World War II Chronicle: January 17, 1944
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Page two reports that Grover Cleveland Bergdoll, who was arrested for being a draft dodger during the First World War and escaped captivity, has finally served out his sentence. Bergdoll comes from a wealthy brewing family and was among the very first students the Wright Brothers taught how to fly. He also was a racecar driver and attempted to qualify for the Indianapolis 500. Bergdoll was arrested for failing to report to the draft board, and was eventually arrested. Telling prison officials he had buried gold somewhere in Maryland, he was permitted to leave captivity and he fled to Canada, then made his way to Germany where he lived for several years.
Soldiers made several attempts to capture him, some being arrested and one was gunned down by Bergdoll. After making several secret trips back to the United States, he finally surrendered to authorities in 1939… On page three, Gen. Douglas MacArthur’s personal physician says that MacArthur is too focused on returning to the Philippines to be interested in a possible presidential campaign…
Yesterday we discussed a Jan. 11 bombing raid on Oschersleben, Germany in which one fighter pilot attacked a 30-plane formation of Luftwaffe fighters all by himself. One of the bombers he was protecting was a B-17 named Bad Penny, which was crippled and fought a three-hour running gun battle with the Germans on the way back to England (see page four). Staff Sgt. James R. Hamilton was one of the gunners protecting the flying fortress and was hit by an enemy 20-mm cannon shell. When he regained consciousness and knocked several fighters out of the sky. Three are confirmed, and like the article says, if he didn’t shoot down at least eight they would eat their helmets. Bad Penny returns to England and Hamilton earns the Silver Star for his actions on that mission…
The mother of Army private Rodger W. Young received her son’s posthumous Medal of Honor, which the 148th Infantry soldier earned on New Georgia (page five). Young was injured playing sports which rendered him unable to pass the Army’s physical exam. He did join the Ohio National Guard and made sergeant before shipping out for the Pacific. His sight and hearing continued to deteriorate, to the point that he requested he be demoted to private as he was unable to effectively lead his squad.
During the Battle of Munda Point, Young was part of a patrol that was ambushed by a Japanese machinegun position. The initial volley of fire killed or wounded several soldiers including Young. When the commander ordered a withdrawal, Young began crawling towards the enemy gun. When he was within range he opened up with his rifle and threw several grenades, despite being wounded a second time. He killed most of the enemy, but was cut down by one last burst from the gun…
George Fielding Eliot discusses the French Army on page eight… Page 10 announces that America’s new heavy bomber, the B-29, will be named “Superfortress.” The article also mentions that we have developed jet-powered aircraft…
Roving Reporter by Ernie Pyle
IN ITALY — I was really starting to worry. Here I’d been in Italy a month and I was continuing to feel fine. What was going to become of my record of being sick in every country I’d ever set foot on? Could I be slipping in my old age?
But it’s all right now. I knew how to fix that. I just took a bath, and sure enough, the next day I started to sniffle. By neglecting the sniffles for the next two days, I promoted myself a first class cold. And now everything is fine.
The only trouble with this cold is that I can’t find anything funny to write about it. I’ve moved into town for my convalescence, have a nice room in an apartment house, have good food and several friends, and don’t even feel too badly.
The only reason I’m mentioning it at all is just to let you know my record is intact. I’m ashamed not to have had a really bad sickness, but maybe I can do better when I hit Germany.
While sick I stayed at the apartment of some Air Force friends. Pilots from the various fields drop in there when they’re in town or leave. One of them is Maj. Edwin A. Bland, Jr., commander of a bomber squadron.
Ed Bland is a tall, friendly fellow with blond hair cut in crew style. He loves to fly and is torn between flying after the war or going back to Colorado and settling down to enjoy the mountains.
Ed almost got his’n a couple of weeks ago. These boys dive absolutely straight down at their target for about 8,000 feet and pull out at very low altitudes. This certain day Ed couldn’t get his plane out of the dive.
The tab on his rudder had either been shot or torn loose by the pressure of the dive. The stick vibrated so violently that it flew out of his hands and he lost control.
The only chance of saving himself was to get hold of that stick again. I asked him if it was vibrating so fast he couldn’t grab it. He said, “Hell it was going so fast I couldn’t even see it.” And he meant it.
So Ed clasped his hands, reached clear up to the dash, then lowered his hands toward the cockpit floor and drew them back toward him. He knew the stick had to be somewhere inside the circle of his arms.
As he gradually pulled back, the stick beat upon his hands and arms with killing pain, but he kept going back until finally he had hold of it. The infernally flailing stick hit with such fury it literally pulled a big hunk of flesh out of the palm of his hand, but he finally got the plane out of the dive, just by willpower and brute strength.
He was only 400 feet above the ground when he leveled off. It was as narrow an escape as a man ever wants to have. “I thought it was my time,” Ed said. “I figured my number had come up, and I sort of said goodby to everybody.”
In the summer of 1941 I decided to get a new car. As usual I wanted a convertible. The Pontiac dealer in Albuquerque didn’t have a convertible but said he could have one sent from the district agency in Pueblo, Colo.
So three days later the shiny convertible arrived. It was a beauty and is still a beauty, even though it has spent half its life sitting in storage. But I’m happy just to have it anyhow, and it is often in my thoughts the way your wife, or your fireplace at home, or your dog, is often in your thoughts.
Now what, you are probably asking, does a convertible coupe in Albuquerque have to do with a dive-bomber pilot in Italy?
Well, when Maj. Ed Bland came to our apartment he told me about that car. It seems that in the spring of 1941 he was a salesman for the Pontiac people in Pueblo.
They had just one convertible left, and Salesman Ed had it all sold and was ready to deliver it the next day. And then came word that the Albuquerque dealer wanted that car to deliver to me. So they took it away from Ed and he thereby lost his $80 commission. He was so disgusted he joined the Army a month later.
“Well it looks as if I owe you 80 bucks, to be real ethical about it,” I said.
But Ed just laughed, and I didn’t have 80 bucks with me anyhow. And one thing led to another until we became good friends, and it wound up that I’m going out to live with Major Bland’s dive bomber boys for a few days.
Maj. Bland flew the North American A-36 Apache, which is the dive-bomber variant of the P-51 Mustang. He is shot down in April 1944 and spends the remainder of the war at Stalag Luft 3. Bland makes a career out of the Air Force, retiring as a colonel after 30 years.
Evening star. (Washington, D.C.), 17 January 1944. Chronicling America: Historic American Newspapers. Lib. of Congress.
https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83045462/1944-01-17/ed-1/