shaved, cleaned our rooms and hit the «ratline»; an imaginary line along the side walk on which all turns are at right angles with eyes straight ahead, the upperclassmen looking for «gigable» (demerit) offenses. Then it’s off to breakfast, sitting at strict attention, eating with one hand, bread being broken into four pieces, no «dive-bombing» (dipping your head to meet the food). Each request for food must be prefixed by, «Sirs, does anyone else care for the bread? Please pass the bread.» No eating until an upperclassman starts.
After being marched back, five minutes to shine your shoes and get to your academic classes consisting of math, Morse code, maps and charts, etc. At 11:00 A.M. it’s military drill for one hour, then lunch to 1:10, smoke time to 1:30, off again to chemical warfare class until 2:50, after which it’s physical training, calisthenics and a two mile run. At 4:30, it’s a shower and a first aid class until chow time. Then it’s smoke time 6:45 to 7:00 and 7:00 to 9:00 call to quarters for study time during which you are subject to upperclassmen’s hazing (sounding off at their request with Air Corps songs, codes and prayers). From 9:00 to 9:30 it’s shower and letter time. This is a six day routine. Sundays are free except for compulsory church attendance. By the way, every Sunday a picture inspection is held by the upperclassmen. How about one to represent Brooklyn ?
Forget me not,
Saul
July 1943 Maxwell Field
Dear Doris,
Did I mention a couple of southern boys who are in my outfit now. Well, their biggest claim for distinction they profess is their personal attendance at two lynchings each. They enjoy reciting the details, even to the kicking away of the plank under the negro’s feet. One of them takes pride in telling how he and two other fellows beat a Negro to death, not the one they had been looking for, but his brother — used the policeman’s club who was standing by.
Hope you’re as well as I am. Physically tip top, but mentally — 1,200 miles is a long distance and writing doesn’t help that ache you put in my heart. Wonder when I’ll be seeing you again.
Love,
Ray
Hello Sweetheart,
Its a pretty established fact that we will be sent to Carlstrom Field. Arcadia, Florida for primary flight training next Monday. This field is called «the washing machine» because so many fellows wash out there.
Love,
Ray
Primary Flight Training — The First Solo/Marriage
With pre-flight completed, our engagement was made official and tentative marriage plans set the usual family questions had been raised `What if the worst occurred.’ Somehow in our youthful naivete we ignored these questions and continued onward. The next order of business was to focus on the second training phase which was ten weeks of flight training in a Stearman PT-17 biplane trainer.
I was shipped to Carlstrom for Primary flight training at the end of August 1943. This school was a civilian pilot training field under contract to the Air Corps. It was located in the heart of cattle raising country which surprised me since I had always considered the mid west our primary cattle raising area. Doris and I were married toward the conclusion of this training period at Carlstrom Field.
My first solo flight during this phase of flying was most memorable.The excitement and joy I experienced when my instructor stepped out of the aircraft and said `You got it’ is really difficult to describe. The taxiing out, the lift off with only my hands on the controls, the square pattern around the field and finally the subsequent three landings will never be forgotten.
Another memorable incident which could have been potentially disastrous occurred during my last check ride. It was a dreaded ground loop on landing. Ground looping was not unusual because of the narrow landing gear but as hot pilots this wasn’t supposed to happen. The plane suddenly was 90 degrees from where it should have been, the wing tip skimming the ground. I made an instant recovery. Upon the inspection of the wing we found grass marks on the dust coating. What a relief it was when my instructor’s only comment was ‘Good recovery Levine’.
The necessity of recovering my cot from the roof, placed there by my room mates after my return from town, visiting Doris, had a humorous twist, although not appreciated at that time. I guess they were jealous of my good fortune.
Excerpts from my continuous correspondence with Doris follow which supply some more details about the training routine and our thoughts during this phase of our lives.
September 1943 Primary flight training Arcadia, Florida
Dear Doris,
Well, I had forty minutes up there sweety, and all I can say is `whoopee’. The first thing that strikes your eye once your wheels leave the ground are the amount of planes in the air. They swoop and dive like a swarm of bees and you constantly have to be on the alert to avoid trouble (rubbernecking). From 1000 feet the air field and country lies spread out before you. Its all swamp and praries. Off in the distance you see the Gulf of Mexico. Not much time for the scenery as you are constantly making turns, banks and coordination exercises. Then the instructor pointed out 6 or 7 auxiliary fields which your supposed to remember. I’ll be darned if I could even remember the names. Trusting thru the maze of planes the instructor made a beautiful landing. Its an eerie feeling seeing the ground rushing up at you; then your down.
Love
Ray
Well, Doris and her mother arrived finally and since I was up to my ears in the training routine she was faced with the task of arranging a date with the town judge who would perform the wedding ceremony. The ceremony which was held at the judges office with Doris mother and his wife as witnesses. I’ll never forget looking at the open window and for a brief moment my thoughts were elsewhere so when the judge got to ‘Will you take etc’ I was rather surprised when I heard myself say «of course’ which brought smiles to the attendees faces and a flush to mine. Afterwards it was ice cream sodas at the drugstore and then back to the base for me.
There we were in the midst of a war with an overwhelming desire to live life to the fullest, as the cliche goes and we did. We spent every possible moment absorbed in each other, touching, knowing that our time together was limited. Much time was spent strolling the streets of Arcadia, arm in arm, listening to the Salvation Army Band («Put a nickel in the drum and you’ll be saved») and gawking at the colorfully dressed Seminole Indians shopping in town.
Doris was able to visit the field twice a week in the evening. A bus was made available by the Air Corps for the wives living in town. She was struck by the thoughtfulness of the bus driver who stopped to pick up and drop off walkers. In addition, she was amazed by the cows having the right of way, the bus sitting still until they decided to move across. It was a long way from Brooklyn ! She was also struck by the length of our evening meal which was completed in 15 minutes including the reading of the orders of the day.
Finally the money ran out with no work to be had in town so it was necessary for Doris to head back to New York with just a few coins and a train ticket left for the trip back. The agony of the parting has never been forgotten although as time progressed during the war there were many more painful partings.
Basic Flight Training — It’s Not All Fun/Apart For a While
As mentioned previously, Doris returned to New York at the conclusion of my training in Arcadia. At the time she left we were financially strapped, down to a handful of coins and her train ticket to New York. We had also decided that job competition at my new assignment, Gunter Field, Montgomery, Alabama would be too great and my flying schedule too intensive for us to get much time together. We were introduced in this phase to the BT 13 (nicknamed the Vultee vibrator because of its flight characteristics)
November 1943 Gunter Field, Alabama
Dear Doris,
What impressed me most in your last letter was the description of the gathering at my folks, with your mother and the rest of the family. They were the personification of what the war was being fought for.
The roar of the motors here is terrific. The BT 13 is the loudest ship in the Air Corps and I’m working at the flight line. Did my first spin in a BT 13, not as terrifying as I thought, although the pullout tightens your gut.
Love
Ray
November 1943, Gunter Field, Alabama
My dearest wife
Got my first instrument flight today. The instructor sits in the front cockpit, the student in the rear. A black hood is placed over the top of the canopy so all you can see is the flight instruments; gyro compass and horizon, bank and turn indicator, airspeed and rate of climb dials. By use of these instruments you take off, fly your course and maneuvers never seeing anything more than your instrument panel. You experience the queerest sensations. Many times when making a right turn you feel as if your going to the left. You have to disregard all bodily sensations and fly your instruments even if you feel as if your standing on your head. Imagine doing a spin recovery on instruments!
Love
Ray
November 1943 Gunter Field, Alabama
Hi Wifey Dear,
My instructor flew the front cockpit today and put on a demonstration of flying. I’ll never forget. Buzzed so low that I could practically reach out and pull leaves off the tree tops.
Feel a little envious of those Berlin air raids. Looks as if there wont be much left for me.
Good night darling
Ray
November 1943 Gunter Field, Alabama
Hello Sweetheart,
Today after going thru my maneuvers my instructor asked me ‘Which way to the field’? Remembering his words about being decisive, I pointed and headed in that direction. After flying that way for several minutes my instructor said gently ‘If you continue flying that way you’ll end up over the Gulf of Mexico. He got a kick out of the sheepish look on my face. So I’m not a pigeon.
Love
Ray
November 1943
Dear Doris,
Another day and more bad weather, only 9 hours of flight time in three weeks and 80 required for completion of this phase. Looks like lots of weekend flying.
Am now planning our six cross countries each about 300 to 400 miles long.
Starting aircraft identification exercises, flashing pictures on the screen so fast that if your eyelids flicker you don’t see a thing.
Good Night
Ray
November 1943 Gunter Field, Alabama
Hello,
Down at the flight line. Weather still crummy. Get a good laugh watching some of the guys covering the black board with writing. Stupid airborne mistakes are punished by repeating phrases such as ‘I will keep rubbernecking at all times’ 50 to 100 times. Silly but effective. You never make the same mistake again.
Am now setting in a parked aircraft, putting in some cockpit time. Raining cats and dogs but cozy inside. Memorizing positions of light switches on the panel. When flying at night you can’t pause and look for them; cockpit lights, compass lights, wing lights, passing lights instrument lights and so on. I’m in the first group scheduled to fly tonight. For night flying you must have 6 hours of instrument flying, passed your 20 hour check and have a certain number of day light landings.
All my love
Ray
December 1943 Gunter Field, Alabama
Hi,
Just got back from another cross country to Thomoston, Georgia. Strangely enough I didn’t get lost this time and have to buzz a railroad station to see where I was. No crosswinds to blow me off course, everything went off like clockwork.
To a glorious future,
Love
Ray
December 1943 Gunter Field, Alabama
Hi,
How goes it, Healthy as usual? Boy I feel tired. Flew 3 1/2 hours, half on instruments; nothing more tiring than flying on instruments.
Passed my Morse code checks so am able to have an occasional free night — and pile up some sack sleep time. We can all use it.
Good night Love!
Ray
December 1943 Gunter Field, Alabama
My Dearest Doris,
Got a new instructor today. A young fellow just out of instructors school. We went up for a period of dual acrobatics, snap rolls, slow rolls, chandelles.
Guess what, he promptly got lost, not being familiar with the territory. I knew where we were but he was the instructor so I kept my mouth shut. He floundered around for half an hour before he ran across a river he recognized and followed it to the field. He sounded a bit embarrassed when we got down but I didn’t say a word. He’s not a bad skate.
Love
Ray
December 1943 Gunter Field, Alabama
Hi Darling
Last time out we had our first fatality. He spiraled in. At night the stars and ground lights run together so if you don’t pay particular attention to your instruments you can drop a wing and fly right into the ground.
Funny the grind affects you more mentally than it does physically. When you get a few spare moments you find it hard to think, you just want to lie back and let your mind wonder and drift without exerting any mental effort. At those times I even find it hard to read more then the headlines of the newspaper. Otherwise am in tip top shape. I guess being on the alert all the time can be mentally fatiguing.
So Long partner
Love
Ray
December 1943 Gunter Field, Alabama
Dear Doris,
Another night of night flying. You would think I were going on a trip with these bags under my eyes. Now back to the flight line for more flying after about 3 hours of sleep. Incidentally, another one of the boys wrapped himself up at the night session.
Had to wear our gas masks all day today for protection against simulated gas attacks which they were pulling all day. Military policeman were driving around throwing tear gas bombs in the most unexpected places. Its TS without a mask.
Love
Ray
December 1943 Gunter Field, Alabama
Dear Doris,
More night flying, tonight; blackout landings- no landing lights, all you have is the runway outlined with small smudge pots. You point your nose, establish a glide, level off and — pray.
Christmas day will be a day off. Half of us will sleep all day, the other half will head for town and raise merry hell. Haven’t decided yet which category I’ll be in.
Love
Ray
December 1944 Gunter Field, Alabama
Hello sweetheart,
I’m going to multi-engine training at Turner Field, Albany, Georgia, 7 January. Single engine training is for the shoot’em up types. My evaluation says, ‘steady, methodical, good formation, reaction time average.’ In addition I asked for multi engine B-25’s as a combat aircraft.
Love,
Ray
Advanced Flight Training — Graduation at Last and Together Again
This period would be flying, flying and more flying; formation, instruments, cross countries and single engine emergency procedures now that we were flying a twin engine aircraft the AT-11, nicknamed the `bamboo bomber’. It was a very airworthy aircraft but because of lots of wood in its construction burned very rapidly in crackups. I was grateful for Doris’s decision to join me.
She located a room with the Sasser family. The son’s room was available since he was in the service. Mrs. Sasser was a lovely human being who made our stay very pleasant. The family adopted us and were concerned with our well being. When Doris looked at the room, Mrs Sasser at first refused to rent it because she felt it wasn’t good enough for a cadets wife. Under persuasion from Doris she finally yielded but insisted on reducing the rental price. The Sasser family was an average working class family.
Because of the hectic flight schedule with few days off, the cadet wives were allowed to visit the base for a couple of hours in the evening. This led to a humorous incident worth relating. The meeting took place in the cadet lounge with, believe it or not a chaperone in attendance. I remember her as a prissy, middle aged volunteer who was frantic one night when a power outage occurred, leaving the lounge in the dark. She could not cope with the scurrying that took place as the couples took advantage of this opportunity for some smooching that she considered improper. Her imagination got away from her as we were quite discreet. She shrieked `Don’t do that’ which of course was ignored. It was a barrel of fun for us.
An incident that Doris recalls quite vividly emphasizes the racial problems of the south at that time. The Sassers maid was unable to take shelter overnight during a flooding rain storm, she was forced to leave in rain water up to her waist. A Negro who wasn’t hired for overnight service was expected to leave the premises. What would the neighbors think.
A couple of instances took place during my training here that are worth recounting. One the mid air collision of two formation flying aircraft killing all four occupants. It was hours before the wives in town knew who the occupants were. The news of the collision got out quickly thru the grapevine that exists on all military bases but no names. Another stress borne by the wives following their husbands.
The other story is on a lighter note. On cross countries there were two cadets in each plane. The time was split between the two, piloting and navigating. At one point in the flight we landed at an intermediate field and then took off again. I was at the controls on this flight the other cadet navigating. He called in, was given permission to land which I proceeded to do although skeptically, since I could see P-51’s on the ground. At the conclusion of my landing roll and turn off I pulled back the canopy and called a mechanic. He informed us we had landed at Waycross not Alma as intended. Max Mann the navigating cadet’s face was quite red. I compounded the problem by taxiing down to the end of the landing strip and taking without permission.
By the time we got back we had a delegation of tactical officers waiting for us to lead us to the ready room. The aircraft number had been taken down and relayed. Both of us were held at strict attention for 20 minutes while being bawled out for dim witted behavior. Fortunately since Max was navigating and he was 6 ft 2 inches, compared to my 5 ft 6 inches, the focus was on him. It is somewhat humorous to recall the scene even after fifty years. Big Max myself and the major foaming at the mouth. By the way as I mentioned when Max contacted the tower we were given the go ahead to land. Waycross and Alma were only 20 miles apart so Max actually got the go ahead from Alma to land and mistook Waycross for Alma. Quite a coincidence. We both learned from this experience.
Just before graduation I came close to a washout. I was having trouble with my instrument flying; couldn’t pick up the cone of silence while flying a radio beam. The silent zone gave you your location after intersecting and flying the beam leg. I was given a check ride. Needless to say the pressure was on but the powers that he, were good to me. The check pilot immediately noticed the problem which was not reducing the signal volume which built up as you approached the silent area so that over the cone being deafened I could hear nothing and therefore could not discriminate differences in volume. I often speculate on what would have happened if my problem had not been spotted. I couldn’t thank the check pilot enough, he smiled and winked and that was that, the wings would be mine.
After this incident, came graduation. I felt special having completed pilot training; many had not. Of course much of this feeling of being special was due to the brainwashing of fourteen months of cadet training. Doris was also particularly pleased to have been the strong support.
Continue reading: Overseas Shipment and Combat Group Assignment
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