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Local vet participates in WWII oral history project
3/23/2008 12:00 AM  comment(s) on this story E-mail this story to a friend

By ROB NOVIT
Senior writer
Bill Stanley described his eagerness to enlist during World War II, his role as a bombardier on a B-24 in Europe, his certainty that he statistically could not survive the 50-mission tour.
Fred Gehle listened intently as Stanley, an 84-year-old Aiken resident, talked about his war experiences. Gehle then turned to a visitor and said, "This is the best interview so far."
Gehle is coordinating the Augusta Richmond County Historical Society's (ARCHS) participation in the nationwide Veterans History Project. He and other volunteers are interviewing on video or audio tape a number of World War II veterans in the greater Augusta area, including Aiken.
The Veterans History Project was signed into law by the U.S. Congress in 2000. Gehle has the names of 300 veterans, and volunteers have conducted about 35 interviews so far, most of them in Augusta. Each veteran will receive a DVD of the interview; others will go to the ARCHS library and the Library of Congress.
Gehle would like to contact World War II veterans who have not previously heard about the project, as well as those willing to become volunteer interviewers or support personnel.
In a very real sense, he is reliving history.
"I was 8-yearsold when we heard about Pearl Harbor," Gehle said. "As a youngster growing up in New Jersey, I followed the war and later developed a collection of several thousand books. I believe so strongly in this project."
Stanley was interviewed at Aiken Technical College recently by volunteers Bill Tilt and Stan Schrader, both of them retired ATC instructors.
"We didn't know what we were getting into," said Tilt, "but both our wives think we're having too much fun. It's been rewarding hearing these great stories. It's interesting that nobody we've interviewed thinks they've done anything special."
That's certainly true of Stanley, who grew up on a farm in Cunningham, Kan., during the Depression and was the valedictorian in a class of 20, he said with a smile.
He was a college freshman and playing basketball in a gym on Dec. 7, 1941, when somebody rushed in with the news of the Pearl Harbor attack. No one knew where Pearl was, but all of them felt the urge to enlist. Stanley did so in early 1942 and was selected for bombardier training.
He and his team, all of them new, trained for two months on the B-24. The navigator had never flown across the Atlantic, and they called the pilot "Pop," because he was the oldest at 24.
After arriving at an Army Air Force base near Naples, Italy, Stanley immediately learned the costs of war. His unit shared a tent their first night with crews from another unit; the next day that unit went on a mission and lost five of seven planes.
On each mission Stanley stood in the rear of the plane, 10,000 feet in the air without parachute or lifeline. In effect, he would take over the plane to get over the target and release the bombs. He would burrow into a flak suit and pray.
Their first escorts were P-38s and P-47s that couldn't escort the B-24s all the way to the target. On one mission, they missed contact on the return trip "and our losses were bad," said Stanley.
A few months later, the P-51 Mustangs were introduced that could accompany the bombers through to the targets, and the number of lost planes dropped dramatically. Stanley said the teams' favorite escorts were the Red Tail Devils - the African-American Tuskegee airmen.
"They weren't accepted by the white fighter pilots, but they make a heck of a contribution," said Stanley. "They wouldn't dogfight to become aces but would stay with the B-24s in contrast with what the white guys were doing."
On one harrowing mission to Germany, all the planes were overloaded. The target was covered by a black cloud from smoke pots. But the B-24s couldn't turn back "or chicken out," said Stanley. The target was important - facilities that provided one-third of the liquid fuel for Hitler's tanks. So without hesitation they flew through the cloud. Stanley and his crew watched other planes get hit and they would count the parachutes of those who made it out.
On his last mission, he flew with a different crew. One engine was shot out and the B-24 didn't fly that well with all four engines. They had to fly back through a thunderstorm and "we really sweated the return."
Stanley went through a myriad of emotions when they landed safely. So many of his friends went down and he didn't expect to finish either. He and a buddy decided to go to church the next day and they sang in the choir.
When he returned to the States, he hankered to become a pilot. Stanley was among a special group who started pilot-training in 1945. He soloed in a crop-duster and called it his best time in the military. Stanley is certain they were training for an invasion of Japan. But new President Harry Truman made the fateful decision to use the atomic bomb - an action that saved a lot of American lives, Stanley said.
He received five air medals, campaign ribbons and a Victory Medal, "but I was no hero," he said.
Stanley took advantage of the G.I. Bill and later earned a Ph.D. in physical chemistry. For 30 years he worked on missile guidance systems for Standard Oil in Indiana.
As a child, he said, he sat on the knee of his great-grandfather, who had fought in the Civil War. In turn, the older man had once sat on the knee of his own great-grandfather, a Revolutionary War veteran. Stanley marvels how those stories traversed 230 years, compressing the entire history of the United States.
"I'm concerned about the divisiveness in this country," he said. "My oldest son served in Vietnam, and my second son served in the Gulf War. War never ends and it needs to end."
At one point during the interview, Stanley felt the need to apologize for shedding tears. More than 60 years later, the experiences are still fresh and real.
The number of living World War II veterans is shrinking all too rapidly, he said, and noted that Gen. Douglas MacArthur told Congress in 1951 that "old soldiers never die; they just fade away."
Stanley just shook his head and murmured, "We all fade away."
Contact Rob Novit at rnovit@aikenstandard.com.




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