“USN LCDR (Ret.) Morris Duane (M.D.) Anthony, cherished father, passed away on October 7, 2004 in Colorado Springs. M.D. was preceded in death on July 17, 2004 by Helen, his devoted wife of 65 years.” [1] When I start researching an artifact, I never know where that journey will lead. Call me a hopeless romantic, but I smiled at the humble glimpse and insight I got into this 65 year love story, that started with some letters from World War II and a photo of a sailor and his loving wife.
Christmas Day was on a Tuesday in 1945. Early that morning – at about 9:00 A.M. – Jack Stearns Barrows and Gilbert Marvin Crolius left the Crolius residence telling Mrs. Crolius they were going to the airfield at Ontario, California to look at a plane which was for sale. Gilbert Crolius worked for the American Airplane Company, while Jack worked for a lumber company. Both boys, 17 years in age, had about 10 flight hours each as student pilots. Sometime after 1:00, the two boys took off from Ontario Field in a stolen C-47 “Skytrain.” Eyewitnesses stated, “…after taking off, the plane gained altitude rapidly and suddenly went into a spin, diving almost straight down” crashing into a vineyard about 01:55. [1]
Corporal Lawrence “Larry” Spencer married Ms. Barbara Kelley in 1950, and remained married to her for 62 years until he passed away! [1] But, he was a bachelor during his service in the military. And he enjoyed his leave, and a large portion of his diary is devoted to the women who left an impact on his life. There appears to be a couple of pages torn from the journal, but the ladies that remain are listed below….
President Roosevelt authorized the Air Medal by Executive Order on May 11, 1942 “for award to any person who, while serving in any capacity in the Army, Navy, Marine Corps, or Coast Guard of the United States subsequent to September 8, 1939, distinguishes, or has distinguished, himself by meritorious achievement while participating in an aerial flight.” [1] It was amended in September of that year to read “….in any capacity in or with…” [2]
When the world went to war in 1939, ordinary men and women were called to lead extraordinary lives. Lawrence “Larry” Truman Spencer grew up in the city of Elmira, New York living with his parents Frank and Nellie. After the war, he returned to Elmira and passed away there on February 21, 2012. [1] But, two things point to the adventures he had during the Second World War and the impact they had on his life. First, the part of his obituary that read, “He proudly served in the United States Army Air Corps.” [2] Second, he left a diary of his service in a booklet, “My Life in the Service.”
When the guns fall silent, and the war ends, sometimes warriors from opposing sides meet without animosity. Private Sward, of the 726th Medical Detachment, 71st Medical Battalion documented one such firsthand account of a Japanese soldier during the Battle of Okinawa in a letter home on December 14, 1945.
On June 6, 1944, Lieutenant Junior Grade John Golden took off from Camp Kearney, California in the PB4Y-1 Liberator named Pistol Packin’ Mama. Pistol Packin’ Mama was a former Army Air Forces B-24D Liberator with the tail number 42-40711 assigned to VB-117. Weather was overcast, with flights restricted to Instrument Flight Rules (IFR) only. LT Golden did not carry out special IFR procedures. It is precisely uncertain how the pilot maneuvered in the moments following, although the Liberator broke through the cloud cover between Camp Miramar and Camp Kearney. He reentered the overcast and came out of the cloud cover again in a steep dive at 100 feet above ground level over Camp Linda Vista. Attempting to recover from this dive, the pilot reentered the overcast in a climb on a northwesterly heading. Reappearing below the cloud cover, the plane was rocking from side to side in a power stall. The left wing hit the ground, with the plane bounding through trees and buildings. Coming to a final rest, a fuel explosion occurred, launching the tail section over the remainder of the fuselage. The only three survivors in the crew of 12 were in the tail section and suffered severe injuries. Along the path of destruction was the supply hut of VB-102. Nine members of VB-102 were killed with eleven more seriously injured. [1] Among those killed in VB-102’s supply hut was Aviation Chief Ordnanceman Edward Ralph Lamberton.
The medals were unnamed, but the grouping came with extensive paperwork attributing them to John George Ward, Jr. A man whose story is full of courage and sacrifice, but also serves as an example of how chance guides you towards your destiny.
John G. Ward, Jr. as an enlisted soldier
To put a significant part of this story into context, for the non-veteran, the officer’s commission must be put into context. Commissioned officers make up approximately 10% of the U.S. military. The commissioned officer’s authority is derived from Article II, Section 3 of the U.S. Constitution. Supreme Court Justice John Marshall wrote in 1803, “granting a commission is the distinct act, done in the name of the President, which empowers an officer.” [1]
I have picked up a piece of militaria that spoke to me, although I cannot identify the original owner. This sterling silver ring, a memento vice official military issue item, showed significant wear from the original owner’s affection for this piece of jewelry.
It has been the study of the “great men” which most historians have focused on. The generals (such as George Patton) who guided armies (such as Third Army) through pivotal moments in great wars have been the focus of most historians’ studies. But among those armies are the microhistories which have shown relatively “minor” men can leave their fingerprints on the course of humanity. The artifacts left behind are evidence of these microhistories. Personally, I feel a calling to tell these stories of my brothers in arms. One such calling hit me on our family vacation last week. The Purple Heart that belonged to Private Royal Gaunt spoke to me from the moment I first saw it. This is the story that emerged from that near seventy year old medal.
The Things We Leave Behind 