What I hear you saying is...

The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner
by Randall Jarrell

From my mother's sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from the dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.

An item from the list of things you might not know about me: a fascination with WWII history. In my mind, no other period of recent history is as complex, encompassing, and dramatic as the decade from 1935 to 1945.

Every spring in the South Bay, vintage bombers and fighters make their way to Moffett Field in Mt.View like migrating birds. Living almost directly in the flight path, it is not uncommon to see B-17s, B-25s, and B-24s from our backyard.

My son shares a fascination for airplanes, so this weekend I took him to see the Wings of Freedom tour that is at Moffett. There was quite a crowd lined-up to see the planes. Given than many were relegated to scrap-heaps after the war, their restoration is immaculate and remarkable.

More interesting than the planes, however, is that there were several vets on-hand to talk about their experiences and answer questions. As luck would have it, the gentleman seated next to the B-17 was a Ball-Turret Gunner that had flown 27 missions over France and Germany.

I have read pretty extensively about what these guys went through. Because of their exposed and fixed position under the plane, these gunners had an incredibly high mortality rate, even compared to the rest of the crew. I suspected the bleakness of their situation could only be exceeded by a kamikaze pilot, or kaiten submarine sailor.

But the gunner's stories were mesmerizing and he drew quite an audience. What was particularly interesting to me was how low-key he was about his experience. He said he that once the bomber reached 10,000 feet, he would go to his turret and read a book until they ran into enemy fighters. (a book!) He also mentioned that their bodies were so saturated with oxygen from their high altitude masks that when they bled, it was a super-bright red. And every 45 minutes they would do an oxygen check because in the sub-zero cabin, the tubes would freeze shut.

I find the first-person accounts of such events amazing, and could have listened to him all afternoon. I'm sorry that my very young son will probably never have the chance to speak with these average guys who, when pushed to the limits, rose to the occasion and became such incredible heroes.

The tour is here until Tuesday at noon, so if you live in the area, take an hour at lunch and go down to visit. Check out the planes and talk with the vets -- You won't be sorry. And as these guys get into their goldest of years, you may not have many more chances.