Legend of Millie Durgan Indian Captive
James was born on August 21, 1918 in Oakland, California. He and my mother June had two boys and five daughters. (This writer was the oldest child.)
James honorably served in the United States Army Air Corps during the Second World War. He was an accomplished B-17 and B-29 pilot, and was commissioned as a Second Lieutenant. He completed his flight training on the B-29 just prior to the end of the war and never had to see combat.
I was
about 4 years old when dad sneaked me on board his B-17. It scared me half to
death. A few years before his death, I took dad to an air show in Santa Maria,
California to see one of the last operating B-17’s. As we made the tour dad
reminisced about taking me on his B-17 so I know my memory was accurate.
After
the war James went on to a successful carrier as a homebuilder and an
accomplished landscape artist.
The following is a transcription of my father's memoirs that we found among his belongings after his death. As you go through these pages click on the thumb nail images to see the full size image.
"November 26, 1990
To my children: Jim, Fred, Jerri, Andy, Chris, Lesley and Becky,
I am a long way from being a competent writer and certainly not a poet, however my (following) poor attempt at expressing myself via poetry, may help answer some of your questions regarding my location at the time you read this:
While there are many others I care a great deal about, I thought for brevity I would address this to only my offspring.
Hi, offspring;
When your mother went onto better things in her next existence, two of you, I believe Jerri & Andy, while going through their mothers papers said, "We're looking for something in writing, but can't find anything". One of them said, "Dad, leave us something in writing".
Well, O.K.! I'll try. I have no idea what, but something will probably come to me as I go along.
First I suppose the most important thing is, how much I have loved each of you. In spite of my many shortcomings as a father and as a person, you have all treated me with respect, caring and expressions of love. Never mentioning my faults. I'm real proud of each of you, and I thank you for your restraint, it has saved me a number of bloody noses.
THE FRUIT OF FAITH
When I lay down to final
rest
having finished life's last chore,
The lord will bid me come & test
My struggle to gain his shore.
"No, child, tho you did your
best,
the law requires much more;
But your belief in my
bequest
Has opened heavens' door."
See John 3:16
That's probably all I should write, but you know me, " Never quit while you’re ahead".
I won't
attempt any order or chronology, but will simply jot down thoughts as they come
to me, hoping not to bore you stiff. To paraphrase someone, I want this for the
most part, to be like the sundial, which only covers sunny hours.
11/27/90
Speaking of sunny hours brings to mind my first meeting with your mother. My friend Bud Hutchings had arranged a blind date for me with June Barker, Myna May something and her sister Georgia Sue. Bud's date was Georgia Sue; mine was Myna May and a guy by the name of something (Bob?) Gray was with June. We drove to the beach & built a bon-fire. (You could do that in those days). The three couples all went in separate directions except I stayed by the fire with Myna. Pretty soon June came to the fire alone, Bob had tried to get fresh with her. When Myna strolled off in Bob's direction June sat down with me and we stayed together the rest of her life. It was probably summer of 1936 maybe 1937.
As I contemplate past Christmases (its now 22 Dec. ‘90) I remember one of my best ones: I guess I was about 12. We were very poor, but somehow I got hold of a dollar. I went to a five & ten cent store and was able to buy gifts for my mom and dad and all my brothers and sister. It doesn't take a lot of money to have a nice Christmas. The passing around of love is much more satisfying than passing around expensive gifts.
23 Mar. "91
During a partial clearing of the recent rainstorms, I drove to Paso Robles to have dinner with Lesley. My drive home was a journey through the most beautiful landscape and skyscape I have ever experienced. The sky was filled with spectacular cumulous clouds ranging from brilliant white to many shades of blue-gray. The sun popped in and out of the clouds, which caused frequent changes of mood. The blue sky showing around the edges of the clouds varied from cobalt at zenith to a pale cerulean tinged with pink at the horizon.
There
were a number of rainbows on display as I passed by occasional showers. One
nearly complete rainbow excited both Lesley and me before I left her in Paso
Robles. The rolling hills were brilliant with greens of many hues, which
complemented the reddish brown earth. The many different colors, shapes and
textures I observed filled me with an inspiration, which hopefully will remain
the rest of my life.
I wish I could dip my brushes into God's palette and render on canvas what I saw with His masterful and gentle touch, but I am thankful for the humble ability and materials he has given me.
As I have told my good friend Barbara, I am a fine source of miss-information; however I have a theory, which I will now relate:
Time is a convenience invented only for the benefit of mankind and does not exist, as we know it past our lifetime. Therefore, when we die time dies with us. Death then is like walking through a door from one room to another. Though it may have taken many, even thousands of years, it will seem like no time has passed. During our life we choose the door, whether consciously or not. There signs on the doors. One sign reads " Jesus the Christ, son of God." if we choose this door we pass from life to life. Any other door, well---------------Jesus may have been known by other names, but why gamble, with eternal life on the line. As I said, it's a theory of mine------------.
I'm aware that some of you have heard these stories to Many times, but maybe some of the grandchildren - or great grand children-----
Having
flown air planes for several years when the war came I wanted to be an Army Air
Force pilot, but was told by the recruiting sergeant. I had to have two years
college that I should join as a private and watch for opportunities to fly. I
joined as a mechanic.
As an ordained non-conformist my relationship with sergeant Pat Finney, as Irish as the name suggests, were not real good. An example of our relationship would be: One day I was changing a starter on a BT-13 (Basic Trainer) when sergeant. Finney told me to go to another airplane and perform another chore. My answer was, "Pat, I'm busy, you take care of it." I spent many days on K.P. and other odious details. While some of my friends were being promoted to PFC and Corporal I hung on to my rank of private.
When I passed an exam equivalent to two years of college and was accepted as an aviation cadet, Pat said, "Hewitt you'll never make it." This was at Merced Air Base.
Primary Flight Training
Thunderbird Field at Phoenix was my first flight school in the Army Air Force.
We flew the Stearman bi-plane with tandem open-air cockpits. The Stearman had a
220 h. p. Continental radial engine and built in ground loop characteristics.
They also had a few BT-15s, a low wing all-metal with an enclosed cockpit. I had
been mechanic and crew chief on the BT-13 at Merced. The 13 had great Pratt
Whitney engines while the 15 came with the Wright (oil hog) engine.
One day I was on the flight line when I noticed a BT-15 taking off trailing lots of black smoke. It was four or five hundred feet up when it suddenly dove towards the ground and blew up. As a witness I was required to testify before a board of officers from colonel down. I told what I had seen and was asked my opinion of the cause. I said "in my opinion it was faulty maintenance." I no sooner said faulty maintenance when a major Breeding about 6'4" and 260 lb's leapt to his feet and shouted red faced at me, what do you know about maintenance! In the air force aviation cadets were lower than the lowest buck private. For me to confront this huge major, even though a large amount of his weight was concentrated in his glutinous maxims was pretty intimidating, except he made me mad. I said, " Sir, I was crew chief on the BT13". He said, " Any one who knows any thing about the B.T. knows that the Wright engine burns oil". He was still red faced and shouting. I replied," Sir, any one who knows any thing about engines knows that burning oil leaves white smoke, this air plane was belching black smoke."
With a final glare he sat down and I was dismissed. I found out later the board ruled that another cadet flying a Stearman got too close and scared the B.T. pilot into diving into the ground. They washed out the cadet in the Stearman. I lost a lot of my respect for the people who ran the Army Air Force. I also found out that major Breeding was the officer in charge of maintenance.
For the most part primary was fun. I had soloed, when I had to spend about a week in the hospital with pleurisy. When I got out, I had a new instructor, Les King. (The instructors were civilians) Mr. King was a world-class acrobatic pilot. On my first two flights with him, for some reason, was very mechanical. It was as though I had never been in an airplane and was able to get around only because I knew what to do, almost like reading the instructions then acting. Mr. King was very concerned about me. My previous instructor had told him that I was an excellent pilot. Well on our third flight it was the same thing, but we flew over to an auxiliary field where I would Solo again. At this time they were washing out cadets for any mistake including ground loops
When I took off on my solo flight I was still flying as though the airplane was some foreign entity. King had told me to take off make the pattern then land. When I landed, the left wing started down! It got closer and closer to the ground! I sat like a dummy waiting for the ground loop! When the wing tip was about 5 inches from the ground loop, and automatic wash out for me, something came over me; it was like a fog had disappeared from my brain. I tapped the left brake,
Straightened the airplane out and stopped the airplane in front of Mr. King. He asked, "Did you get the wing?" as he was climbing into the airplane. I said, "no Sir". " Sir I'm ok now, please let me go around again." He climbed back down and let me go. From that time on I flew as though I was an integral part of the airplane.
Les King and I had nothing but fun from then on. He taught me acrobatics that a Stearman was not supposed to be capable of. When I graduated, He made me give the chief civilian pilot, George Mahopy, an acrobatic ride. I showed him a Clark roll (a roll straight up ) a spin in the opposite direction, followed by an immelman. I guess he was impressed because he congratulated Mr. King. All he told me is that he blacked out at the top of the immelman (so did I).
After Primary
As an aviation cadet during World War II, I was placed in an accelerated class, which meant I would fly advanced trainers in basic school and medium bombers (The B-25 Mitchell) in advance school. During training at La Junta, Colorado we were informed that, due to a surplus of commissioned officers, 90% of the class would graduate as Flight Officers and only 10% 2nd Lieutenants. About this time I received a letter from my mother telling me that my uncle Jim had been promoted from Major to Lt. General and was serving in the Inspector Generals Office. I found out later that Jim was still a major, but someone had told mom that a Major in the IGO was equivalent to Lt. General any place else. Mom, bless her hart, skipped the equivalent part, so when there was a notice on the bulletin board asking for any "VIPs" in our family I wrote, " Uncle Lt. General, IGO." (Fantastic coincidence----) A short time later a Lt. General Leland Hewitt who was the Inspector General visited La Junta. I graduated among the 10% who were commissioned 2nd lieutenants. I often wondered what would have happened with out the unknowing help of a general who never heard of me.
After
graduating as a 2nd Lt. I checked out an airplane for a recreational flight.
When I walked to my B-25 still Buck Sergeant. Pat Finney, saluted saying, "Sir
your ships all ready." His face was a wonder of expressions. First, dim
recognition, then wide-eyed open-mouthed amazement as he said, (Shouted really)
" Hewitt you made it"!!!
That night we made the rounds of the bars including, the officers club. I think Pat enjoyed our clashes at Merced. I really liked him and like to think that he felt the same towards me.
One day leaving March Air Force Base with your mother and after I had shown my I.D. to the M.P., he said, " who's the lady?" I swear I intended no pun when I replied, " Oh, she's no lady, she's my wife." Your mother never let me forget, but she did eventually forgive.
I was a brand new shiny 2nd lt. at my first station as an officer at the B-17 school at Hobbs, New Mexico. Still not liking regimentation, but uncertain how much I could safely ignore the b.s. (My evaluation of the Air Force's attempt to turn out clones). I did what I had to do of the requirements. All I really wanted to do was fly.
Every Saturday after P.T. we were supposed to have B.O.Q. (Bachelor Officers Quarters) inspection. The first two Saturdays I was dressed in class "A" uniform with my half of the room in pretty decent order, but no one ever came to inspect. On the third Saturday I just lay on my unmade bunk in my sweets, tired after an especially strenuous workout. My roommate (George Mueler) pleaded with me to "get ready for inspection." I said, " ahh we're not going to have an inspection, it's just a rumor."
George was all spit and polish while I lay enjoying my sloth. Suddenly I heard from the room next door A-TEN-HUT!! I had two choices------Play sick, or get dressed and clean my area. It took a colonel, a major and a sergeant. About two minutes to inspect the room next door, then walk into our room.
My area was picked up and I was dressed in class "A" uniform. The hood over my pillow was slightly lumpy and the major started to touch it, but for some reason did not. (I think he suspected that various items of clothing etc. were hidden there, but he was a good guy.) Little do they know I wore no socks, my shoelaces were tucked into my shoes, and my pants hid that fact. My pants had only the top button fastened with no belt; my blouse (Jacket) hid that fact. My tie hid the fact that no buttons were fastened on my shirt.
George and I had to stand at attention facing each other without laughing while the inspecting officers looked me over. Then everything almost came apart when the major asked where my dog tags were. I said, " Right there on the window sill sir." and started to move, but the major said, " That's ok lt." If I had taken one step my uniform would have all come undone. Soon as the officers left George doubled up laughing. He threatened to tie my shoelaces together the next Saturday.
Flying has been described as "hours of boredom interrupted by occasional moments
of sheer terror". While I don't remember any " sheer terror", I did have
some thrilling experiences; such as the time I checked out as airplane commander
in the B-29. To be classified as airplane commander we had to land with two
engines idling on one side. This means, in short, that the two engines are
producing no power. The result of this situation is that you have approximately
4000 horsepower pulling one wing with nothing on the other side. With two
engines out on the left, which was my situation, the airplane tends to turn sharply
to the left. Normally this tendency is restrained partly by trim tabs & partly
muscle. In my case trim tabs were not allowed. I had to prove I could land
safely with no one in the right, or Co-Pilot's seat and muscle it alone. It took
every ounce of my strength on the rudder pedal and wheel to keep the B-29 from
turning and the left wing from dropping. I was supposed to add power to the two
left engines, and make a normal four engine take off to complete the assignment.
Well, I made a pretty fair landing, but when I added power to the left engines,
number two balked. Every time I pushed the throttle forward, the engine
backfired and knocked the throttle
out of my hand. By the time the check pilot saw I was in trouble we were back in
the air departing with only three good
engines. He abruptly ended his conversation with the engineer in back and dashed
up front. I asked him to feather number two which he did. A landing with three
engines was a pleasure after the two-engine landing. I passed with a grade of
outstanding.
The B-29 was a fine airplane, but it had a nasty habit of getting its engines on fire.
One time after a flight I noticed grass fires all around the landing pattern. Then saw a B-29, off the runway. A closer look revealed it had only three engines. One engine had caught fire and burned clear off. The grass fires were caused by burning pieces of engine. The induction section of the Pratt Whitney engines, which powered the B-29, was made of magnesium. When the magnesium catches fire there's no way to extinguish it.
A friend managed to get all four engines on fire during take off. Seeing that he couldn't make it back to the runway, he landed with landing gear up in a pasture. All 13 men aboard managed to run to safety before the airplane exploded in a huge ball of fire. I imagine some of the crew experienced a moment or two of " sheer terror".
Clifford Leroy Hewitt & Son James (Criminals)
During the darkest days of the depression we had to rely on the dole for food & clothing. There were no welfare agencies to help with rent or utilities. As I remember rent was about $12.50, which was very difficult to rise. Fred had occasional days of work and I sold newspapers. Dad walked all over L.A. looking for work, with no results until one-day mom & dad gleefully told me dad had a job! When I asked what it was, dad said, "Selling pink pills for pale people." Which meant he was selling oranges door to door.
It didn't take long for dad and I to decide that he and I could do the same thing and keep all the profit.
I was only about 13, but I could drive Fred's 1923 Buick sports roadster. So dad and I went to the wholesale fruit and vegetable market and bought a box of oranges, they probably cost about $1.00. We stopped at a dime store and bought 4 buckets, 2 large and 2 small.
We would drive to a residential neighborhood and peddle the oranges door to door, small bucket 15 cents large bucket 25 cents. We soon had enough money to fill the large trunk of the Buick and were doing quite well financially. We could pay for the rent & buy mostly our own food.
One day the law caught up with us! While dad and I were re-filling our buckets a plain-clothes cop confronted us. He demanded to see our peddler’s license! Dad said, "I don't have one." The cop said, "you’ll have to come with me." Dad said, "sure: and held out his hands to be handcuffed. About then I decided it was time for me to take a hand. In as distressed voice as I could muster, I cried NO! NO! Dad you know I can't drive! How will I get home?
After the cop left I drove us to another neighborhood where we sold the rest of our load of oranges. The law never bothered us again.
I guess I should say something about the time I first became conscious of Gods intervention in my life. I was about 12. We had lost the home in Glendale and moved to a poor neighborhood in Los Angeles. At thanksgiving I was informed that there was no money for a turkey. I didn't like that very much, so went to the Bank of Italy (now known as the Bank Of America) to draw out the two dollars I had saved from selling newspapers on the street corners.
There were no supermarkets at that time, only neighborhood grocery stores. We could cut across a vacant lot behind us to get to the store in our neighborhood. I was elated that I could buy a turkey, but when the grocer told me that the cheapest turkey was $2.25 I was devastated. Walking home across the vacant lot a bright ray of light shined in my downcast eyes! It was a bright shiny quarter! I think the turkey was the best ever.
This is only one instance of God showing himself to me by his help. There are many more.
This being Fathers Day, 20 June 93, I've been thinking about my father quite a bit.
He was not afraid of any thing physical. He played catcher on the Stockton baseball team and center on the football team. In those days the team would advance the ball by using a play called the flying wedge. The center would grab the ball, the rest of the team would grab the center and push him into the apposing players as far as they could before the center got knocked down----------and/or out.
One of dad's brothers told me he was the "scrapper of the family" and that he "loved a good fight."
One day, on Raymond Ave. we had a house full of company---- uncles, aunts and lots of etc.s. Dad and mom & I were in the kitchen along with several other people. One big bully of a man put his hands on each doorjamb & said; " none of the brothers could ever get past me. " dad was the smallest of the brothers, but the only one to accept the invitation. I remember the twinkle in his eyes and the smile as he tackled the guy and knocked him into the next room. Dad was just getting warmed up when Sam had to start crying. This guy (I never knew his name) was only too glad to use Sam as an excuse to quit.
Harry & I used to find pieces of old movie film on the vacant land on Raymond Ave. we enjoyed setting it on fire because it would emit colorful smoke. One day I decided we would keep the pretty smoke in a jar. Having appropriated one of mom's jars I lit apiece of film dropped it in the jar and with Harry looking over my shoulder, screwed the lid on. I didn't get the lid quite tight when the jar exploded knocking me into Harry. We both sprawled on the ground and picked pieces of glass out of our hides. I was very disappointed at not being able to preserve the smoke.
One day Sam Harry and I decided to hike to Griffith Park Zoo. Sam was six Harry was eight or nine and I was twelve. The zoo was Probably ten miles from our home on Raymond Ave. With Sam's short legs the trip probably took over three hours. After mugging and making weird noises to attract and amuse the animals I noticed it was getting to be late afternoon. I thought, "we'll never make it home by dark, so we'd better take a short cut across the hills."
Shortly after setting out across the Griffith Park Hills it got dark. Then the coyotes began yapping. Poor little Sam became very frightened, so I told him the yipping was cars blowing their horns down on the highway. I could see that Sam was still very nervous, so to avoid having a hysterical six year old on my hands, I carried him on my back.
I had spent a great deal of time in these hills and had a good idea of the right direction, but it was too dark to find trails. Other than tripping a few times and a few minor scratches from blundering into brush, we made it home. As I remember it was about 10:00 o'clock.
Mom was supposed to have left for New York with my sister, June. Well she missed her train. She asked me if we heard the search party out looking for us. We had not seen or heard any search party but we were plenty tired and hungry. After cleaning us up and feeding us, I would not have been surprised if mom or dad gave me a good licking they did not.
Mom left the next day on the train to be with June. She took Sam with her.
I don't remember being punished for any of my escapades, but dad could get pretty angry at little things, like sassing him. On those occasions when he started for me I would head for the dinning room table. He would try to catch me, but I would dodge around the table. This game continued until I could see the anger leave his eyes & he began laughing.
P.S. He never did catch me.
In Glendale I guess Fred was troubled with acne, because mom would pack his face with clay. The first time I saw Fred in his gray mud I nearly fainted. I had found a car horn among Fred's things in the garage and decided to hook it up to the electrical outlet in one of the bedrooms. When hooked up to a six-volt battery in a car, the horn would say " AAH-OO GAH. When I plugged it into the 110-volt outlet in the bedroom it made the most awful screech I had ever heard. Mom and Fred came running. When I saw Fred's face I thought oh my god! I've scared him to death! Instead of my reassuring mom & Fred, they had to convince me that Fred wasn't dying.
I was a car thief and drove for a bootlegger:
In 1928 we lived at 408 Raymond Ave. These were mostly new homes, dad helped build ours. To the north was about 600 feet of vacant land except for a bachelor one-room shack next door, with no plumbing. Mr. Benson lived in this shack and at the far end of the vacant land Mr. Whitaker lived in a smaller shack. Mr. Whitaker was a bootlegger.
I was not quite 11 when I took advantage of the opportunity to become a car thief. My brother Fred got a job with "Domore Chair Company" in Los Angeles, delivering and adjusting office chairs. His job allowed him to park the company Model T Ford pick up truck at home. Fred was kind enough to take me riding in his truck and show me how to set the gas and spark levers when he cranked it.
Any time I was home alone I would drive the truck to my friend’s homes and take them for a ride. We had a great time joy riding until one day Mr. Benson told my mother "Jimmy has been driving the truck, he drives well, but I thought you should know." My mother made it clear that I was to end my car thievery.
Enter Mr. Whitaker, the bootlegger: When he heard of my plight he invited me to drive his 1926 Essex sedan. I would drive him on his rounds delivering hooch, but he never allowed me to go with him into the houses.
I only know of one occasion that my mother drove a car. One day she offered to drive me to school. The car was a late model Buick, 1928 I think. I noticed, to my uneasy concern, that she drove in a series of "S" turns and when she drove up a pile of gravel where some men were working, I pleaded with her to let me drive. No one could tell my mother she couldn't do something. Mom some how got me to school and I was relieved to see she was still alive when I got home.
After the 1929 stock market crash we lost our home on Raymond Ave. and had to move to a very poor neighborhood in Los Angeles. I had lots of adventures and fun in Los Angeles during the depression, but maybe I'll write about that later.
During my life there were periods when every thing seemed to go wrong. All was darkness and I wasn't sure which way to turn. I found that if I kept trying and didn't give up, the sun would shine again. The world was bright and beautiful once more. It's like we must pass through dark tunnels on our journey through life. I've learned not to fear the tunnels because I know I will pass through into bright day light by continuing on, the best way I can.............."
There are ten more hand written pages but the space for notes on this program cannot accommodate them.
James Hewitt Jr.