1942  Chilie, Alice, Ed.

In June 1942, I was drafted into the Air Force.  I was told to report for duty at Fort MacArthur in San Pedro. Later I was sent to Wichita Falls, Texas for training as an airplane mechanic.

June 25th, 1942:

Dear Mom and Chilie, Well, it begins to look as though I shall live although I still have a few doubts about my poor dogs. As a matter of fact I am probably in better condition now that I have been in many moons which just goes to show you what leading a clean and orderly life will do for one. Chilie should try it sometime before he gets too old. Drilling all day doesn't bother me much anymore except for the aforementioned puppies but even they are beginning to toughen up, I hope.

July 10th, 1942:

Once again  I bring you greetings from the desolate waste lands of Texas.   I am rapidly wasting away to a mere 175 pounds which is a leetle too much, especially in view of the fact that I must carry it around personally. By way of graphic illustration I cast caution to the winds and enclose a couple of pictures which may give you a rough idea what the Army has done to the polished and debonaire gentlemen you once knew. Ah me, of what value is charm and beauty in a land peopled by soldiers? ...Doris writes that she is having cycle trouble with the set I sold her because she moved to Manhattan Beach where the local fathers consider 60 cycles much too fast. I now have the unpleasant duty of inform her that nothing can be done except to listen half-time or move back to civilization. Ah me, I fear she will be very unhappy.

August 29th, 1942: \

George Gillespie writes from Australia to advise that his exact location is a deep dark secret but seems to be happy enough except for the usual desire to be back in circulation again. God knows where the rest of the boys are -- one thing you can be sure of in this little disagreement and that is travel. ... we have a bunch of beautiful screwballs in the barracks and since we have all discovered each other, life has been a good deal more cheerful even if it is somewhat hard on the poor blokes who try to get some sleep.

1942  Boot camp in Texas

I went over to England on the Queen Elizabeth ship.   It was a smooth, calm, beautiful voyage across.  The ship was so fast she could outrun the German U-boats.  But if a sub was waiting, she could pop us.  All the time we were on the ship we were wearing lifejackets.  The ship was packed.  One night we would sleep on deck, and the next night inside.  We went into Liverpool.  A couple hundred miles before we reached the coast, we had both air and destroyer escorts all the way in. It took us 5 days to get across.  We took trains to our final destinations in England. 

 I was assigned to an air base in Kings Cliffe, England. It was about 80 miles north of London, and the nearest larger town was Peterborough. I mostly worked on P-38 fighter planes.
 

Ed was assigned to the  77th Fighter Squadron, 20th Fighter Group, Eighth Air Force.

From Wikipedia, 20th Fighter Group article:

On 11 August 1943, the personnel of the 20th departed California aboard three trains and arrived at Camp Miles Standish, Massachusetts, five days later. From this European staging area the members of the 20th embarked on the HMS Queen Elizabeth and departed for the United Kingdom on 20 August 1943. If the members of the 20th had expected a typical Queen Elizabeth pleasure cruise, they were sorely disappointed. The ship had been refitted to accommodate over 19,000 men. Staterooms designed for two or three people had 20 to 30 bunks double and triple stacked for officers and enlisted men. In addition to these conditions, enlisted personnel also served shifts of 24 hours on deck, followed by 24 hours below deck. This doubled the number of personnel the cramped quarters could accommodate. Due to its high speed, the HMS Queen Elizabeth traveled unescorted, despite the ever-present threat posed by German U-Boats. The five day trip across the Atlantic was reported as uneventful, except for long chow lines (two meals per day) and frequent boat drills. On 25 August 1943, HMS Queen Elizabeth dropped anchor and the men of the 20th disembarked at the Firth of Clyde. From there they were transported to the docks at Greenock, Scotland, and then, by train, to their new home, RAF Kings Cliffe, England.

 ...Arriving at King’s Cliffe, the group faced the prospect of operating from one of the poorest airfields in England. The buildings were old and inadequate and airfield facilities were close to nonexistent. The only thing in abundance was poor weather and mud.

WWII airfield at Kings Cliffe (RAF Kings Cliffe):

1943   At Kings Cliffe, England, atop a P-38 fighter.
 

The outline of the  WWII airfield at Kings Cliffe (RAF Kings Cliffe) can still be seen today:

Video of the control tower as it exists today: 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dN-wf7k4lPE

1943

Once my arm got stuck when a hydraulic door of the airplane closed on it. I was stuck. I called out to a passing farmer to help me. I instructed him to go up into the cockpit and operate the switch to open the door. He was quite skeptical about touching anything in the cockpit, but eventually I got him to find and throw the right switch.   Toward the end of the war I worked on P-51 Mustang fighters.

1943  V-mail from Ed to his sister Jean.

Ed's brother, Chilie, and Chilie's note written on the back of the photo.

Letter from Chilie to his sister Jean: October 11th, 1943 from Pt. Loma, San Diego:

I haven't been up to see you because I have been trying to sweat out a pass Tiajuana. Just when everything looked rosiest, a couple of fellows in the outfit overstayed their passes, so the whole platoon had their pass privileges suspended. I got a letter from Ed. He says, I quote, "I popped down to jolly old London for a spot of tea" -- ahhh -- is that language? That guy gets all the breaks. He goes all over England and Scotland and then gripes because his feet are cold. Let's disinherit the goon!

ed wrote on the back of the picture above: "Rest in Peace -- or in Pieces; depending on fuse setting."

February 7th, 1944 (ed to his mother, Alice): 

Whatever caused me to be a wrench-jockey I'll never know but I am confident that I shall be a cook in the next war. At least one can keep warm in the kitchen. I see by the papers that things are shaping up quite nicely over here and I am happy to say that our outfit had a few fingers in the pie -- a very satisfying feeling after sweating out all the months of training and shipping. Maybe we'll be out of this mess sooner than we think. Chilie and Jean write regularly and I hope they understand when I don't answer as promptly as I should. ... also got a belated xmas card from the "Cap" Gillespie so I had better stir my stumps with a letter of congratulations.

July 3rd, 1944:

As near as I can tell and diagnose my present symptoms, I suffer from a beautiful case of home sickness, which makes me wonder how those sad-sacks in such pest-holes in New Guinea keep from going completely batty.

Dec. 6, 1944:

Mom tells me that our poor old beat-up brother is at long last one his way. Be sure to let me know if he gets over here on account of I  can probably locate him a hell of a lot faster than vice versa, and I wouldst ply the old bassar with likker before the dogs of war once again separate our footsteps.

Ed's army "dog tags".

January 15, 1945:

Furlough has come and gone quick like a bunny and here I am back covered with a thick overcoat of Prestone and grease, not to mention that snow, sleet and rain are in incredible abundance. Had a smashing time (Limey talk) though, what was wondering hither and yon from pub to pub and an occasional show here and there including even a spot of Shakespeare to save my conscience. Stayed with friends (sic) in London (of course) where we ushered in the New Year in truly traditional form with martinis (mixed by yours truly in his own inimitable style), the greetings of a deep dark stranger at the door as Big Ben struck and the singing of Auld Lang Syne.  Just too, too utterly British, my deah.

Only sour notes was the thump of several rocket bombs which happily passed by us but unfortunately made the occasion pretty grim for others. War is certainly no respecter of holidays -- or anything else for that matter.

ed wrote on the back of the picture on the left: "No danger as long as I am aiming at you.  Just don't walk behind me!"  He wrote on the back of the picture on the right: "Jennifer somebody or other and Pappy guess-who. Hyde park in London."

The English  were very courageous, civilized, and grateful people.     They put up with us pretty well -- we were pretty rowdy and boisterous  Americans.

March 20th, 1945:

Chilie writes from somewhere in France and seems reasonably cheerful about the whole thing. Thank God the weather has taken a distinct turn for the better -- must have been damn uncomfortable in the field during the cold weather... lights are slowly coming on again in London so I don't bruise me nose on quite so many lamp posts of late since I never did get thoroughly used to the blackout. ... I may get a chance to fly over to Paris for a few days would sounds like a good deal although I have no particular desire to stay in France very long. Even so, it would probably be a good deal better than the Pacific where we all seem to be headed if one can believe the papers. I don't see how Germany can hold out much longer... England still takes a beating from rocket bombs but not nearly as bad as before. It is some consolation to know that Fritz is getting it in the back 10 times as bad every hour. Sure must be plenty rugged in Germany at this stage of the game and I'm certainly glad to be on the side of the fence.

A description of Ed's brother, Chilie's, 254 Infantry combat activities in France and Germany can be read here.

April 26, 1945:

I, too, share your sentiments in regard to Truman. Wish to hell it had been Wallace, but all we can do now is sit tight and watch developments. Maybe this guy has more on the ball than he has demonstrated thus far. We hope! ... Chilie writes he is now in Germany and still going strong, but your other brother continues to sweat out English weather and from the looks of things will continue to do so until V-E day doth us part. And then? Who knows? I don't, Sgt E.O.

Chilie's last letter to his sister, written three weeks before he was killed.

A description of Chillie's Company A activities a few days before he was killed in action
is described in the article The Hill at Ingelfingen (PDF) by Brian Keller.

Below, letter written by Chilie's commanding officer explaining the circumstances of his death to his mother Alice.

Fifty-six years later, in March, 2001, email contact was made the author of this letter, Raymond Restani. 
Click here to view the correspondence.   Information and documents about Company A, 254th Infantry 
Regiment, 63rd Division, provided by Raymond Restani, can be seen here.

A description of Captain Restani appears in the article The Hill at Ingelfingen by Brian Keller (full artcile PDF):

Chillie was killed taking the hill at Döttingen, Braunsbach, Germany, on the way
to Ruckertshusen.

The War Diary of Edgar Wyatt,  Company A, 254th Infantry Regiment, 63rd Division, documenting the activities
of Chili's infantry company in 1945.  It notes the death of Chillie at the end:

 

Döttingen in the foreground, Ruckertshusen on the hill in the distance.

Foxhole Dreams, by Laura McAmis.  Available in hardcopy at lulu.com (search for title).
A biography of her father based on the letters he wrote to her mother as a front line soldier during WWII.

More information about the 254th Infantry can be found at:  http://www.63rdinfdiv.com
Honor roll list of those killed in action:  http:/www.63rdinfdiv.com/honorrollpage6.html

Santa Barbara News-Press newspaper article about Chili, 8/7/2011.

Map of route taken by Chile's division.  He was killed in action before reaching Gunzburg.

Chilie was buried at:  Lorraine American Cemetery (Plot D Row 10 Grave 13), St. Avold, France.
(See 2003 correspondence with Peggy Shaskan, SSgt, USAF Ramstein AB, Germany, who offered
to send the photo below and a rubbing of Chilie's name on his tomb stone.)

Chilie's gravestone (Photo taken in 2003).
 

Ed's letter to his sister, responding to the notification of his brother's death:

. .

After the war, some of us guys flew a bomber into Germany, on a gun-run -- to steal some German guns and bring them home as souvenirs. I brought home a new pistol -- it had never been used.

After we knocked Hitler on his ass, we were training to go to the Asian theater.   We were scheduled to re-train on the new bomber they were developing.  

Then they dropped the big one and we all went home  Period.

July 5th, 1945:

Emmie is done comin' home and what I mean he has already started. Of course, only God Allmighty in the Supreme Command knows when and how we shall actually cross the big water but at least we have moved to a debarkation camp "somewhere in England". Where they dream up all sorts of delightful odd jobs to keep us amused such as KP, Sam the Lavatory Man, and other like pastimes designed to please the hearts of growing boys. Nobody seems to care a hell of a lot, however, because if that is what it takes to get home, we'll take it. ...As far as being stationed in the States is concerned (because of Chilie's untimely death) I want no part of it; which is very likely difficult for you to understand but believe me when I say that the life of  a "garrison soldier" is not for me and the only way I want to be stationed back home is as a PFC (Poor Foolish Civilian you dopes -- I mean folks). Let it go at that until I get a chance to explain more fully about the Army's psychology of "How to Get the Most Out of Your Employees".

September 8th, 1945. Writing from the Ambassador Hotel, Atlantic City, NJ:

... this has to be seen to be believed and I still expect to wake up some night banging my head against a Nissen Hut. All the swanky hotels on the Board Walk were taken over by the Air Force as rest centers for flak-happy fliers and liberated POWs and how my outfit ever managed to climb aboard this gravy train will probably never be officially explained although I suspect it was the Italian head of our C.O. God bless 'em!   My room is on the ninth floor facing the ocean and I can see for miles up and down the coast. The rest of the deal is just as lush -- wonderful chow -- no formulations (here we have individual "appointments"!) -- facilities  for all kinds of sports from golf to deep sea fishing... our own private Beach -- I could go on, but why make you drool. In short, this may still be the Army but I don't believe it. I have a sneaking suspicion that I will be eligible for a discharage pretty quick. Nothing official yet, however, on account of some silly ass misplaced my records and I shall have to wait until they are located before I have any definite information on my personal status.

One other item that is going to make Doris highly unhappy and that is quite a few doggies have their wives living with them -- right here in the hotel. For a limited time, of course, but who is complaining?

As a matter of fact, I now hold a slight ray of hope for the white race because here we have GIs, wives, WACs, negroes and what-have-you all living under the same roof and eating in the same dining room and you never saw a better behaved bunch in your life. If this doesn't open the army's eyes to some of their pet theories, nothing will.

Army discharge papers

1945  -- Photo that appeared on  the front page of the Los Angeles Times

After my discharge in September 1945, I returned to Los Angeles to reclaim my job with the California State Insurance Fund.

1946  Ed and his 2nd wife,  Doris.   

Obituary of Ed's paternal grandmother, Emma.

Distribution of some of Emma's assets to Ed and his sister Jean.  It is not clear why Emma's middle name
is recorded as "Margaret."

My second wife, Doris Laughlin -- that was a post-war type of romance.   She was a happy-go-lucky, party type gal.  I maintain to this day that I was allergic to her because I hadn't suffered from asthma attacks for some time, and with her I started wheezing.  After we divorced, the asthma stopped.

Ed, Alice, and Doris, circa 1947..                                              Sailing, circa 1948..

In 1946, I recall helping my brother-in-law Chuck Wilson build a sail boat, named "Tina", in the backyard of their house in North Hollywood.

I purchased my first sail boat in 1948, it was called "Sea Dust". The next year, I sold it and purchased a Mercury class racing sloop, which I named "Genie". That year I also joined the Cabrillo Beach Yacht club and competed in sailboat races. That was the year, too, that my friend George Gillespie introduced me to Lucy Owens.

1952.

                 Oct 28, 1950, marriage to his 3rd wife, Lucy Abbott Owens

Oct 28. 1950  Lu, Ed, Alice

Ed and George Gillespie on Oct 28,1950.

We bought our first house at 926 Cerise Ave in Torrance.

1951, Alice, Ed                                                                                         1952

In 1951 I quit my job with the state and went to work for Argonaut Insurance.

1952  Ed and Lu.

Circa 1953

In 1953, we sold the house in Torrance and moved to an apartment at 4121 West Blvd. in Los Angeles. We sold because of rumors that another depression was coming.

1954  Ed and his son Mike 

1954  Ed and Lu at Cabrillo Beach Yacht Club

1955 Ed, Mike, Lu.

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