Aviation Heritage

e-mail from a friend

This was one of those e-mails that came from a friend. Read on, it really does pertain to our aviation heritage.

STORY NUMBER ONE

Many years ago, Al Capone virtually owned Chicago.

Capone wasn't famous for anything heroic. He was notorious for enmeshing the windy city in everything from bootlegged booze and prostitution to murder.

Capone had a lawyer nicknamed "Easy Eddie." He was his lawyer for a good reason. Eddie was very good! In fact, Eddie's skill at legal maneuvering kept Big Al out of jail for a long time. To show his appreciation, Capone paid him very well Not only was the money big, but also Eddie got special dividends. For instance, he and his family occupied a fenced-in mansion with live-in help and all of the conveniences of the day.

The estate was so large that it filled an entire Chicago City block. Eddie lived the high life of the Chicago mob and gave little consideration to the atrocity that went on around him.

Eddie did have one soft spot, however. He had a son that he loved dearly. Eddie saw to it that his young son had the best of everything: clothes, cars and a good education. Nothing was withheld. Price was no object. And, despite his involvement with organized crime, Eddie even tried to teach him right from wrong.

Eddie wanted his son to be a better man than he was.

Yet, with all his wealth and influence, there were two things he couldn't give his son; he couldn't pass on a good name and a good example.

One day, Easy Eddie reached a difficult decision. Easy Eddie wanted to rectify wrongs he had done. He decided he would go to the authorities and tell the truth about Al "Scarface" Capone, clean up his tarnished name and offer his son some semblance of integrity. To do this, he would have to testify against The Mob, and he knew that the cost would be great. So, he testified.

Within the year, Easy Eddie's life ended in a blaze of gunfire on a lonely Chicago Street. But in his eyes, he had given his son the greatest gift he had to offer, at the greatest price he would ever pay.

Police removed from his pockets a rosary, a crucifix, a religious medallion and a poem clipped from a magazine.

The poem read:

The clock of life is wound but once

And no man has the power

To tell just when the hands will stop

At late or early hour.

Now is the only time you own.

Live, love, toil with a will.

Place no faith in time.

For the clock may soon be still.

STORY NUMBER TWO

World War II produced many heroes. One such man was Lieutenant Commander Butch O'Hare. He was a fighter pilot assigned to the aircraft carrier Lexington in the South Pacific.

One day his entire squadron was sent on a mission.

After he was airborne, he looked at his fuel gauge and realized that someone had forgotten to top off his fuel tank. He would not have enough fuel to complete his mission and get back to his ship. His flight leader told him to return to the carrier. Reluctantly, he dropped out of formation and headed back to the fleet. As he was returning to the mother ship he saw something that turned his blood cold, a squadron of Japanese aircraft were speeding their way toward the American fleet.

The American fighters were gone on a sortie, and the fleet was all but defenseless. He couldn't reach his squadron and bring them back in time to save the fleet. Nor could he warn the fleet of the approaching danger. There was only one thing to do. He must somehow divert them from the fleet.

Laying aside all thoughts of personal safety, he dove into the formation of Japanese planes. Wing-mounted 50 caliber's blazed as he charged in, attacking one surprised enemy plane and then another. Butch wove in and out of the now broken formation and fired at as many planes as possible until all his ammunition was finally spent. Undaunted, he continued the assault.

He dove at the planes, trying to clip a wing or tail in hopes of damaging as many enemy planes as possible and rendering them unfit to fly.

Finally, the exasperated Japanese squadron took off in another direction. Deeply relieved, Butch O'Hare and his tattered fighter limped back to the carrier. Upon arrival he reported in and related the event surrounding his return. The film from the gun-camera mounted on his plane told the tale. It showed the extent of Butch's daring attempt to protect his fleet.

He had in fact destroyed five enemy aircraft.

This took place on February 20, 1942, and for that action Butch became the Navy's first Ace of W.W.II, and the first Naval Aviator to win the Congressional Medal of Honor. A year later Butch was killed in aerial combat at the age of 29. His home town would not allow the memory of this WW II hero to fade, and today, O'Hare Airport in Chicago is named in tribute to the courage of this great man.

So the next time you find yourself at O'Hare International, give some thought to visiting Butch's memorial displaying his statue and his Medal of Honor.

It's located between Terminals 1 and 2.

SO WHAT DO THESE TWO STORIES HAVE TO DO WITH EACH OTHER?

Butch O'Hare was Easy Eddie's son.

We need your stories

Calling on all aviation pioneers—the world needs your stories for

posterity!

First post.

A short time ago, I wrote a novel called China Diaries. It’s a saga about pioneering aviation in thirties China. Many of the people I was writing about had passed on. Worse, many had never recorded their incredible stories. In too many cases, these pioneers considered their amazing adventures as maybe unusual, but not for the times they lived in and certainly not worthy of putting down on paper. Our loss, and so it goes as more leave us every day.

At some point during the four years it took me to write China Diaries I became aware that the Library of Congress had put together the Veteran’s History Project whereby a protocol was established for collecting veterans' stories. Great as far as it goes, but then I began wondering: What about those thousands of civilian aviation pioneers, those pilots, navigators, flight engineers—those radio operators, loadmasters, the stewards and stewardesses, those station managers, mechanics and construction workers who manned and repaired the planes,turned desert, coral and jungles into airports spanning the globe. What about those civilians who were first to fly the oceans, the hump, the African desert? Was that program also for them? Even if it was, that is not clear and it is for them that this site is primarily for.

Here’s what I would like you to do:

Don’t wait another day. Write down your stories. It could be your story, a story of a relative, friend or someone else. It could be an anecdote about an aircraft you care to let others know about, a flight, a navigation or inflight incident—something that you feel significant: you be the judge. If you don’t type or use a computer, don’t let that keep you from letting the generations that follow you know what you did. Find someone that will help you; get that story down and when you do, post it to this site.

Here’s what I will do:

First, I will record all of these stories digitally and post them on this site for all to enjoy. If there is enough interest in this project, I will solicit your help and the help of other entities doing the same thing to petition the Library of Congress, the Air and Space Museum, or both, and have these stories included for their archives.

Lastly, not only would I like to see your stories for all to enjoy, but also hear your comments and suggestions on how to make this project work better. If you have pictures, send them along. I will post as many as space allows so that all can share in this heritage. Thanks, and start writing.