Frederick

Maurice Frederick Hewitt
The War Years

Dedicated to my Uncle Technical Sergeant Maurice Frederick Hewitt for His Service with The 18th Tactical Air Corps United States Army Air Force
1941 to 1945

Maurice Frederick (Fred) Hewitt is one of four brothers who enlisted in the US Army Air Force during World War II. Fred was the eldest of the four Airmen. His brothers in the Air Corps were 2nd Lt. James R. Hewitt, Staff Sgt. Harry L. Hewitt and Tech Sgt. Melvin Samuel (Sam) Hewitt.

Their eldest brother, Clifford M. Hewitt, was turned away due to his age, so he served with the US Navy as a defense worker in the shipyards. He was a third class ship fitter at the Mare Island Navy Yards in Vallejo, Calif. throughout the war. He was also active as an Auxiliary Coast Guardsman.

They also had one sister, Stella Mae Hewitt, who was an internationally known entertainer serving as a member of the USO. She and her husband entertained troops in the South Pacific for the duration of the war. Her stage name was June Mann. She was an acrobatic dancer, performing with her husband Tony Malone (stage name Tony Wise.)

This page, and the subsequent pages, is dedicated to an entire family for their unselfish and honorable service during the war effort.

Below is my uncle Fred's account of his personal experiences while serving with the United States Army Air Force. Fred indicated that he used as few words as possible, stating he could write a book about each incident if space and time allowed.
James R. Hewitt Jr.

December 7, 1941:
passing a drug store, I happened to hear an announcement that was hard to believe. The Japs had attacked Pearl Harbor! When President Roosevelt confirmed it, I was on the way to the Los Angeles recruiting office; I wanted some Japs!

I served in World War II for 3 years, 10 months and 0 days. I served as a private for 69 days, staff sergeant and later tech. sergeant. I was rated as 542 communications chief. AS# 19067302, Maurice F. Hewitt.

Assigned as Cadre with a qualified group of others, our duty was to train incoming units for duty overseas. We were moved throughout the area of Southern California to many bases.

My duties, beginning with enlistment, started at the recruiting office at 6th and Main in Los Angeles, California. I served in the following places, not necessarily in this order:

Fort Macarthur, Calif. - Shepherd Field, Texas - March Field, Calif. - Muroc Air Base, Calif. - March Field, Calif. (again) - Muroc Air Base, (again) - the Presidio at San Francisco - Mines Field Calif. (now LAX) - Van Nuys Air Base, Calif. - Sawtell Hospital Calif. - LA Air Defense Wing HQ - Lomita Fighter Strip, Calif. - Glendale Air Base, Calif. - Greensborough, NC - New York Harbor, NY - LaHarve, France - Southampton, England - Stone, England - LaHarve, France (again) - Paris, France - Brunswick, Germany - Marseilles, France - Newport News, VA - Fort Macarthur, Calif.- Home!

I was sent to the Presidio in San Francisco to attend the Samuel Gompers Trade School for a course in Primary Radio Theory. I was allowed to send for my wife Louise who came up via the Daylight Limited. We rented an apartment on Mission Street. Sure was a tough assignment.

While stationed at the Presidio, we used streetcars for transportation. We had to transfer near a hotel with a bar at street level. My partner asked me to join him and we sat at the bar. He got interested in a young lady who smiled at him and to make a long story short, he left to dance with her. I was late so decided to leave. When I left I looked back for my buddy and noticed a full Colonel had taken my seat and my buddy, still looking at the girl was sitting down in his seat, and put his arm around the Colonel's shoulders and felt the eagle. Still looking away he asked what was on my uniform? As he turned and saw what it was, the whole bar started laughing. The Colonel was good-natured and bought him a drink, but my buddy was not one after that.

To say the least, I was a well-traveled soldier with many experiences some humorous as I remember them and some very scary. I can only repeat that we (all four of us) were very lucky to have made it back home. I had contact only with Harry and Jim.

In my office at Glendale I was monitoring all frequencies on my radios when I heard an SOS message on the CW radio calling March Field for an emergency landing and getting no response. I called to see if I could be of assistance and to my amazement, it was Harry in a B26 with one engine on fire. I said I would call March and notify them, but he said the pilot had raised them on the voice radio and they were landing. Not hearing any more, I asked my CO if he would check March, which he did, and found that they landed safely, would change engines and go on their way.

There was one other time when Harry landed at Glendale and stayed a few days. He was having some problems with the pilot so we couldn't visit much.

Of course the Hewitts, at that time all lived in the Glendale area. My younger brother, Jim, had not yet enlisted in the Air Corps and was a private pilot. Because of the Air Corps' desire to maintain good public relations, they allowed private aircraft to use the airstrip.

I just happened to be assigned to the tower at the Glendale Air Base one day when Jim called in and requested permission to land. It was foggy with borderline visibility, and I had a B17 in the landing pattern on final approach. I asked Jim to wait; he stated that he was low on fuel and he was going to land anyway. I kept telling Jim about the B17 and he kept saying he couldn't see it. I could see the B17 on final, and when I looked the other way Jim was also on final, headed right toward the B17. It was too late to change and Jim went over the B17, missing it by about 10 feet. I heard the B17 pilot yell, "What the hell was that?"

On another occasion when I was monitoring the radio, brother Jim had just taken off from Long Beach and was climbing out of the dense fog. As he was climbing he began to hear a loud knocking noise that got worse as he revved up the engine. I heard him yell over the radio for any place clear enough to make an emergency landing. A field in San Fernando Valley said they were clear so he landed there, with fire and all other equipment pacing him. As he opened the cockpit door, he could see the buckle of his seat belt was outside; the noise he heard was the buckle slapping against the side of the plane. He took a few harsh words from the fire captain to the affect that people who fastened their seat belts did not have these kinds of "emergencies."

Also, to add a note, when I was at LaHarve, France on V.E. Day, I had heard and that a lot of released American Prisoners of war were at Camp Lucky Strike. I just knew that Sam would be there (he was captured in Austria in June 1944 when his B17 was shot down during a bombing raid to Vienna). I asked to go and check and was told that it was not safe The French would kill anyone in uniform because the English had destroyed the port so it would not be able to compete with Southampton now that the war was over. Oh well??

After enlistment I was sent to Fort Macarthur. There, I was outfitted, inoculated seven times plus some rub-ons, and told to join the roll call formation. Standing at attention, the ground tipped up and hit me in the face, still at attention! I recovered ok and was dispatched to Shepherd Field, at Wichita Falls, Texas. The base was so over crowded that most of the men were on sick call (the standard remedy was to take an aspirin and come back tomorrow!)

Due to the over crowding, I was shipped out almost immediately and guess where? March Field, California of course (I was always very lucky).

At March Field, I received Staff Sergeant stripes because of my high IQ score and some knowledge of electronics and general things such as building, etc.

We were ready to leave for England so I decided to increase my insurance to maximum, not knowing that it required a physical exam; they discovered that I had a double hernia. The outfit went overseas and I went upstairs to the hospital. They were in the middle of sewing up the first one when the lights went out. They scurried around looking for flashlights. They finished that one and decided not to do the other one until later.

I was sent to Muroc (present day Edward's AFB) to join the group pool to recuperate.

I arrived with a squadron that had only one officer. He was a Second Lieutenant, and was the Commanding Officer. He spotted my stripes and decided that I would be his 1st Sergeant. I had other plans, which I tried to explain to him, but he argued and then lost his temper. He called me a slacker and several other things, and promised to make my life's stay an unhappy one. Later, after receiving the squadron service records he called me in and apologized deeply as he found out that I had less time in the service than he did. I had 69 days and he was a 90-day wonder.

At a hospital in Sawtell, California, the other Hernia was repaired and I was ordered by a doctor to stay in bed to recuperate -- not to get out of bed for anything for 18 days!! Which was proper at the time, plus 4 weeks of “body building”. When I was declared ready for discharge from the hospital, a nurse checked my pulse and it was way too fast so I was denied discharge. I grumbled but had to obey, of course. After several days of this, I suddenly realized what the problem was. After the cute nurse took my pulse, I asked the doctor to have her leave the room, which she did, and had the doctor take it. Of course it was normal and I happily went back to duty.

I stayed at Muroc and was assigned to a squadron with a Captain as CO. he was not too bright on service matters and we went months without pay. He got an order to ship some men to a base in Northern California. Not knowing what to do, he sent them by truck to the highway, put them off and told them to thumb their way north. I will return to the details of his Court Martial later in the story.

I was so ignorant of Army procedures and customs and so unable to find out anything that I really worried about it until I found out that we were all in the same boat. Muroc was rapidly built into a large city and all kinds of things were going on, most of it off limits.

Due to the over crowding, I was shipped out almost immediately and guess where? March Field, California of course (I was always very lucky).

At March Field, I received Staff Sergeant stripes because of my high IQ score and some knowledge of electronics and general things such as building, etc.

I was sent to Muroc (present day Edward's AFB) to join the group pool to recuperate.

The types of aircraft I was mostly associated with during my stateside service was with the P38, AT6 (used for air sea search and rescue) A29 (Lockheed Vega Airliner) for radar calibration and I cannot forget the B26 for tow targets. The B26 was nicknamed the tramp for no visible means of support. As I understood it, they took off at 225 MPH, top speed, and landed at 225 MPH, top speed with all engines at maximum.

We had one B25, brand new right out of the factory, and it supplied the saddest day of all. The crew chief was so proud to be chosen for the honor he strutted out to the shiny new plane, hopped aboard after setting the chocks under the wheels and revved up the engines. As he applied more power, at close to maximum the plane jumped the chocks and headed strait for the hangar, full of planes being worked on, with the expected results. The crew chief is probably still in the service paying off his statement of charges.

My first Job at Muroc was to handle a gunnery range out on the dry lake, consisting of a large vehicle that would be called a motor home today, but it was much larger and had a engine powered generator, radios and lots of electronic equipment. This included targets, which we set up for the aircraft to fire at. We had two sets of four targets, separated by about two hundred feet. We stayed between targets, in the middle. It was pretty scary when the P38s, piloted by first time trainees, began to fire at the targets. Some of them started firing from a mile up range (we had holes in the roof). One pilot was told not to fire from so far back, so he got really close; so close that he hit the target with his tail. He was required to repair the damage personally.

Later, I was put in charge of communications section #542. My first action was to issue an order to the base depot for all communications equipment to be delivered to my office. I received 100 cases of long dead "C" batteries, 1500 cases of olive drab upholstery tacks, a tool box of screwdrivers, pliers, etc. and a note stating this was the best they could do. I had to take a pass home in order to get some of my own equipment. I brought back everything I had that could be used to maintain the radios in the P38s.

We were training a lot of pilots who had already checked out in the AT6 to fly the P38. Because the P38 is a single seat aircraft, they had to take their first flight in the P38, as a solo flight. We lost 23 trainees the first week so they modified the P38s by removing the armor and moving the radio back which allowed enough space for a flight instructor to go along. The net result was that we lost two people instead of one in every crash. One of the instructors was a combat veteran from the front lines. He begged to return to combat where he felt safe.

I was working on a radio in back of a revetment sitting in the cockpit when I heard a noise over my head. I saw a P38 flying sideways just clearing the top of the cement. It crashed just ahead of me, left wing first. It ejected the canopy and the pilot. I can still see him in the air upright and RUNNING. When he landed, he hit the ground running and escaped with no injury; however, his hair was singed and his parachute was scorched.

One of my jobs was to teach my people to pre-flight the radios, then quick check with the tower. I always listened and made sure that they were all checked. The pre-flights were done very early in the am. One morning as one started to call in, a gun started firing and we all thought the enemy was on us. The P38 control column was topped by a cross piece with a projection on each side. Each had a switch one for the radio and one for the guns. The pilots were required to safety the gun side, but this pilot had not done so. When the radioman reached for the switch, of course, the guns fired. Sadly enough, they were pointed directly towards the top of the tower, and removed the roof and all the antennas. The tower operators were only slightly injured. Their hands were burned from the stair rails as they made a fast exit down the stairs.

I was blessed with young men from the New York area, New Jersey, the Bronx, etc. All were great fighters and eager to learn. They always respected me like a flock of sheep looking for a guide to the Promised Land. My word was law and not questioned. Since I didn't know where I was going. (I guess you get the picture.) I was teaching them how to get into a P38 and check the radio with the towers. One was having trouble being heard so I went out to check on him. He started to apologize right off and said that that he had trouble finding the mike. When he called the tower he said that the mike smelled terrible and that the pilot must have had bad breath. I looked at what he was talking into ------- it was the pilot’s urine relief tube!! The mike was under the seat!

One whose name I remember argued with me over pronunciation. I was showing them a schematic and pointing to a coil, he said that is a curl. I said no its a coil, he said no, “goils have coils” and that's a curl. Private Morganstern and I got along fine after that. He did his thing and I did mine.

I was good at repairing radios in P38s but I had a bad time with one and the pilot was very demanding. It would work fine on the ground but would quit as soon as he took off. I replaced all of it, the radio, the harness and the antenna and still the same problem. The pilot was prodding me with words and threats. Finally, he had me go with him to where the plane was up on a rack. He ordered me to hang on a wing with earphones on as he revved up the engines. He threatened to have me hang on the wing while he took off if I didn't find the problem!! The answer hit me like a ton of bricks ---- of course!! The wheels!! I had him pull up the wheels and the radio stopped. We shut off every thing and I asked the mechanics when they had replaced the landing gear. That was the time the trouble started. The coax lead to the antenna went through the wheel well and sure enough they had mis-routed it across a knee mechanism and when the wheels were retracted it would crush the cable and stop the radio! The pilot shook my hand and said thank you with a big smile, which more than compensated me, and the mechanics replaced the cable.

We had a fine young pilot on his last checkout flight. He called in to report that his left engine had quit. He stated that he had done all the "what to do" list and was ok to land. The CO asked him to land in the dry lakebed and taxi in. He agreed and we waited for him. We became concerned when we heard no answers to the radio. He was finally spotted walking in. They sent a jeep out to get him and he was not injured. At the debriefing, he explained that he did his checklist perfectly, except that he forgot to put the wheels down; he was lucky.

We lost too many trainees that week. One was taking off on his first solo. He failed to push the throttles far enough forward and couldn't gain enough speed to control the plane. He was barely airborne at the end of the runway and fell off on one wing, which turned him into a line of P38s ready for take off. Most of them were destroyed and a lot of machine gun and cannon fire was set off. Most of our training efforts went to waste in a blaze of glory. Once again I was lucky. I was driving a jeep alongside the runway at the time, and barely cleared the mess. It was at that time our combat pilot asked to return to combat, where he felt safe.

One of our trained officer pilots decided to try and find the terminal velocity of a P38. He went up to maximum altitude and let me know he was starting down full throttle (I was tower operator). He soon reported he could not close the throttles and was ejecting. The P38 continued straight down and crashed into the dry lake. They had to dig down into the lake 18 feet to remove the engines. The parachute opened too soon and exploded. They found the pilot's body in the same area as the plane.

I had three communications officers. The first one was from the South and must have grown up behind a plow. I think his first pair of shoes must have been his GI issue. He was a fine young man, who was completely unaware of electronics, but very willing to learn and was a big help.

The second one was very thirsty for knowledge and hung on my back continually to see what I was doing. Let's face it he was in the way. He would pick up parts I was working with and fondle them lovingly. This gave me an idea! I was working with electrolytic capacitors that had the facility to retain the voltage that was applied to them. I was checking to see how long they would keep the voltage. To check them often, I put the bare leads carefully along one side. If you know about these things, you can guess what happened next. He picked one up, and as he wrapped his hand around it, there was a loud bang. The palm of his hand was burned in a circle about an inch in diameter. He went to the doctor for treatment and he did not bother me any more. However, he was not through with electronics yet. He took an identification radio from a plane and called a class to teach a group of pilots how to use it. At the end of the class he had them push the two red buttons and the resulting explosion put several of them in the hospital. He was gone for good after that.

The last one they sent seemed a little wary and told me right off the bat that he was not skilled in electronics. He asked me to tell him what I wanted him to do. I let him know I had no need for a communications officer, except early Thursday mornings. On Thursdays I needed him to witness the destruction, by fire, of some superseded files, which required an officer to verify. What other duty he might have had was no concern of mine, so he spent most of his time in Hollywood. One morning he was asked to handle the PE class every am. He protested, stating he had too much to do already and didn't have time for that too! He did a good job as the exercise officer and some other duties also.

My next duty was at the Los Angeles, Air Defense Wing Headquarters, where I found my Captain buddy from Muroc. He was now wearing a Second Lieutenant's uniform, and was behind the check in desk in the lobby. I later found out that he was under court-martial, and I was called to testify. I told the story and he was forgiven for being so ignorant of regulations. They sent him to officer’s training school. He made a fine officer after that.

While on duty, I was assigned as Communications Chief. I was taking a turn at the radio control center above the aircraft locator map on the floor below, which was staffed by people following reports of aircraft (ours and the enemy).

One of my duties was to check all of the radios connected to the switchboard and report any that needed repair. One was an FM radio located on the roof of the building, set up to take over the telephone lines in case of failure. It was paired with a similar unit on Mt. Lee. A man who slept by it closely guarded the radio. Not realizing that it had not been checked before, I decided to see what it sounded like. By switching microphones and earphones, I could call one radio. By switching back, I could answer myself. The test went fine and I went back to other duties. Suddenly, the door slammed open and the guard, half dressed and hair flying, yelled, “That radio was talking, and answering itself!!”

One day we had a real scare. We had no radar yet, and a spotter on Catalina Island suddenly reported two flights of slow moving aircraft, about four hundred each, on a course for our station (L.A.). We ordered an emergency response of all available aircraft, to respond. The Air Force responded with a flight of P38’s (only one of the pilots was not a trainee). The Navy sent more. The response to repel a force of eight hundred bombers was woefully weak. The person reporting downgraded the number, as they got closer. First to one hundred per flight, then to fifty and then lost contact entirely, while our planes were frantically searching. Two Navy A20s asked for landing instructions at North Island. They had forgotten to turn on their identification radios and were the cause of all the fuss. The end result, however, was that the brass suddenly realized that the west coast had almost no defense. They very generously corrected the situation.

Later, after some radar was installed, San Diego radar reported a submarine approaching the city. Reports put the sub closer and closer to the beach as responding aircraft and ships searched to no avail. The sub reached the beach and kept coming across the highway, towards downtown San Diego. A pilot saw a large balloon at about one thousand feet moving easterly in the wind. That was the sub. Our CO sent a message to the CO in San Diego to be aware of a submarine about one thousand feet over San Diego.

At Van Nuys Calif., I was a guest in the tower late one evening when a P38 was landing. The tower operator noticed that the landing gear was not lowered, so he flashed a red light at the pilot and told him to go around and not to land. The pilot reported that he could not hear the radio because some horn was blowing so loud that it drowned out his radio. He said he would land anyway, which he did, with wheels up. He was not injured. At the inquiry he was asked what horn was blowing; he said he didn't know. So he was informed that it was trying to warn him that his wheels were not down. I understand that its volume was somewhat muted later. The statement of charges was enormous.

I had another scary experience. I was checking the radio in a P38 when the fuel truck pulled up behind the plane, and the driver got out and took the fuel cap off prior to fueling. I decided to clear with the tower and pushed the mike button, there was a spark, which ignited the vapor from the open tank, which caught on fire. The driver instantly put his body over the opening and smothered the flame. We were lucky enough to be able to pass the word along to all units NOT to operate ANY radios while refueling.

At Lomita Fighter Strip, I had a run in with a Captain who had served with the Flying Tigers in China. I had extended our communications building from a 4 ft x 8 ft box to about three times that size, using lumber that had been ordered for an officers' club. I was completely innocent because my guys who brought it said that they were tearing down a house that was being removed to extend the runway and the asphalt was left over from a street repair. When the captain found out the size of the original box, he softened up some, as we had 35 people to house and try to train; we managed.

There were other troubles with this Captain that I was not aware of until he made Major. Then, there were major problems and an investigation was ordered. I was made aware of it when I received an order to report to the mess hall at ten with all my personnel. Since I had men in the tower, on the line, telephone operators, etc., I went to the orderly room to verify “all men”. I was told in very strong language that ALL MEN in my section would be there. They were, and I was first called to be asked questions like, "Why were there no operators in the tower?” I repeated what the Adjutant said to me. So they asked, “Did all men obey?” I said, “All but one, sir”. "Who was that?” they asked. "Private Kersey, telephone operator, sir. He refused to leave his post until properly relieved”. The inspector then asked that he be reprimanded, and then promoted to Private First Class. I was asked to return to duty immediately with all my personnel; I did.

The Army Air Communications System (AACS) took over all towers using trained men who were not likely to make mistakes. One day we had an A29 requesting an emergency straight-in approach. There was no answer from the tower so I went on the air and relayed the message to the tower. They could hear me, but not the aircraft, and asked me to keep them informed. The approaching aircraft decided to follow a normal landing pattern and landed safely. Their control cables had suddenly gotten loose.

I went up to the tower to find out what the problem was. It was so simple. They were bored with listening to all the chatter, so they turned the squelch control all the way off!

Considering that 90% of all our forces were from all walks of life, the job they were asked to do was a matter of life or death, and the most training they ever got was little or none at all. It was amazing that they got the job done somehow.

Our Group Commander was the son of General Chenalt (of Flying Tiger fame) and he too didn't want to hear all the chatter on the radio while flying. He broke the safety on an emergency switch, which caused the radio to continually transmit. That blocked out all other radios in the area, including all the towers and aircraft radios. All you could hear was the Commander clearing his throat or talking to himself. Because he was Group Commander, no one was willing to try to explain this to him. They asked me if I had a solution to the problem. I suggested that they replace the safety wire with some steel wire that could not be broken. The next time he went up, the air turned blue all around his plane. Then one of the officers explained to him the facts of life and he was apologetic to everyone.

I was operating the tower, late at night, when I heard what sounded like two planes heading my way. It was so foggy I could hardly make out the runway. I tuned a radio receiver to the Navy channel and listened as they talked to each other. As they passed by, they saw the tower and said, “Good! Let's land here. I know I don't have enough fuel to make it to Long Beach.” I gave them the green light and they disappeared into the fog. I finally saw one at the north end on final. I happened to glance at the south end and there was the other one on final. I flashed the red light at each end and they asked each other, “What was that for?” To make a long story short, they passed each other about 10 feet apart and landed safely. In unison they said, “ Now we know what that light was for!”

At Glendale Air Base, I was Cadre, Tech Sgt. and Squadron Communications Chief. I was given a free hand to experiment with electronics and required to train 35 men as Squadron technicians. This opportunity was much aided by the fact that several units had reported from other parts of the world. When they got reassigned they left their equipment and stock behind, available to me.

Our squadron was a combined, Air Sea, Air Ground Search and Rescue operation, Target towing unit and Radar Calibration unit.

Realizing, after trying to locate air crash sites, that we needed an electronic crash locator, I put together one that had some promise. I used a 25L6 tube as an electron coupled oscillator in a package containing a battery, antenna and switch to place in the leading edge of the vertical section of the tail in a ball that would eject on impact. The antenna (a piece of spring steel) would come out and activate the switch, which would cause the transmitter to start transmitting. Some of my men worked at Lockheed in the evenings. Lockheed was glad to get the help and sent a bus every evening for them. They tried to get me to go also but I declined so I could spend time with my family at my quarters on Double Drive. However, I did send the crash locator project along with them to Lockheed for further development. This gave me more time to get on with other projects.

Our Tow section had a system for deciding whose shots scored, which seemed to me could be improved. (They painted each planes shots a different color, had the target dropped and checked for color.) I used a throat microphone strapped to the vertical pipe of the target and some GI telephone wire to connect it to the plane's intercom so the pilots could get an instant score. My guys went one better and connected it to the transmitter so the pilots could hear a crack crack as they fired and a thump thump as they scored hits. All went well until one pilot could not get a thump. In desperation he kept firing until he was directly behind the tow plane still firing until one of the shots hit a rocker on an engine. This was a B26 and it was all it could do to stay in the air with both engines at full power. Fortunately it was headed straight for the base at Van Nuys and after chopping the tow cables, made it safely to the runway. The tow target, by the way, came down in a lady's kitchen in Hollywood.

I heard some truly foul language on the aircraft frequency one day. I got a call from the CO to go out on the field to an aircraft waiting to take off and repair the radio receiver. The pilot was unable to receive take off instructions. I went out to the plane in the jeep. As I entered the aircraft there were several high ranking officers sitting along one side. As I looked ahead to the pilot, he was still raving and slamming things around trying to hear the tower. I noticed right away that the lead from the radio was not plugged into his helmet. I walked up behind him and plugged it in. The response was instantaneous and violent! He jumped up and screamed! Only then did I realize that he had turned the volume up to maximum and the tower was yelling at him trying to make contact. I did a hasty about face, and as I was leaving, I noticed all the officers were grinning. Back at my office, I was still hearing threats of what he was going to do to that sergeant! I got another call from HQ as to what I had done to him. After explaining, they laughed long and hard.

There was a definite need for a mobile communications center, so we went to work on one that would be put on a plywood board cut to fit on over the back of a jeep. It consisted of a 24-volt battery, a SCR-522 transceiver, a 24 volt gas powered generator and a salvaged antenna to strap on the windshield. We had been told that it would not work because the transmitter and receiver antennas had to see each other. We got rid of that fallacy as we loaded up our jeep as a mobile radio base and took off to find out for ourselves. Up in Angeles Forest (high mountain country), we had 80% good communication except when we were far behind a mountain. We were heard in downtown Los Angeles as well. It served us very well in our searches throughout Southern California.

I was able to contact North Island by radio most of the time because of the inversion layer that is fairly consistent between us. It was instrumental in an air rescue that involved a radar calibration flight by one of our A29 aircraft (a converted Lockheed airliner). Its schedule was to fly to Point Dume and proceed due south until reaching a point opposite North Island, then turn left and land there. It missed the turn and continued south for an unknown time. I was made aware of it and reported it to North Island by radio. I had heard HQ calling them with no answer. My radio operator (Roselli) was fond of listening to the airline channel so I thought it was worth a try. I tuned up a transceiver to the airline's frequency and called. Sure enough, Rosey came back instantly with, “What's up serge?” I said, “Where the hell are you guys?” His reply was a panic “OH SH__! Stand by this channel, don't leave it.” He was back quickly with full information on altitude and course lightening the plane (all unnecessary equipment overboard including the airline's radio), which I relayed to North Island. They sent out crash boats on that course. I heard them call for straight-in emergency landing instructions and reported to me (on the 522 radio) that they were on the runway ok but they were being towed to the fuel dump. Later they told me that as they were landing, they had to rock their wings back and forth to get the last drops of fuel and the engines were cutting in and out. Also the reason they missed the turn was because they were involved in a “hot crap game” and lost track of time. Rosey was supposed to keep track of the time. There was talk of throwing him over-board also. There was talk of removing the autopilot from all our A29 aircraft, and gambling (in total) was BANNED during any flight. Fortunately, the lives of all 8 aboard were saved only by the tiniest fraction. The altitude as they reached the runway was 5 feet. How close can you come?

Our mechanics installed a new engine in a B17 one day. They preflight it and it checked out very well so the crew boarded the plane and prepared for take off. As they revved up the engines every thing seemed to be in order until they reached full throttles. The engine took off down the runway all by its self! They forgot to bolt the engine mounts! Oh well!!

We had another sad day when we sent one of our A29s to March field for some repairs. As they landed the landing gear collapsed and the plane burned. A survivor told me that my man (name withheld for obvious reasons) was on fire as everyone left the burning aircraft. He was so panicked that he would not stop running, no one could catch him and he died. The crew chief was out and ok when he remembered that he forgot to turn off the main switch he ran back into the plane to turn it off and never came out.

While on a search for a crashed aircraft in the Angeles National Forest area, our four AT6s were busily combing every canyon when one of them hit a down draft and crashed into a long narrow canyon. The other planes noted the crash and they immediately started yelling to each other. They started calling the jeep communication center to move to the area of the crash to try and rescue the pilot. The pilot, in the meantime, was trying to get a word in crosswise to say that he was ok and his radio was still working. I heard the whole thing in my office including the crashed plane's radio.

We had two brothers from the local area that were Pilots. A strange and sad series of incidents occurred that should not have happened. At Lomita one of the brothers was taking off down the runway when he lost power. Because a residential street extended beyond the runway lined on both sides by residential homes with children and people playing in the street. The only decision he could make was to drop one wing and crash in flames at the end of the runway.

Later his brother in an AT6 was killed when he was caught in a down draft and crashed. I attended the services at Forest Lawn Cemetery for both brothers as the radio operator setting the time for the missing plane fly over formation.

Much later we were working at the Girl Scout Camp in the Angeles Forest when we found a Mining Claim in a tobacco can. The claim bore the same names as the two brothers. We made no attempt to locate their families because we did not want to open another can of worms for them to deal with.

We had a pilot back from the action overseas who was so self centered that I am sure he thought he knew everything, without exception. He got his when he was ordered to ferry a P38 from Glendale to Mines Field (now LAX). A flight plan was required even though the distance was a short few miles away. The tower asked if he had filed a flight plan, to which he replied that he didn't need one because he would be there before anyone knew he was airborne and he took off. Almost immediately, there was a tremendous explosion behind his tail. It only bothered him a little because he thought it was something else. A few seconds later, it was repeated only closer. Now, he realized it was anti-aircraft fire aimed at him. He hit the throttle as another came closer and dived to increase his speed. He headed for the end of the runway at top speed and made the hottest landing ever. He was pressed to stop at the end of the runway. As he climbed out of his plane, a force of M.P.’s met him with guns drawn and arrested him. He was escorted to the CO’s office, where he was ordered to shower and put on a new set of clothes before reporting back. He was given a reprimand and sent back to Glendale a quiet subdued man. It was rumored that he even showed up at church the next Sunday.

Still at Glendale, I was alone in my office when in came a General. I snapped to but he said “at ease”. We chatted for a while and then he asked if I would go overseas. I said I would if he thought I would be of service. He said they needed my experience more overseas. He issued a 30-day furlough for me. I was on my way to Greensborough N.C., then on to New York Harbor, where I boarded an ocean liner (the Brazil).

As we left the harbor, I noticed that we had to walk up hill towards the front of the ship. We got an urgent order on the intercom for all passenger personnel to report to the forward area of the ship. We suddenly realized that now we were going down hill!! Then came another urgent order belay that and return to your quarters on the double, something about the ballast tanks and an inexperienced crew. We joined a fifty-ship convoy.

Later we ran into dense fog. We could not see 50 feet away. I was on the stern looking back and saw what looked like a tall corner of a building loom up out of the fog. It was trailing the ship and closing fast. We yelled loud and long and our ship's Captain ordered the trailing ship to back off. They put out what is called a trailing fish, which forced the surface water to spray up so it would be a guide for the trailing ship to follow.

Later, while asleep, we were awakened by a tremendous explosion that sounded like the end had come - and then another. A short time later, there were several more, even louder. We were ordered to stay in our quarters, which we did. Later as we continued on our way, we were told that the weather was clear and the moon was very bright. Our Navy gun crew had spotted an enemy submarine on the surface at point blank range (they had made 18 previous trips across without a target) so they fired and of course missed. By the time they got reloaded, the sub had submerged. The sub chasers took over, dropping depth charges. Since we were still moving, we were well into the scene and the depth charges were very close to destroying our ship. We continued on and arrived at LaHarve, France on V.E. Day!!

We left LaHarve still in the ship and debarked at Southampton, England. From there we went by train to Stone, England. After a few days we shipped out again to Southampton, then across the channel in an LST( I am sure of that. I was the only one that didn't get seasick, what a mess. The channel is the roughest water in the world.) Then by train, we went to Paris, where we stayed at Baron Rothschild’s estate. The Germans had trashed it, but we slept in one of the empty swimming pools. The Red Cross gave us a tour of Paris, all the usual places. Then we made the trip to Brunsweig, Germany by plane.

In Brunsweig, Germany the war in Europe was over but things were in Turmoil, of course. We had taken over a 5-story building that was not quite finished, mostly just bare floors and lacking some windows.

I was with a group of men from the New York area and they wasted no time in checking out the area for treasures. They found lots and lots of them in the hedges and other likely places. The German soldiers had placed them there to be booby-trapped but had not had time to do so, lucky for the hunters. One of the things they did do was exploring the basement of the building. There they found a large store of loot from all of Europe. Encouraged by the find, they checked further and found that the building had seven basements, which contained more loot. In the last one there was nothing, except an object standing straight up in the middle of the room. It was an enormous time bomb ticking away! Needless to say, we left the area on the double quick!

I was asked to take part in an exercise in the field. I was introduced to a copy of the jeep communications center that we had developed at Glendale. I was informed that hundreds of them had been built. They were used with search and rescue units as well as many other places. They used a wind up type telephone on a long telephone wire to trigger the radio so they could have direct contact with the front supporting aircraft, and yet be safe from the German shells which could find the jeep with the DF antennas. Our exercise was to send a message to the jeep, using the telephone from a distance of one mile away. As I checked in they said they could not hear me. They could only hear a hiss when I clicked the mike. So I keyed the mike in morse code and informed them that they had forgot to install the mike battery. They accepted the code message as required end of exercise.

While there, we attended a speech given by a German officer who was a prisoner of war. He was allowed the privilege of telling us what we did wrong in defeating the highly trained (from childhood) Panzer Division. He became quite emotional as he talked (in better English than I could) and said they were waiting for our Army to enter a mountain pass where they had concentrated their forces to dry gulch us. They were sure that we could not scale the mountains on each side of the pass. They aimed all their weapons and artillery at the pass they were sure we would enter. No so! Our men had scaled both sides of the mountains and caught the Panzers with their pantsers down. They had to surrender in disgrace. "If you had only followed the book we would have massacred you to the last man!," he screamed.

We left Germany by way of the Low Countries in a convoy of Jeeps and trucks, about 30 vehicles in all. As we approached Berlin, we noticed that the mess truck, which was supposed to be bringing up the rear, was missing along with our mess officer, cooks and bakers. We later found out that they had taken off to the Berlin black market to get rich. As we went on towards France, we began to run low on gas and were getting hungry. We came upon a detachment of British Soldiers quartered in a small settlement and asked for some help. While they were enjoying their mess, we were asked to wait until they could contact England by radio for permission to help us. Hours later, we were told that we may have one crumpet, a canteen cup of weak tea per man, 5 gallons of petrol and one quart of oil per vehicle, if needed, and directions to Charlyville in France.

As we went through Holland we threw candies, k-rations, gum, etc., to the kids and, of course, a couple of condoms blown up as balloons to the young ladies. I guess this was ok in the New York area. When we got to the border, we were held up for awhile. A pickup truck came up from behind us with every scrap that was thrown out. They dumped it all into one of our vehicles and left some very harsh words about not ever coming back to Holland.

I had read about how the women scrubbed the front of their houses, the sidewalk and even the street in front of their houses, and they do! We watched them. Charlyville was a wonder! It looked like at least 50 acres of nothing but gas stations and mess halls. What a joy, and did we eat!

When we got to Lyon, France we were put on a train heading to Marseilles in Southern France. As we pulled out we were stopped on a trestle over the city. People came running from everywhere begging for food, the Germans had stripped them of every scrap and they were desperate. As we threw things to them they trampled each other like crazy. When ordinary people are that hungry they act that way. It was scary.

The base at Marseilles was enormous and we were getting ready for shipment to Japan. Rumor was that we were to be the first wave of invasion troops of the Jap home islands. I was razzed for being from Hollywood!! and a Tech. Sergeant, while they were being shot at. I was asked by the CO to give a talk about fungus and fungicides. It was not easy and I didn't know beans about the subject. The CO gave me a folder to look at. I started out and said that I knew that we were slated to go to the South Pacific, but that I was sure that even though we had to get on the boat, the Japs would quit and we would be diverted to the USA. That was exactly what happened!!

We departed Marseilles, France on board the USS General Callen, the same ship on which my brother Harry was shipped to the Far East bound for the Pacific Theater as part of the invasion forces intended for Japan. We would have gone the short way through the Suez Canal except the British ordered us to pay a toll on each soldier. The language the ship's Captain used would not be proper in most company and he set course for Gibraltar, the Atlantic Ocean and the Panama Canal. When the Japs quit we were so close to Newport News, Virginia that, that's where we were diverted, then on our way home the next day. Did I say I was LUCKY?? I never had to face the enemy the way my brothers, Harry and Sam, did but I still wanted some Japs.

I need to close this report with a word of appreciation to Jim Hewitt Jr. for all the work he has done on this report. Also to the men who served under me and the help and respect they showed me. I can't forget the officers that I served under for their complete trust and respect they had for me. Sure, we all make mistakes, which only proves that we are all just human. I guess the end justifies the means, as we came out the winners.

Maurice Frederick (Fred) Hewitt

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