A message from Ray, written by Gerad on 28 April 2021:
Back when the Royal Air Force first came into being, the man everyone looked up to was Lord Hugh Trenchard. He was an odd fella. Tall and thin with a walrus mustache, he lost a lung and was partially paralyzed from a wound in the Boer War. Some years after, his paralysis was cured by a bobsled crash. An odd duck to be sure. But despite all the respect he earned as the first chief of the RAF, he was never at ease with public speaking. While his voice boomed – the result of a partial deafness – Trenchard always struggled to put his ideas into words. So, he had his staff write his speeches; his so-called “English merchants.” The most famous of these men was Sir John Slessor – a legend in his own right.
Now, I am no John Slessor, but I have been called on from time to time to serve as Ray’s English merchant. And he asked that I do that for him today.
Over the weekend, Ray attended a meeting in Charleston and while there, he took a tour of the aircraft carrier Yorktown (CV-10). It is one of his favorite destinations (mine too). Touring the ship, it struck him how little of the carrier’s wartime accoutrements still remain. This is not a criticism – the entirety of the ship’s history is worthy of remembrance. It is just that Yorktown and Lexington share the title of ‘oldest carrier still in existence,’ yet there is little remaining from their original configurations. The Yorktown has had a hard time. Her home at Patriot’s Point has struggled to maintain the ship and at times it seems the only thing keeping her from being scrapped or scuttled is how much it will cost to strip all the hazardous material onboard. And yet her airmen sank the largest battleship that ever existed.
It brought something to mind.
We often hear about how quickly the veterans of World War Two are departing this world. It is very easy to forget exactly what this means. Yes, we do our best to honor their sacrifices and yes, we do what we can to remember what they went through. But the simple fact is, we weren’t there. There is fast approaching a time when these men and women are no longer around, and all that we will have left is what they leave behind.
This is the reason it is so important that we get this right.
It may seem silly how we agonize over things like not painting the interior of the B-17 completely green, or constantly checking serial numbers to see if a part is correct for an F-model. But we feel that the time has come that “close enough” is no longer acceptable.
Think about how we remember the past. Most people today base their conceptions of the past on Hollywood movies. For those of you old enough to have lived through periods and events put to film, let me ask – did they show it the way you remember it? I seriously doubt it.
As a historian (speaking for myself, for a moment), it is annoying and at times infuriating the preconceptions we have to fight resulting from movies, songs, books, and poorly-made documentaries. Think about the upcoming “Masters of the Air” series Tom Hanks and Steven Spielberg are making. If it comes even close to the impact that “Band of Brothers” made on popular culture, it is going to greatly shape how today’s generations remember the air war. That amount of influence is scary.
There is going to be a day when the veterans are all gone and young people will look at these old aircraft and think “this is how it was.” But is it, really? It may not be comfortable to stuff the airplane with navigation and radio equipment, with tanks upon tanks of oxygen, with giant gun turrets and ammunition feeds, and with gauges and instruments long made obsolete, but that stuff was there. And it should be there now. It may not be comfortable and it may not be pretty. But it will be right.
I once saw a documentary where the host was touring a B-17. He told his audience that, because of the noise, aircrews had to communicate with hand signals. He had no idea there was an intercom. Imagine how many people watched him and, because they did not know any better, believed him. Researching this equipment, it is amazing to me to see how little has actually changed. I remember one time seeing crewmen from a B-52 gawking at a B-17’s bombbay – they were shocked to see that the bombracks were the same! The only reason people view WWII aviation as quaint is because that is how it is usually presented. Again, this is not a criticism. These airplanes would not exist today if it were not for the amazing efforts made by so many to preserve them.
But now, we need to aim higher.
In the end, I realize that we are setting a lofty goal. Still, I feel that our hearts are in the right place. This is why Ray asked me to write this. Rebuilding Lucky Thirteen to such a standard that she appears and functions exactly as she did in the summer of 1943 is a Herculean task. But it is a worthy one. And for those who share our passion for this, Ray wanted me to express his thanks. Our current group of hardworking volunteers deserve all the credit that we can bestow upon them: Chis Ely, John Gaertner, Bob Hachmann, Karl Hauffe, Bob Jacoby, Charlie Liberto, Eric Miller, Jerry Robinson, and Chris Wilkinson.
And to our friends – and there are many – we could not do this without you. If we are able to reach the stars, it is only because we stand on the shoulders of giants.
Thank you, guys – you don’t know how much it means having you as part of this effort.