During the war roughly 60,000 civilians — men and women 18 to 81 years old — were CAP members. Their war service was extraordinary in scope, especially since it involved civilian volunteers conducting combat operations in their own aircraft.
“Our founding members helped save lives and preserve our nation’s freedom,” said Maj. Gen. Chuck Carr, CAP’s national commander. “They are truly unsung heroes of the war. They provided selfless service, without fanfare, in defense of their homeland.”

CAP’s most critical role came early in the war when German submarine attacks, often within sight of land, were conducted against essential war shipping in the Atlantic and Gulf of Mexico coasts. CAP began anti-submarine coastal patrols in March 1942 after 52 oil tankers had been sunk. Patrols were conducted up to 100 miles off shore, generally with two aircraft flying together, in planes often equipped with only a compass for navigation and a single radio for communication. Personal emergency equipment was lacking, particularly in the beginning, and inner tubes and duck hunter’s kapok vests were used as flotation devices.

Many opportunities arose for CAP pilots to attack submarines. As a result, CAP aircraft were equipped with 50-, 100- and 325-pound bombs or depth charges. During coastal patrols, CAP reported 173 submarine sightings and found 325 survivors of submarine attacks. CAP was ultimately credited with attacking 57 submarines and reporting 173 to the military.

While coastal patrols were ongoing, CAP established itself as a vital wartime service. Its record included 20,500 missions involving target towing and gun/searchlight tracking. It also provided a courier service, including three major Air Force commands over a two-year period, carrying more than 3½ million pounds of vital cargo and 543 passengers, and southern border operations flying more than 30,000 hours, with 7,000 reports of unusual sightings, including a vehicle with two enemy agents attempting to enter the country. These critical missions supported the war effort and freed personnel needed elsewhere.
By war’s end CAP had flown more than 750,000 hours and 24 million miles with a total loss of 64 members and 150 aircraft.
CAP’s WWII members have received little recognition for their service, particularly the anti-submarine coastal patrols, and were not granted veterans’ benefits.

Since the war, CAP has become a valuable nonprofit, public service organization chartered by Congress. It is the auxiliary of the U.S. Air Force, charged with providing essential emergency, operational and public services to communities and states nationwide, the federal government and the military.

The Congressional Gold Medal commemorates distinguished service to the nation and is considered by many to be the highest form of congressional recognition.

The award to CAP would be unusual in that a single medal would be awarded for the collective efforts of all WWII adult members.

“We want to make sure our World War II-era members who remain and those who have passed are rightly honored,” said Carr, noting that only a few hundred CAP members who served during WWII are still living.

Citizens interested in supporting this legislation should ask their senators or representatives to join the effort, by also becoming co-sponsors. For more info about CAP, visit www.gocivilairpatrol.com.

The evening of 25 July 61, was memorable for B Battery, 2nd Howitzer Bn., 33rd Artillery. The long day had begun early on a rifle range preparing for the live-fire, night-combat course. Shortly after evening chow (delivered in mermite cans), trainees were ordered to sit in the Kansas dust and listen as loudspeakers broadcast President John F. Kennedy, live, describing America’s latest Cold War challenge. The President’s words were grim. Leaders of the Soviet Union once again demanded that Western Allies abandon Berlin. The disputed former Nazi capital was still under military occupation of France, the United Kingdom, United States, as well as the USSR. President Kennedy stated, firmly, that we would not withdraw, proclaiming West Berlin to be “…the great testing place of Western courage.” Discussing the Divided City’s defense, he remarked, “I hear it said that West Berlin is militarily untenable. And so was Bastogne. And so, in fact, was Stalingrad. Any dangerous spot is tenable if men – brave men – make it so.” As darkness fell on north-central Kansas, sobered trainees returned to their firing lanes. One was heard to ask, “Sergeant Baumann, is there going to be a war?”
“I’m afraid so, son,” the grizzled combat veteran solemnly replied.

For B Battery’s recruits, basic combat training was no longer a rite of passage; it had just become deadly serious.
Less than two weeks after Kennedy’s speech, communist forces sealed off Berlin’s Western sectors and began construction of the shameful Berlin Wall to keep East Germans from seeking refuge in the West. These actions dramatically influenced the 1st Inf. Div. and Ft. Riley. Leaves were canceled and thousands of enlistments extended. Ft. Riley filled up with citizen soldiers, as Reserve and National Guard units activated. Training was intensified; eight-week cycles were “compressed” into seven. Recruits from Ft. Ord, CA, and Ft. Jackson, SC, arrived to complete basic training at Ft. Riley. The Big Red One phased out its recruit training mission, preparing to become a TO&E (Table of Organization and Equipment), combat-deployable, Pentomic infantry division. Soldiers returning from overseas rushed to join 1st Inf. Div.; others, who had just completed recruit training, remained in Big Red One units rather than transferring elsewhere. The third Berlin crisis trans-formed Ft. Riley’s and the First Infantry Division’s mission from training recruits to combat readiness.

The caldron
A mere 4,861 air miles away, West Berlin Mayor Willy Brandt penned a letter to President Kennedy expressing his concerns, and West Berliners’ outrage, at the West’s lack of response to Communists’ border closings. That letter was the genesis of OPERATION LONG THRUST. In it, Brandt encouraged the Allies to initiate several dynamic responses, short of war, including: 1) immediate reinforcement of Berlin’s three Allied garrisons; 2) immediate movement of Allied troops along the autobahn between Berlin and West Germany, emphasizing a continued right of Allied access; 3) immediate arrival, in West Berlin of a prominent American personality, preferably a ranking government official, and, 4) appointment of General Lucius Clay as America’s Commandant in Berlin. General Clay had been in charge during the 1948-49 Blockade and was extremely popular among West Berliners. After consulting Cabinet and military officials, President Kennedy ordered Berlin’s U.S. garrison reinforced immediately.

From its kaserne in Mannheim, West Germany, 8th Inf. Div.’s 1st BG, 18th Inf. “Vanguards” convoyed to Checkpoint Alpha at Helmstedt on the East German border. The Task Force then advanced without incident on the autobahn 110 miles through hostile communist territory to Berlin. Greeting the American reinforcements there were Vice President Lyndon B. Johnson and General Lucius Clay.

Clay had just been appointed President Kennedy’s personal representative in Berlin. Thousands of West Berliners turned out to cheer the “Vanguards” as they paraded through the city that day. Just two months later, a diplomatic matter caused U.S. and Soviet forces to engage in a fully armed, nearly catastrophic incident at Berlin’s Friedrichstrasse border crossing, Checkpoint Charlie. Some historians consider that “tank-to-tank standoff” more volatile than the Cuban Missile Crisis a year later. The 1/18th Inf. remained in Berlin until December when it was relieved, in place, by another unit from West Germany, the 1st BG, 19th Inf., the “Rock of Chickamauga,” an element of the 24th Inf. Div.

Defense officials expressed concern over reinforcing Berlin with 7th Army troops, arguing that it weakened NATO’s West German positions while offering little in Berlin’s defense. It was decided to augment West Berlin with CONUS (Continental United States)-based forces — OPERATION LONG THRUST was born. Ironically, the first such mission was officially dubbed, “OPERATION LONG THRUST II.” It originated as a 4th Inf. “Ivy” Div. deployment test. In 1961 the 4th, at Ft. Lewis, Washington, was the Army’s only CONUS-based TO&E Infantry Div. Along with 82nd and 101st Airborne Divisions, it made up America’s quick-reaction force known as STRAC (Strategic Army Corps). Under the “Pentomic” concept, Infantry and Airborne divisions were organized around five battle groups, each with the lineage of a historic regiment. Beginning in January 1962, OPERATION LONG THRUST II flew three 4th Inf. Div. battle groups from Ft. Lewis to West Germany where they obtained pre-positioned heavy equipment and engaged in “war games.” Troops arrived to find Central Europe an armed camp. Expecting a Warsaw Pact invasion at any time, serious war preparations were underway. Military convoys of four NATO armies choked West German autobahns. Armored vehicles, some with white stars, others displaying black crosses, rumbled along secondary roads. Combat units engaged in endless tactical exercises while maintaining “alert” status.

After maneuvers in Germany, 4th Division’s 1st BG, 22nd Inf. flew back to Ft. Lewis. The 2nd BG, 39th Inf. remained in West Germany to temporarily reinforce 7th Army. The 2nd BG, 47th Inf. advanced to West Berlin where it replaced 1/19th as Berlin Brigade’s reinforcement. 2/47th Infantry’s movement to Berlin transformed LONG THRUST from a deployment test into a real world, Cold War operation, augmenting the U.S.-Berlin garrison from CONUS. The unit arrived in Berlin under-strength. A deuce-and-a-half full of “Blue Spaders” from 8th Division’s 1st BG, 26th Inf. stepped up to serve with 2/47th in Berlin, returning to their own unit in West Germany when 4th Div. troops redeployed to Ft. Lewis. Subsequent LONG THRUST operations demonstrated improved planning as CONUS-based battle groups fleshed out thin ranks by accepting permanent transfers of soldiers completing duty tours in USAREUR (United States Army in Europe). In June 1962 another 4th Inf. Div. unit, the 1st BG, 8th Inf., relieved 2/47th in Berlin. The 4th Division’s LONG THRUST role ended when 1/8th Inf. withdrew to Ft. Lewis that autumn. For the next year, reinforcement of the U.S.-Berlin garrison was a responsibility of the 1st Inf. Div..

Big Red One returns to Berlin
Back at Ft. Riley, after a busy year training and equipping, the 1st Inf. Div. was declared combat-deployable. Troops received the latest gear and would soon have new M-14 rifles and M-60 light machine guns. For months they’d conducted field training at Ft. Riley, and as far away as California and Virginia. All Big Red One Infantry tested in Colorado the previous autumn. Guided by its motto, “No Mission Too Difficult – No Sacrifice Too Great – Duty First,” 1st Inf. Div. accepted its LONG THRUST challenge with dispatch and military efficiency. Beginning September 1962, the Big Red One conducted quarterly rotations of four battle group task forces into Berlin. Air Force Military Air Transport Service (MATS), flew each task force, non-stop, from Forbes Air Force Base, near Topeka, to Rhine-Main AFB in West Germany. Units trained three months at Wildflecken, reinforcing 7th Army before advancing to Berlin. Major elements involved were, in turn, the 2nd BG, 12th Inf. “Warriors;” the 1st BG, 13th Inf. “Vicksburgers;” the 1st BG, 28th Inf. “Lions of Cantigny,” and the 2nd BG, 26th Inf. “Blue Spaders.” Each 1,500-man battle group was commanded by a colonel and reinforced with a light (105mm) towed howitzer battery, a light (2½ ton) truck company, and lesser support elements. Ammunition and supplies for initial combat engagement were maintained with each unit. Troops of 2nd BG, 12th Inf. were the first to display Big Red One insignia in Berlin since 1950, when 3rd Bn., 16th Inf. rejoined the division in West Germany, following a four-year tour as the only U.S. combat infantry behind the Iron Curtain during the first Berlin crisis, the 1948-49 Blockade and subsequent Air Lift. (A second Berlin crisis, “The Khrushchev Ultimatum” of 1958, was rejected by Western Powers following negotiations in Vienna.)

Western military convoys enroute to Berlin, from West Germany, were subject to Soviet inspection. Inside the East German border, at Marienborn, U.S. troops dismounted their vehicles to be counted by Russian officers. Soviet tanks and other implements of war gathered along the autobahn, clear evidence to each American soldier that he and his unit were outnumbered and might be annihilated at any time.

Augmenting troops in West Berlin were quartered at historic barracks, sharing unique duties with Berlin Brigade’s permanent 2nd and 3rd BGs, 6th Inf. “Gators.” They patrolled sector and zone boundaries separating free and communist territory. In conjunction with British and French Allies, numerous “show the flag” parades were held in the face of potential adversaries. Early morning alerts were common as troops in full combat gear rushed to establish defensive positions at critical Allied facilities in a massive city surrounded and outgunned by strong Soviet and East German mechanized forces. Consistent with its occupation mission, Berlin Brigade spent hours practicing riot control. Combat in cities and weapons training were conducted at several West Berlin ranges; sometimes under close observation by communist border guards. In the presence of international press, America’s Berlin troops displayed superior military bearing and appearance even while engaged in tactical maneuvers in the Grunewald, West Berlin’s city forest. Personnel serving honorably in West Berlin from 14 August 1961 to 1 June 1963 were awarded U.S. Armed Forces Expeditionary Medals along with World War II Army of Occupa-tion Medals.

When nuclear war seemed imminent during the October 1962 Cuban Missile Crisis, 1st Division’s 2/12th Inf., attached to Berlin Brigade, manned positions encircled by formidable communist forces. 1st BG, 13th Inf. was in West Germany reinforcing 7th Army, and preparing to advance into Berlin. Eight months later, 1st BG, 28th Inf. was in the Divided City during President Kennedy’s historic “Ich bin ein Berliner” visit. The last Big Red One unit serving in Berlin was 2nd BG, 26th Inf., which withdrew in October 1963. By that time the Army was reorganizing from Pentomic (five battle group) to ROAD (three brigade, Reorganization Objective Army Divisions). A fifth 1st Division task force, primarily, troops of 2nd BG, 8th Inf., flew to West Germany to reorganize as 1st and 2nd Battalions, 16th Inf. before returning directly to Ft. Riley.

Considering West Berlin’s exposed position, it was fortuitous that OPERATION LONG THRUST concluded without combat engagement. Nonetheless, the LONG THRUST operations were the 1st Infantry Division’s most significant Cold War deployments until 1965, when the entire division moved to Republic of Viet Nam. With the third Berlin crisis concluded, in 1963 Berlin Brigade reorganized, acquiring its own self-propelled howitzer battery (C, 94th Field Artillery). The Brigade’s Company F, 40th Armor traded M-48s for new M-60 main battle tanks. Until 1966, when Berlin Brigade augmentation ended, the 24th Inf. Div. rotated unreinforced ROAD Infantry battalions from West Germany to Berlin.

Mission accomplished
Historians remember Cold War Berlin as “flashpoint of the world;” the only spot on Earth where armed forces of conflicting superpowers were locked in bitter confrontation for nearly a half century. OPERATION LONG THRUST was a profoundly successful component of America’s Cold War strategy. Its primary mission, the reinforcement of Berlin’s U.S. garrison pursuant to President Kennedy’s August 1961 directive, was carried out by disciplined, highly trained, well equipped, CONUS-based ground forces. LONG THRUST demonstrated, to friend and foe alike, America’s determination to defend Western interests and the free people of West Berlin. This series of real world, Cold War missions answered planners’ questions about the Army’s ability to quickly deploy significant combat elements from North America to Europe. In that sense, LONG THRUST was a precur-sor to much larger REFORGER (Return Forces to Germany) training exercises of following decades. With support from USAREUR and 7th Army, OPERATION LONG THRUST rehabilitated thousands of derelict vehicles and crew-served weapons stockpiled in West Germany to be employed in the event of a Soviet Bloc invasion. For decades, the Berlin Wall stood as a grotesque monument to state-collectivism’s failure. In 1989 it crumbled, followed two years later by the mighty Soviet empire — a resounding Free World triumph. Cold War victory was made possible, in large part, by the United States military’s resolve, dedication and courage in the face of hostile forces, as exemplified by OPERATION LONG THRUST.

Editor’s note: Portions of this article are from John Parmenter’s recollections and numerous conversations and correspondence with Berlin citizens and U.S. veterans of Berlin military service; especially Dr. Stephen L. Bowman, COL, USA, Infantry (Ret), a historian and scholar. John Parmenter, himself, is a three-year 1st Inf. Div. veteran who took basic combat training with 2nd Bn., 33rd Artillery and served in OPERATION LONG THRUST VI, Jan.-July ’63, as an enlisted soldier of 1st BG, 28th Inf.

The long trip
The giant train engine, smoking and puffing steam, was ready to pull the lengthy train across the United States. It would take an eternity — four days and four nights — to reach New York City. Still weak from malaria and hurting from my recent battle wounds, I was not looking forward to this long, boring trip.

Awkwardly, I struggled down the long coach aisle, carrying my U.S. Marine Corps sea bag. Panic set in as I neared the end of this car. It was the last car, and all the seats looked occupied. My anxiety was interrupted by a loud voice: “Over here, Marine, and hurry up; I have a seat for you.” I hurried over and sat down next to a U.S. Navy sailor, and thanked him for the seat. “Hi, Mate! They call me ‘Ski,’ because of my long Polish last name.”

I replied, “Hi, Mate. They call me ‘Eddy Lee,’ because of my long Polish name.” We both grinned and clumsily shook left hands. My wounded right hand was in a sling; and his right arm was amputated, with his empty jumper sleeve pinned up at the shoulder.

When I saw the many Navy men and women struggling through the narrow aisle, I asked Ski why he, a Navy man, gave me, a Marine, this seat. Ski said, “Well, I saw your shoulder patch, your combat ribbons and battle status, and I knew that you and I fought in the same campaigns. You were on the land, and I was on the sea.” He added, “I served aboard USS Chicago, a cruiser named after my hometown. I lost my arm when we were torpe-doed off the island you were fighting on.”

The coach door opened abruptly, and the train conductor called out, “Last call for Salt Lake-Denver-Chicago and New York City — all aboard!” The locomotive’s loud steam whistle blew; then with the clang of its large bell we started to move very slowly. In a few rumbling minutes we picked up speed. Soon, with a resounding roar, we were crossing Southern California — headed east.

Ski and I were both proud of the Navy and Marine Corps, but were bitter toward the military hospital we had just left. This hospital had an inefficient administrative system, and their medical staff was overworked and burned out. Four years of war and the continuous flow of casualties rotating through this facility had created a callous attitude. We were disenchanted with the negative treatment we had received from the military personnel and the apathetic civilian world since our return to the United States. It was this type of poor man-agement that put us rehabilitating servicemen on this crowded train rather than on an airplane.

This would be my fourth Christmas away from home, and the season always made me sad because of the many friends who died in battle during this holiday.

Passing the time
Our iron horse was traveling at maximum speed, but across the great American desert it seemed like we were not moving fast enough. We passengers had too much time on our hands. We could sleep sitting up in our seats, stand in line for meals and the washroom, or reminisce bittersweet battle memories with our train mates. Ski and I agreed that we both became near atheists and cynics after three years of war. We all tried to sleep the time away.

The train stopped at Salt Lake City. The scenery was fabulous, but the cold, snow-capped mountains had us all putting on our overcoats. Our coach car never did get warm, and most of us were coming from the tropics via California, so we would not warm up for weeks.

En route to Denver, our train wound ever so slowly through many tunnels, around picturesque snow-covered mountains and valleys. I consoled myself that time was no longer important. What was my hurry? I would miss Christmas at home by a day. My parents had split up, and I had no home to go to. My girlfriend of four years had sent me a “Dear John” letter, saying she had waited too long for me to return and had found some-one else. And worst of all, when I was well enough for duty, I could be sent overseas to battle again.

We left Denver early in the morning in a snowstorm. Our train’s whistle blew often as we charged across the prairie states through a howling blizzard. It was nightfall somewhere in Illinois. Our train slowed to a crawl due to the poor visibility. The train’s mournful whistle wailed continuously, as we passed many small towns. It was very cold outside and getting colder inside our passenger coach. “Lord, will my luck ever change?”

It was Christmas Eve. The train conductor entered our car and called out, “It’s ten o’clock, two hours to Chicago, next stop Chicago!” He dimmed the lights and left. Most passengers became quiet or had fallen asleep.

Ski turned to me and said, “Eddy Lee, I’m worried about my family meeting me at the Chicago station and seeing me like this. I asked my girl not to come. What should I do or say to them?”

“Act natural. They know about your arm; try to be yourself. You all love each other, and I’ll bet they will thank God that you made it home alive. It will all work out fine; you’ll see. Now let’s try to get some sleep.”

A miracle?
Our train suddenly made an unscheduled, metal-screeching stop. A few waking passengers muttered, “What’s going on? Must be a mail or milk supply stop. This sure as hell isn’t Chicago!” Others looked out of their frosty windows and said, “This is nowhere.” Most of the passengers went back to sleep.

I looked out the window and could see only a small, dimly lit railroad station surrounded by large snowdrifts and darkness. The door at the other end of the car opened, and, in the darkened car light, I could barely see a small boy and a mature woman coming into our coach. They walked slowly up the aisle, looking at the passengers — or apparently looking for a seat. The two strangers cautiously headed toward my end of the car. I closed my eyes and tried to get back to sleep, wondering why the train was not moving. It just sat there at this lonely, dark railroad station. I fell asleep for a few minutes, until I heard a noise in front of me. I slowly opened my eyes and saw a young boy about eight or nine years old standing in front of me, staring.

The boy smiled and said, “Welcome home and a Merry Christmas, Marine. My grandmother and I would like to give you a gift and thank you for serving our country.” The boy handed me a dollar bill and then shook my hand. The grandmother put her arm around me and said, “God bless you.” Then they both smiled and said, “Merry Christmas and goodbye.”

I was surprised and emotionally very moved. I said, “Thank you, thank you very much.” I searched in my sea bag for some sort of Christmas gift for the boy to reciprocate. When I looked up, I was puzzled that they were gone.

Our train whistle blew; we lunged forward and were rolling again. I quickly looked out my frosty window and saw the boy and his grandmother leaving the dismal railroad station. I waved goodbye as they slipped into the darkness. They did not see me.

I sat back in my seat bewildered, wondering what had just happened. Was it real? I queried Ski and the two soldiers sitting across from me if they too had seen the little boy and his grandmother. They said, “No, we were sleeping.” Ski added, “You must have been dreaming.”

My mind raced with questions. Who were they? Why did they pass by all those other servicemen including other Marines, and then stop in front of me? Maybe I was sleeping, and with all the medication I was taking for pain and malaria, it just could have been a strange, nice dream.

It was two more hours to Chicago, and I decided to try to get some sleep. But before closing my eyes, I looked down at my left hand and tightly closed fist. I slowly opened my hand and there was a crumpled-up dollar bill! My hand held the gift the young boy had given me proving it really did happen! I contentedly fell asleep with my pre-cious gift tucked safely away in my pocket and a pleasant feeling in my heart — the nicest feeling I had in a very long time.

The conductor came into the car and yelled, “Next stop Chicago, five minutes!” Passengers were taking down their baggage from the overhead compartments. I helped Ski with his sea bag. He was getting off. He was home. People were anxiously lining up in the aisles to disembark.

The train slowed down as we pulled into Chicago’s Union Station. Ski and I said our emotional goodbyes as the train came to a complete stop. The crowd of passengers left through both exit doors. I sat back, waiting to continue my odyssey of another thousand miles to New York City.

Merry Christmas
It was twelve o’clock and Christmas. As I looked out the train window, I was surprised to see hundreds of people, young and old, on the station platform, all holding candles, sheet music and singing Christmas carols. The people and the station were all decked out with the holiday spirit and decorations. It was a bitterly cold, snowy Christmas night in Chicago, but the holiday spirit was cheerful and warmed all our hearts. As I was enjoying the joyful singing, our train car doors opened, and the singing choirs of young people paraded in. Each singer carried a tray of food and drinks. Each tray held a complete Christmas dinner with a small gift on it. There were enough trays for everyone on the train. We were no longer strangers on the train. We all sang, ate and celebrated together. It was the most beautiful, festive Christmas I had ever had. Our generous Chicago holiday hosts all cheerfully wished us a “Very Merry Christmas and a Welcome Home!”

This train odyssey and these unbelievably beautiful events changed my bitter, emotional and spiritual feel-ings; I really felt I did make it home for Christmas!

Reflection
Many years later I was telling this story to my family at Christmas time. I pondered out loud, “Who was that little boy on the train, and why did he and his grandmother choose me? Why me?”

Our visiting young niece was playing on the floor with her Christmas toy. She had quietly and attentively listened to my sentimental wartime train story and replied, “I know.”

We all looked at her, and I asked, “You know what?”

“I know who the little boy on the train was, and why he picked you. The little boy was God, and He chose you because you were very, very sad and disappointed with everyone and everything, and He wanted to make you happy again and welcome you home — and He did!”

Throughout the years I knew a Christmas miracle had happened to me when I needed it most, during the war, on that train, and in Chicago.

“Gibby”
His name is former 1st Lt. Edward “Gibby” Gibson, and he is a Tuskegee airman.

“If I could do it all over again,” said Gibson, pausing as he lowers the photo from his sight, “I would.”
Gibson was born in 1922. Growing up in Charleston, SC, racial segregation was an everyday part of his life. But even in the segregated south, Gibson had dreams of soaring above the prejudice. He was fascinated with airplanes. However, he never dreamed that fascination would one day bring him soaring through the clouds as a Tuskegee airman.

In fact, Gibson simply wanted to be treated like everyone else.

“Back then, my family didn’t have much money. I would mow yards all day and only make 50 cents doing it. All of my money went toward buying model airplanes that I put together myself,” said Gibson.

As Gibson grew older, his education became more expensive, which meant spending less money on his beloved model airplanes.

“I was the only African American at an all white school,” said Gibson. “The tuition was $3.50, and even that was challenging for my family to afford. Instead of buying model planes, any money that I made went toward my education.”

Gibson was drafted into the Army Air Corps in 1942 and was stationed at Walterboro, SC. Due to his outstanding education and work ethic, he was allowed to test to become an officer. After successfully passing his examination, he was sent to aviation cadet training at Keesler Army Airfield in Biloxi, MS. Gibson’s dream of flying airplanes for the U.S. military was becoming a reality. He was one of only four cadets chosen from Keesler Army Airfield to go to the Tuskegee Institute at Tyndall Airfield in Panama City, FL.

An experiment
Gibson was part of a program called the “Tuskegee Experiment.” The program taught African Americans how to fly and maintain combat aircraft. A Tuskegee aircrew consisted of pilots, navigators, bombardiers, instructors, maintenance personnel and support staff, all of whom played a vital part in keeping their planes in the air.

“I was so excited when they chose me to train at the Tuskegee Institute,” said Gibson, who served as a bombardier. “It was the most thrilling experience of my life.”

Despite enduring constant ridicule and prejudice by many white service members, Gibson, along with the other Tuskegee airmen, persevered. They were determined to do their part in fighting the war. However, in the grand scheme of things, they were changing the U.S. military forever.

After Gibson completed his bombardier training, he was sent to Midland Field, Texas, to train to become an aircraft navigator. It was there that Gibson received his navigation wings and was commissioned as an officer.

“I was so excited to go home and see my family after I was commissioned,” said Gibson. “My family was so proud to see me wearing my aerial gunner uniform and I was able to show the world that I was an officer in the military for my wonderful country.”

However, when Gibson returned home, he didn’t receive a warm welcome from everyone.

“I was walking down the street and some white military officers came up to me and asked where I got my uniform,” said Gibson. “I told them I was in the military, but they didn’t believe me. I was arrested on the spot for impersonating an officer. At the time, I couldn’t believe what was happening.

“My mother couldn’t even get me out of jail,” said Gibson. “She had to ask her employer, who was white, to get me out.”

The discrimination didn’t discourage Gibson.

After being released from jail, he went to Godman Field, Fort Knox where he became a bombardier navigator for the 477th Bombardment Group, 616th Squadron flying B-25 bombers. While Gibson and his crew were training for the invasion of Japan, the atomic bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, resulting in the end of WWII.
Gibson went on to join the Army Reserve before eventually leaving the military.

Inspiration
After separating from the Reserve, Gibson, along with seven other African American men, were chosen to take an exam for an apprentice program at the Charleston Naval Shipyard. These men were the first African Americans to be accepted into the program, however, they were once again subject to racial discrimination by their white co-workers.

“The instructor at the shipyard wouldn’t help me because of the color of my skin,” said Gibson. “He wouldn’t answer my questions, made life difficult for us and even used some pretty offensive language. This just gave me the inspiration to prove him wrong.”

Gibson used his military training and the lessons he learned from those less tolerant of others, to forge a path for other minorities to follow.

Gibson served as the first full-time equal employment counselor at the Charleston Naval Shipyard, handling more than 1,000 cases of alleged discrimination. He retired from the shipyard after 38 years, in 1980.

“All these experiences made me stronger,” said Gibson.

“I will never forget that I am able to call myself an original Tuskegee airman, something very few of us can say,” said Gibson. “America isn’t perfect and she may be down on her luck, but I will be there to hold her hand until she gets well.”

Former 1st Lt. Edward Gibson, an original Tuskegee airman, is seen in this photo (back row, right) in front of a B-25 bomber with his crew during World War II in the mid-1940s. Gibson served in the Army Air Corps as a bombardier-navigator and logged 2,300 flight hours. (Courtesy photo)

This book is an account by a most dedicated and competent officer who never lost his faith in the his country and its leaders; it entails a very complex and dangerous mission with a new and terrible weapon in which one mistake could have caused the deaths of hundreds of thousands of Americans.

He was fond of his conventional weapons, also — his M2 .50-caliber machine-guns. His manner of maintenance kept them clean and in excellent shape; and I have always liked that method.

I highly recommend the book, it would support any airman with the technical expertise. The layperson would enjoy the truth, the politics the combat, the military in-fighting, the grave historical significance, the personal account of his life, the very complex training/mission, etc. Someone once said that General Tibbets not only saved the American people, but also those miserable war protesters of the 1965-75 period.

(Mid Coast Marketing, Columbus, OH; 1998; 339 pp.; ISBN 9780970366603)

Tucked away in this suburban gem of a park, only 20 minutes from downtown Chicago, the First Division Museum gives you an insight into one of the United States’ most renowned divisions that fought with distinction in both World Wars, the Viet Nam War, Operation Desert Storm, Bosnia and Kosovo and Operation Iraqi Freedom.

The Tank Park
First you have to get past the outdoor display consisting of 11 tanks, an APC and four Howitzers and field guns that surround the museum, which could take you a while! Tucked away among beautiful forest and greenery you can walk from tank to tank, and read a short history of each type of vehicle on small signs.

The First Division Museum
Attracting over 110,000 visitors each year, the First Division Museum is superbly produced. Boasting 10,000 square feet of professionally arranged artifacts, exhibits and dioramas, the museum displays the proud history of the “Big Red One,” the American First Division. The First Infantry Division is the oldest and continuously active division in the U.S. Army today.

The museum’s Director of Operations, Keith Gill, told me that the museum at Cantigny was expensive to build, to the tune of two million dollars. Colonel Robert McCormick, the late editor and publisher of the Chicago Tribune owned the estate that Cantigny Park now stands on. In fact, his magnificent mansion, now also a museum, stands across the other side of the park. The First Division Museum opened in its current location in 1992.

McCormick served in the 1st Infantry Division in WWI, including in the 1st Division’s first battle in France, in the small town of Cantigny. Here, on 28 May 1918, the 1st’s untested and green troops went over the top and performed well, much to the relief of the English and French military who had been foundering in the quagmire of trench warfare since 1914.

When McCormick returned to Chicago, he renamed his estate Cantigny in honor of his division’s first battle in France. He took care of many veterans of the 1st, often employing them at his newspaper. When he passed away, his will set up a trust to open and maintain the estate as a public park, and eventually, the trustees had the First Division Museum built.

Many of the museum’s 13,000 artifacts are displayed in a series of interactive galleries. There’s enough stuff here to outfit a sizeable platoon, including medals, badges, caps, uniforms, flags, posters and soldier’s personal effects including shaving kits, blankets, mess kits, canteens, rations, cigarettes and bank notes. The variety of weapons and munitions on display is excellent with pistols, rifles, bayonets, mortars, artillery shells, grenades and ammunition bags. Other interesting military equipment ranges from field glasses, boots, lifebelts, gas masks, radios, first aid kits, to battlefield relics like nasty looking, jagged pieces of shrapnel, and regimental colors and banners. And you’ll find plenty of enthusiastic volunteers, including 1st Division veterans, to guide you through the museum and point out some of the more exotic exhibits and tell stories about some of the items.

The life-size dioramas are the highlights of the museum’s galleries, providing very moving visual drama as you walk through a WWI front line trench, an underground bunker, and a ruined farmhouse at Cantigny, complete with the sounds of battle and exploding shells raging around you.

I learned about the 1st Division’s role in Operation Torch, in North Africa and how it helped drive out Erwin Rommel’s Africa Korps in 1942. Then I boarded a WWII landing craft to emerge on Omaha Beach on D-Day, where the 16th Regimental Combat Team of the 1st Division saw fierce fighting and took heavy casualties (about 1,000) along Easy Red and Fox Green sectors at its eastern end. Barbed wire, ammunition boxes and defensive tetrahedrons and the detritus of war litter the pebbly beach. Landing craft and defensive tetrahedrons painted on the rear wall make a realistic scene of the carnage on bloody Omaha.

Then, rounding a corner, I’m stopped dead in my tracks. There’s a hulking M4A3E8 Sherman tank concealed among some trees, with turret and gun pointing directly at me. Keith Gill tells me they had to install the tank first and then build the museum. Several soldiers stand alongside the Sherman, silently emerging out of the dark, snow-clad Ardennes forest. Further on, I walked through a jungle to get some idea of what the patrolling soldiers in the Big Red One had to endure in Viet Nam. One heck of a museum!
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THE FIRST DIVISION MUSEUM AT CANTIGNY (1s151 Winfield Rd., Wheaton, IL 60189-3353; 630/260-8185, www.firstdivisionmuseum.org) is open Tuesday-Sunday, 10-4 (March-April, Nov.-Dec.) and Tuesday-Sunday, 10-5 (May-Oct.). Check their website for holiday hours and months not listed (Jan.-Feb.).

Two former Iowa legislators — Jeff Lamberti and Becky Beach — released a handful of coins into the mast shortly before eight welders reattached it to the historic battleship. Lamberti and Beach have played key roles in the effort to save the Iowa and transform the historic ship into an interactive naval museum.

The 50-foot-tall, 52,000-pound mast had to be reattached because the Navy had removed it more than 10 years ago so the ship would fit under bridges along its tow route. The Pacific Battleship Center, the nonprofit group bringing the USS Iowa back to life, refurbished the ship in preparation for its move to the Port of Los Angeles. This process included the re-stepping of the original mast, a time-honored ritual in the maritime world that is thought to have originated in ancient Rome.

One of the most powerful battleships of all time, the Iowa, embarked on its final voyage on 26 May 2012. The last remaining WWII battleship left California’s Port of Richmond, crossed San Francisco Bay and then passed under the historic Golden Gate Bridge amid a festive celebration of the bridge’s 75th birthday.

The tugboat Warrior, connected to Iowa in a series of towlines and chains, guided the vessel across the bay and under the Golden Gate Bridge. San Francisco’s fireboat Phoenix led the way for the battleship and created a splash by shooting water through its fire-fighting hoses. The USCG Cutter Sockeye provided an official escort for the battleship. As the historic ship passed the Saint Francis Yacht Club, club members honored it with a farewell gun salute and a signal flag message: “Farewell My Dear Friend.”

At over 15 stories high, 887 feet long and weighing more than 45,000 tons, the Iowa is known as the Battleship of Presidents because it hosted Franklin D. Roosevelt, Ronald Reagan and George H.W. Bush. The Iowa served for more than 60 years, including WWII, the Korean War and the Cold War. On 6 Sep 11, the U.S. Navy awarded the Iowa to the Pacific Battleship Center. She is the last battleship in the world to be saved and turned into a permanent museum.

The ship’s permanent home will be at Berth 87 in the Port of Los Angeles in San Pedro, CA. There, the ship will host a reunion of Iowa veterans before its public grand opening on 7 July.

For more information about the USS Iowa, or to purchase tickets, visit www.pacificbattleship.com. General admission is $18 for adults, $15 for seniors, $10 for both youth (ages 6-17) and retired military personnel with valid ID. Admission is free to active military personnel, including reservists, with valid ID, children under 5 and residents of the state of Iowa with valid ID. The museum, which will be open from 9-5 daily, will highlight the contributions of the battleship and its crew during WWII, the Korean War and the Cold War.