A Boy at War , livre ebook

Turner Publishing Company - David W. Irvin

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126 pages

English

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David W. Irvin, Jr. seemed destined to be a military man. On his eighth birthday, Irvin's present from his father, a World War I aviator, was a 30-minute flight in a World War I single-engine biplane, a flight he said provided him with "the unbending impetus to be a flyer myself." That impetus led to a 30-plus-year career in the Army Air Corps and the United States Air Force.
A Boy at War chronicles the events from that birthday present to Irvin's entry into the military and his subsequent deployment to England during World War II. The comprehensive stories of his missions and daily life during that time will make you feel like you were a part of his crew.
A Boy at War is the latest of six books Turner Publishing Company has published with Irvin, who now resides in Peachtree City, Georgia.

Sujets

Histoire

Segunda Guerra Mundial

A Boy at War

Military

World War II

History

Seconde Guerre mondiale

Informations

Publié par	Turner Publishing Company
Date de parution	01 septembre 2005
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781618587800
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0600€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

ALSO BY COLONEL DAVID W. IRVIN, JR.
Reconnaissance is Black Escape or Evade Highway to Freedom Special Operations Strategic Drone Operations

Turner Publishing Company 412 Broadway • P.O. Box 3101 Paducah, Kentucky 42002-3101 (270) 443-0121 www.turnerpublishing.com

Copyright © 2005 Colonel David W. Irvin, Jr.
Publishing Rights: Turner Publishing Company All Rights Reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the Colonel David W. Irvin, Jr. and Turner Publishing Company.

Turner Publishing Company Staff: Cynthia Duong, Designer

Library of Congress Control Number: 2005928777
9781618587800

Printed in the United States of America. Limited Edition
Table of Contents
ALSO BY COLONEL DAVID W. IRVIN, JR. Title Page Copyright Page SPECIAL THANKS TO: INTRODUCTION CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHAPTER SIXTEEN CHAPTER SEVENTEEN CHAPTER EIGHTEEN CHAPTER NINETEEN CHAPTER TWENTY CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE CHAPTER THIRTY 8 TH AIR FORCE COMBAT LOSSES
SPECIAL THANKS TO:
Eric D. Irvin, my son, for his electronic expertise and guidance in preparing this book.
Rita Carman, for her support, dedication and belief in me. Stephanie A. Hodge, for her inderstanding and great assistance.
INTRODUCTION
When I first was asked to write my story, I was strongly opposed to it. After all, the military is composed of individual stories, and except for the well-known heroes, our lives did not seem too important for others to know. My personal feeling was, I was embarrassed to put down on paper my exploits. As I was writing this, I continued to feel as though I hadn’t done anything more than anyone else. However, the publisher would not be diverted from his opinion that I had done things that were not average.
Discussing my decision with several friends made me realize each of us has a story to tell, one that could give a message to others. To those who haven’t spent any or much time in the armed forces, there should be a realization that those of us who made a career of being in the military began with their participation in an armed conflict. Between conflicts, life in the military can provide a permanence that is not present in civilian life - housing, clothing, food, education, a job and pay (substantially less than “outside,” sufficient to be comfortable, but not lavish).
This story is not a promotion for the Air Force. It does show the way people live and function. It does show it can be a satisfying life for some, but not all. An aggressive nature and desire to succeed are key ingredients to a successful career. With that in mind, the reader can proceed, at his or her own risk.
CHAPTER ONE
The events all began in April 1931 at the San Francisco Airport, a flat grassy location some four miles south of the city. It was a birthday present from my father, a World War I aviator in France in 1917 and 1918. He was going to fly me in a World War I single-engine biplane. I was eight years old. The 30-minute flight would provide me with the unending impetus to be a flyer myself for more than 29 years with the Army Air Corps and the United States Air Force from 1942 to 1973.
Between 1931 and 1942, I enjoyed working on airplanes at the airport and learned a lot. Making models and reading everything I could get my hands on helped me learn a lot about flight characteristics. Back in those days, plastic was a thing of the future. Model airplane building involved carving a block of balsa wood into a fuselage (or the model). The likes of Charles Lindburgh, Billy Mitchell, Amelia Earhart and Wiley Post were my idols. I did not learn much about actual flying, but I became a student of history in my young life. It kept me out of trouble, for the time being.
When I was nine years of age, mother and father divorced, and she had to go back to work. She had her degree from Sam Francisco State, so she once again became a teacher in elementary school activities. We had a house; we had a car (a 1927 Star), so we were in good shape, considering we were in the Great Depression. Like most children of that time period, we did not know the grownups were scared. We had a roof over heads; we had food on the table; we had transportation and clothes to wear (my mother was an accomplished seamstress, and between grandmother and her, I had good clothes). What more could a dumb pre-teenager ask for?
My mother worked six days a week, and I was on my own most of the time. We had a work bench with accessories, and I spent a lot of time building model airplanes, wooden six-shooters (after the cowboys), Colt 45 caliber pistols and, of course, the Thompson machine gun! Every Saturday, I rode my father’s bicycle to the local movie house matinee, paid my dine, had a caramel sucker (that was before popcorn came into the scene) and watched the perennial cowboy and bad guy movies. Once in a great while, I got to watch “Wings” starring Richard Barthimus. I watched that one at least five times. At other times, I would bike up into the hills that separated the Pacific Ocean from the San Francisco bay area peninsula, Sausilito, Richmond, Oakland and San Jose. It was a time I spent by myself, enjoying the splendor of the sight and sounds of the San Francisco Bay area, pretending I was flying over that area and wondering if I would ever “get into the air” again.
We had a large acacia tree in our backyard, and I often climbed into the highest supportable branches and acted like I was in the cockpit of my plane. I would “fly” by using a branch that would be my control column. From the top of the tree, you could see the rooftops for at least five blocks. It really made me feel like I was actually flying.

B-17C, Early days
CHAPTER TWO
When I was a sophomore in high school, my mother sent me to a military academy across the bay in San Rafael. This was three years before the Golden Gate and Bay Bridge were constructed, and we had to take the ferry boat to Oakland, then to Vallejo and across the bay marshes to San Rafael. The transition from public high school to a military environment was to teach me discipline and responsibility. I had two goals I strived for. One, of course, was flying, as the reader will see. The second was to be as fast running as I could. Much earlier, on the campus at Stanford University at Palo Alto, California. At the time, my father was working at the University Comptroller’s office. I became friends with the legendary Track and Field Coach Dink Templeton. After school, I would ride my father’s bike (he gave it to me for my seventh birthday) to Stanford Stadium to watch the athletes practice, under the tutelage and watchful eye of Templeton.
At an early age, I listened to Coach Templeton instructing his students that in short races (100 and 220 yards) the start of the race was when the runner could win, if he could be the first out of the blocks. He stressed this and made the sprinters practice again and again and again. I was not going to be a long-distance runner, and I watched every movement very closely from where the race started and soon noticed a young girl about my age watching the same thing I was watching. We ultimately started a conversation, and she said she had noticed I was closely listening to “her father!” She saw the surprise on my face and introduced herself as Jeannie Templeton. We got along famously and discussed, even at our growing age, the technology of sprinting, according to her famous father.
After practice by the university aspirants, I would go down on the track and build up my strength by running two laps (880 yards) around the track as prescribed by Jeannie, who got her information from her father. It was an interesting relationship. After several days of my training, she instructed me to run a lap (440 yards), then run hard for a half lap, then jog for a half a lap. This, she advised me, was called “wind sprints.” Considering we were both seven years old, I really enjoyed “working out,” and she apparently liked acting as my coach. I really felt great. Unfortunately, a month later, we moved to San Francisco because my father was going to work in the San Francisco Stock Exchange. That made my mother happy because her mother (Grandma Harth to me) lived by herself in the city and we could look after her. Her husband, my grandfather, had passed away several years earlier, and she was alone, but very independent.
It was unfortunate, but I never saw Jeannie Templeton again. I often wonder where she is. I missed the “coaching” but did not stop my training. As a high school freshman, I was one of the faster in the sprints. My continuous training gave me an edge. I wasn’t the fastest on the track team, but there was no question that I was the quickest. We had no full time coach, so I couldn’t learn anything that would help.
CHAPTER THREE
The transfer during my sophomore year brought quite a change, as indicated. The curriculum was a surprise. My mother suggested taking a typing class would benefit me. She said it was like riding a bike. Once learned, never forgot. Good advice. Also, there was a basic aeronautical course, and I was very lucky (there wasn’t any course on aviation at my previous public high school) and couldn’t wait for the fall semester to start. I got there one month before school began. I was assigned a room and a locker in the gymnasium. There was plenty of time to train, and the Academy had a lot of books about aviation. They were very informative for the short term of fligh