BEFORE AND AFTER SUNDAY DECEMBER 7, 1941
It was Sunday December 7, 1941, and I had finished caddying 36 holes at Twin Hills Golf and Country Club. It was a pretty good day. Counting Saturday’s 18 holes, I was going home with four dollars and a quarter. The standard fee for 18 holes was a dollar. In those days, if you worked it right, you would get to caddy for the quarter and half dollar tippers and would leave the nickel and dime tippers to some one else. The Four and a quarter dollars would more than meet all of my needs for the coming week. I could take in a couple of movies, play a few games of pool or go down to the Trianon Ballroom and listen to Bob Wills and his band… and still have money left over.
I had caddied at Twin Hills for over three years, working my way up the ladder to the point I was about third or fourth in line for jobs. By this time I knew what each member would tip and what kind of car they drove. You could see the member’s parking lot from the caddy shack and you had to be inside to let the caddy master know you wanted the next job when the assistant Pro called for a caddy to come to the pro shop. The caddies who were in line ahead of me worked for the club during the week and caddied on the weekend. They got the choice jobs– the members that never paid less than two dollars for eighteen holes. As each Sunday ended it was a good practice to drop by the caddie shack and give the Caddy Master a couple of good-as- new golf balls that you usually found on the course. This was a small insurance payment toward getting out early and getting a good job the next weekend. The Caddy Master and Assistant Pro would resell the balls to club members.
As members left the club they would give any caddy standing near the gate a ride into town. As I got into the car that offered me a ride the driver ask if I had heard any news that day. I said “No,” because I had been out on the course all day. He said the Japanese had attached Pearl Harbor and sank several ships. I had trouble relating to this as I didn’t know where Pearl Harbor was.
As tragic as a war can be it took me in a direction I could not have dreamed I would travel if I had not spent several years in the army. The years I spent in the army were to my benefit. I had an opportunity to see first hand the destruction that was caused on December 7, 1941, at Pearl Harbor, and the magnificent recovered that ensued after the attack. I had four years to realize the opportunities were far greater with a degree from a University. The US Government offered to pay each GI, through the “GI Bill,” their tuition, buy all the textbooks and supplies, and give them a monthly stipend. What it amounted for, me was a month at the University for each month of service.
I lost three close friends in the war. My next door neighbor of eight years, Jack Pierce, killed in action. A member of the class of ‘42, Bruce Thompson, killed in action. Since there were only 15 boys in the class we were all real close. Tom Powers, a friend from the summers I spent in Shreveport, killed in action. I spent several summers in Shreveport with my Aunt and Uncle and Tom lived on the same block. Two members of the class of ‘43, Grant Cummings and Edgar Wilson, killed in action. They were not close friends only acquaintances, but we all knew each other and our immediate families.
Jack Pierce and I grew up together though our friends in school were different. He was a year behind me and his friends leaned more toward band activities and my friends leaned more toward football and baseball teams. One evening he asked me to do him a favor. There was a girl in his class he would like to visit and he would like for me to go with him to her house. When he told me it was Ruby Whetzel I immediately knew what his problem was. He really had two problems. First he had to get past Maxine, the biggest meanest-acting German Police dog in that part of Oklahoma. If he was successful in doing this without loosing part of his clothing, he would then have to convince Mr. Whetzel his intentions were honorable. No easy task. After a couple of these visits I had had enough and told him he was on his own.
After two years of war there were many significant changes in my life and the lives of all my friends. Jack Pierce had dropped out of school and joined the Air Force. The Air Force had trained him as a gunner on a B-24 in the State of Washington. While training in Washington he met and married a girl that lived in Washington and they had a boy before he left for overseas. The IT (Short for ITIO, Short for Indian Territory Illuminating Oil Company) moved the Whetzel family to Northern Oklahoma where Ruby graduated from Wynona High School in 1943.
Ruby E. Whetzel
LD Todd
L-5
I finished High School at Foster and five months later volunteered for the Army Air Force. I wasn’t sure what I had signed up for but it sounded interesting. I was to be trained as a Liaison pilot. The first three months of my training was to be as a civilian enrolled at Oklahoma Baptist University (OBUI) near Shawnee Oklahoma. It was to be a combination of learning to fly an air plane and ground school (navigation, meteorology and aerodynamics of Flight). After completing my training at OBU I was inducted into the Army at Fort Sill Oklahoma and transferred to Waco Army Air Force Base for further training as a Liaison pilot.
At Waco it was a combination of marching, hiking and PT (physical training) and a little flying plus ground school. After finishing Waco I was transferred to Lamesa Air Force Base, Lamesa, Texas for the completion of my Liaison pilot training.
While stationed at Lemsa I first realize the devastation war can have on an individual. This was about July 1943. I was exchanging letters with Tom Powers and we were telling each what our careers in the Army were all about. He was stationed in England and trained as a gunner on a B-17 and flying mission over Europe. I had written to him and explained what the duties of a Liaison pilot were and that I would graduate in a little over a month.
I had finished my finals and was assured I had passed all of the ground school courses and the only thing left for me to graduate was to take and pass a check ride the next day. On my way back to the barracks I stopped by the mail room. The mail clerk handed me a letter. I recognized it as the last one I had mailed to Tom Powers. Stamped across the front of the envelope was “RETURN TO SENDER, MIA.” Until now the war had been kind of remote, but now it was real personal to have one of your personal friends missing in action.
During the check ride the next day I knew things were going from bad to worse. About, thirty minutes into the ride the instructor said, “I don’t know what your problem is but your mind is not on flying this airplane. Take me back to the flight line and we will give it another try tomorrow before giving you a grade.” By the time I had returned to the barracks I new, the last nine months would be down the drain if I failed my check ride the next day. In my mind I knew I could fly an L-5 as good as anyone. Flying the L-5 was the coordination of hands, feet and eyes and a little common sense. I knew I had all of these in abundance. If I could to get my nerves under control I would be OK
As the next morning arrived I was on the flight line by 7:00 AM and confident I would pass the check ride. As we left the field I could see it was not going to be just another check ride. The instructor outlined what he wanted me to do with the emphasis on spot landings and forced landings. He controlled the throttle on all forced landings and I had to tell him where I would set the plane down when he pulled the throttle back. Even though we wore parachutes there was never any thought given to use them. You were expected to be capable of landing the plane safely any place any time you were forced down. After about two hours into the ride he gave me a thumbs up and said let go back to the flight line. With my check ride behind me I was assured of graduating.
I had two choices: a replacement pool of Liaison pilots in North Carolina or a Squadron stationed at Pollick Louisiana. I chose the Pollick assignment.
This offered me an opportunity to visit with Tom Powers parents, in Shreveport, to see if they knew what happened to him. They never found out what happened.
In January, 1944, I was home on furlough and Dad said he knew Ruby Whetzel was back in town visiting old friends. He said if I wanted to visit with her he would drop me off and pick me up later. By the time he came back for me Ruby and I were well along to renewing an old friendship. This time I had three things going for me. Maxine wasn’t around, I didn’t have to make small talk with Bill Whetzel and I didn’t have to leave until Ruby asked me to leave.
I was stationed in Paris, Texas, and made the trip to Oklahoma City each month until we got married in June, 1944. After our marriage we lived in Deport, Texas, until being transferred to Brownwood, Texas, and I joined the 163rd Liaison Squadron.
I was assigned to the 163rd Liaison squadron and we were on our way to the war in the Pacific. The squadron had a layover in Hawaii. Thinking back when I first heard of the attack, by the Japanese, I didn’t know where Pearl Harbor was. Now, three years later I was flying an Army Air Force plane and looking down on the Battleship Arizona sitting on the bottom of Pearl Harbor. Of the 1177 sailors still entombed in the ship one was a graduate of Foster High School Class of 1939, Billie Hamilton.
The layover in Hawaii was the prelude to participating in the invasion of Okinawa.
The El Dorado, Kansas TORNADO of 1958
It was about six in the afternoon and six of us were on our way to Wichita to listen to a speech to be presented by the President of Cities Service. We pulled up to the toll booth to enter the Kansas Turn Pike and a large dark gray cloud caught our attention. It was moving slowly toward El Dorado. I have heard many times what a cloud that contain a tornado looked like, but this was the first time I new I was looking at the real thing. It was concave like an umbrella and was about the size of El Dorado itself. We decided to pull over into a parking lot near the toll booth and watch the cloud. We were trying to decide if we should go back to the office and pick up our cars and head for home or go on to Wichta.
As we stood there looking at the cloud a tail came out of the center and headed for the ground. About half way to the ground the tail disappeared back into the cloud just as quickly as it had appeared. This convinced us the cloud contained a tornado and it was just matter of time until one would make it to the ground. Just as we decided to go back to the office another tail streaked out of the cloud and almost touched the ground before retreating back into the darkest part of the cloud. As we pulled away from the toll gate to return to the office for the third time a tail came out of the cloud, but this time it made it to the ground and started its devastating destruction.
The tornado appeared to be about two miles North West of Ed Dorado and headed for a community called Oil Hill. Oil Hill was a Cities Service oil Company creation that consisted of about fifty company houses, a restaurant, the El Dorado District production office and the East Kansas Division Production office. As we pulled up to the office there were small whirl winds picking up dust and leaves. The wind was blowing forty to fifty miles per hour and seemed to be increasing. By this time the Tornado was less than a mile to the North West and appeared to be headed directly toward Oil Hill.
It was bedlam around the office as cars raced by blowing their horns and people sticking their arms out the window waving and yelling TORNADO, TORNADO, TORNADO. You had to be careful pulling out into the traffic, or some hair brained driver would send you to your maker before the tornado got to you.
I pulled away from the office and could see the tornado in my rear view mirror and it looked as if it was headed directly for the Cities office. Our home was about one mile from the office and when I pulled into the drive the tornado appeared to be where I was when I left the Cities Office and headed directly towards our house.
Just As I arrived home Ruby was pulling the garage door up to leave the house. She was aware of the tornado and had put Dee, who was seven and Donna who was four, in the car and was preparing to leave. The only thing missing was Sandy the dog. The last time she was seen, she was standing near our neighbor’s car while they were getting in their car to leave. The tornado appeared to be in the middle of destroying Oil Hill and headed for where we were standing. It was time to leave and only hope the dog would be OK. We all got in the front seat of my company car and I backed out of the driveway and we headed for down town El Dorado and would take Highway seventy-seven north to get away from the Tornado…
As we pulled away from the house I told Ruby to take one last look as it may not be there when we returned. The previous month I had been promoted to District Superintendent and we were schedule to move to Madison, Kansas. We had sold our home and closed the sale. Only the contents belonged to us and the house belonged to the buyer.
As we headed for town I ran a few stop signs and red lights. I only slowed down to make sure I wouldn’t meet someone in the middle of the intersection. We turned north and had driven about a mile when it started to hail. Small pea size first then marble size then golf ball size. We pulled over to the side of the road as ice had covered the ground. Just as we pulled over base ball size hale stones started to pound the car. This only lasted about a minute but it was long enough for the hood and top of the car to look like some one had used a hammer to pound on the car. As soon as the hail stopped a torrent of rain started and probably two or three inches in about fifteen minutes. This cleared the ice from the road and we started back towards home to see if we had a home.
When we left the house the tornado was about one half mile away and appeared headed straight for our house. As we turned onto Rado Avenue it was obvious things had been slightly rearranged. There were a few shingles missing, small limbs everywhere, but none of the houses were gone. Inspection of our house revealed a few shingles missing and a few marks on one side of the house, due to the hail. Our dog, Sandy, was nowhere to be found.
It appeared the tornado missed our house by about two blocks. The new owners would probably get a new roof and a new paint job. Considering what I thought we would be coming back to it was a bargain.
When I left Oil Hill I was sure it was directly in the path of the tornado and would be completely destroyed. After seeing the neighborhood where we lived had been spared and had suffered very little damage it was time to check on our friends that lived in Oil Hill and surrounding area.
As we drove toward Oil Hill the path of the tornado was clearly evident. The trees were either gone or twisted in grotesque shapes and homes had been stripped to their foundation. When we left our home it looked as if it was directly in the path of the tornado. About three blocks from our home the tornado altered its direction slightly and tore across the American legion Golf Course instead of coming through our addition. After Crossing the Golf Course it entered another addition of El Dorado, destroying many more homes before pulling back into the clouds. The tornado was on the ground only a few minutes and traveled about three miles, but had destroyed over one hundred homes and we would later learn had killed fifteen people.
As we drove through Oil Hill it was just as I had left it only a few minutes earlier, very little damage to the buildings and nobody was injured. The Tornado had missed Oil Hill but struck an addition two blocks to the south west. This was a new subdivision of El Dorado and many of the homes had just been completed. Many Cities employees lived in this addition.
One of the Passengers in the car headed for Wichita, Virgil Hughey, lived in this addition and arrived home as the Tornado was entering the addition .His wife unaware of the tornado was getting ready to take a shower. They only had time for her to put on a Robe and run to the home of their neighbor, Bill Melton, and get into cellar he had installed during construction. When they opened the cellar door and came out, only the foundation was left. The house was gone. Hughey’s home was also complete destroyed His wife would have been one of the casualties if we had decided to go on to Wichita. All the Hughey’s had left was a lot, the foundation where theirs house was and the clothes on their back. They we’re only two of many that lost everything in a matter of a few minutes. As we drove through the wreckage Bill Caldwell and his wife accepted an offer to stay at our home until they could make other arrangements.
Our only loss was our dog. She was still gone the next day. The last time she was seen, she was walking around our neighbor’s car as they were preparing to leave the house before the tornado came through our addition. Ruby decided to walk across the street and see if they had seen her. When they said no Ruby asked them to look in their car and see if she might be there. When they opened the door of the car she hoped out. In their rush to leave they did not know she was in car and their excitement of leaving the area they never realized she was in the car.
There were two things that became evident after the tornado had passed through El Dorado. It changed direction slightly before entering our addition, then tore across the American Legion Golf Course doing little damage, and entered another addition continuing its destruction. Also the timeing was critical. If it had occurred after dark the fatalities would have increased substantially.
-L.D. Todd
The Saga of the Squeaky Bed
Our Time in Shreveport was coming to an end. We had sold our home, completed an estate sale and made arrangements to pack and load the remaining items for our new home at Eagles Trace, about twenty miles west of downtown Houston. We had sold or given away all of our bedroom furniture and it was necessary to find a bed, mattress and springs to move to Houston with the furniture we were taking with us. We had decided on a metal bed, but one that was not brass that had to be polished. After visiting several furniture stores we found what we wanted and had it delivered to our home. We also found the mattress and springs we wanted and had them delivered to our home to be moved to Houston.
Our new home is located in a community that is actually within a community. It is in a gated complex that provides all of necessities for living comfortable. Two Doctors are located in the community, a bank, grocery store, transportation provided if necessary, fitness room with several different types of equipments for exercise, any maintenance problems in the apartment turned over to Eagles Trace service department, full dining service in the evening, a cafeteria for casual dining and you can join any group or committee that would further you own education or help others that may need help in other ways.
We were settled in and enjoying living here when one of the managers stopped by to inform us one of our neighbors was complaining about the noise we were making in our apartment. It never crossed our mind that we were making any more noise than a couple of mice in a church. We learned over fifty years ago that if you stay up late, over eat and indulge in to many adult beverages you are going to feel pretty lousy the next day. So the complaint could not have been for throwing wild parties. The manager thought maybe we had wooden floors and this was causing the problem. We had carpets and walked around without our shoes on most of the time. If there was a problem, it was not the floors. The only problem we had with noise wasn’t from our neighbors but bolts of thunder and lightening being thrown our way occasionally.
As the manager left there was no solution to the problem, if there was a problem. She made the comment it might take an acoustic engineer to determine where the noise was originating from.
We were a little aggravated that a complaint had been lodged against us, but thought no more about it until a few days later a couple of engineers with sound detecting equipment showed up at our door. They were equipped to listen for any noise that was make in our apartment and transmitted to the apartment below. After about an hour without any explanation of what they found they left.
Several days’ later two people from the maintenance department arrived at our door and said the noise was being caused by our bed. They proceeded to remove all of the bedding down to the frame of the bed. They mentioned they were going to take the bed apart and put rubber gaskets between each of the parts that rubbed together.
With all of the attention ours bed was getting I noticed it did squeak when we would lay down on it or move around on the bed. This sound was probably being transmitted directly to the frame of the bed and then transmitted to the floor and into the apartment below.
As the body ages the changes requiring the call to nature to be increasing more often and if a diuretic is consumed the frequency of trips to the bathroom increase. The frequency of these trips and the squeaking of the bed was disturbing ours neighbor down below us. One morning about 2 AM as I was getting back in bed there was a thumping sound that I dismissed as air working through the water pipes as Eagles Trace was having water problems at the time. The next night the same thing, it couldn’t be air working through the pipes it had to be someone pounding on the walls or the ceiling.
It was shades of the old Jackie Gleason sit-com where Gleason pounds on the ceiling of his apartment with a mop because the people above him were partying and making to much noise. The pounding continued three more nights. The fifth night the pounding on the wall happened four different times. This was getting to be too much and I decided I would be down in Eagle Trace’s manager’s office at eight AM the next morning to complain about someone poundings on the wall at two AM. This did put a stop to someone pounding on the wall.
Maybe the sound Engineers were correct in picking the bed as the culprit but their solution of placing washers at points the bed was put together was of little help. I decided to visit some furniture stores and see if they had a solution. Their only solution was to sell us a new bed or place some sliders under the bed posts.
I had come to the conclusion it was not the bed frame, but had to be either the box springs or the mattress that were making the noise. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for but found the sliders and some round felt disks one quarter in thickness and one and one-half inch in diameter. I purchased four of the sliders and sixteen of the felt disks. Ruby and I spent the rest of the afternoon tearing the bed down installing the sliders and the disks. We had eliminated the squeak in the bed. However, it lasted only one night. The squeak was back the next night with a vengeance. Nearly all of the felt pads were on the floor under the bed. The question came down to what would hold those pads in place. One of the handiest things to have around the house is duck tape. Dee, our daughter, said she would bring a roll out when she and her son and his wife came out Sunday to have dinner a local Mexican restaurant.
I had purchased an additional twenty four felt pads and now had a total of forty to place around the bed frame. We once again tore the bed up and Zach strategically duck taped the felt pads in place. Since Zach is a Registered Professional Engineer in the State of Texas I am sure he would give me a signed affidavit the pads were placed in the proper position and the duck tape was installed properly.
It has now been about three months and the bed has not let out one squeak. To my knowledge there have been no complaints and I know there has been no pounding on the walls. May this saga of the squeaky bed rest in peace.
-L.D. Todd
Lindsay, Oklahoma 1954
Lindsay was a small farming community about sixty miles south of Oklahoma City. Until it became an oil driven community it was known as the broom corn capital of the world and each year held what Lindsayites called the Broom Corn Festival. If you owned a broom the bristles were probably grown around Lindsay. After the broom corn was harvested and all the broom corn Johnnies (illegal immigrants from Mexico) had left town the committee that was in charge of the celebration brought in a carnival and country and western bands for two days to celebrate the end of the broom corn season. Lindsay was a true boom town in every sense of the word. Raising broom corn was a prospers business and with royalties from oil and gas production staying in Lindsay it was a prosperous community
Cities Service Oil Company was the most active operator in the area. With a District office located in Lindsay and with all the activity in the district, Cities had moved in a complement of ten engineers to handle the work load. It was twenty four hours a day seven days a week.
I was assigned the task of determining if each of the zones in a dual completion were producing separately. It was required by the state to produce one zone, the Springer Sand, through the tubing and the other zone, the Hart sand, through the annulus, the area between the tubing and casing. It appeared the seals in the packer between the two zones were not holding. Each zone would make its allowable of one hundred fifty barrels a day of oil plus the associated gas. Every day the well was not producing this amounted to a reduction of one thousand dollars day in revenue. In a well today that amount of production would be over twenty thousand dollars a day.
Since the Hart zone was sensitive to the use of water, because of swelling clays in the sand, oil had to be used as a completion fluid. It would be extremely difficult to balance the amount of oil used to keep one zone from blowing out while at the same time using too much oil would cause the other zone to break down and start taking fluid.
We thought we had the perfect balance as we pulled the tubing out of the hole. We were down to the last three joints and dressing the packer out with new seals when the first burp hit.
We always kept a valve open on the floor to stab into the top joint of tubing. The driller had shut down every motor that was running on location and closed the pipe rams manually on the blow out preventers. The roughnecks on the floor were having trouble stabbing the valve into the joint and getting it to make up. By this time the tubing was unloading oil that was going half way up the derrick. With oil and gas almost covering the location it would take only one spark to turn the place into and inferno. The valve we we’re trying to stab into the tubing had a different thread than the one looking up. With the well getting stronger by the minute there was no time to consult with anyone except the people on the location. After discussing the problem with the driller for about two minutes the only option we had was to drop the three joints of tubing in the hole and fish them out later.
The driller told two of the roughnecks to pull the slips supporting the tubing and he would back the pipe rams off in the blow out preventer and drop the three joints in the hole. Then we could close the blind rams and have the well under control.
Once again things did not go as planned. After the slips had been pulled and the pipe rams backed off, instead of dropping the tubing in the hole, the well was blowing so hard it started to lift the tubing out of the hole. As each joints cleared the floor it would starts falling over and break off at the collar. As each joint broke off it fell in an area that was void of other pieces of iron andit would hit creating a spark that could cause an explosion. By this time we were all standing about one hundred yards away from the well and up wind. With the tubing out of the hole there was no restriction on the flowing oil and gas.
It was turning into a first class blowout. After the last joint was blown out of the hole the driller and I headed back to the well to close the blind rams on the blowout preventers. The drillers only comment while closing the rams was “I hope I can get the blind rams closed before the flow of oil and gas cuts them to pieces.” As the rams closed the noise decreased from a defining roar to deathly quiet and I heaved a big sigh of relief.
It was time to take stock of the damage and head for the office to report in. After I got past the damage to my pride it looked like about forty acres of broom corn was covered with oil.
As I walked in the office the receptionist wondered out loud, how in the world I could get so much oil on me. My only response was where I have been it wasn’t hard. The Superintendent walked out of his office just as a reporter from the local paper walked in the office to get the details on Cities’ blowout.
“After I know what happened you will find out” he replied to the reporter. How the reporter heard about the problem so quick I never knew. We walked in his office and he closed the door. I fully expected to loose part of my rear end. He wanted to know all the details and offered a little sympathy. We discussed the possibility of one producing formation taking oil and allowing the other producing formation toget away from us during the planning stage of the workover.
I expected to be severely criticized but that did not happen. As I left the Superintendent’s office he offered the thought, it could have been much worse. He told me to shut the job down and have it written up by report time in the morning and then we would start planning how to finish the job.
-L.D. Todd
A Night at the Opera
Our first winter in Calgary was coming to a close. We were starting to see part of our yard that we had not seen since the first snow in the previous September. Where snow had been waist deep along our drive, from the snow blower, was now only a few inches high. Even though the temperature had dropped to thirty five below a time or two it still was not as cold as a temperature of zero with the wind blowing forty miles per hour as in Western Kansas. We had always thought in terms of a white Christmas but the winter of 1972 for us, was white all winter long.
We changed several aspects of our life, but the one thing we could not change was our accent. We were reminded many times we had what some Canadians called a Yankee accent, which it definitely was not, a southern accent maybe or some called it a Texas drawl whatever that is.
All of our neighbors made a real effort to make us feel welcome. Especially the Gerwins. Chuck had a law practice in Calgary and Rita taught French in the Calgary school system. The Gerwins had three daughters and a son who was the youngest. Rita loved to talk to Ruby about the things teenage girls were thinking and doing.
Chuck was an opera buff. He was President of the local Opera Guild and he lived and breathed opera. He loved to sing along with the records he played and the neighborhood had the benefit of his singing. He sang in a local church and often sang solo parts. He was raised on a farm in Saskatchewan and to relieve the thoughts of the cold weather he would sing to the cows he was milking. He believed this relieved their tension about the cold weather and improved their production of milk.
I was on the other end of the musical spectrum. I was raised on country and western and bluegrass music. Chuck knew this and I think he was trying to convert me. I never did show any enthusiasm for Opera, but Chuck thought I should be exposed to the real thing and invited Ruby and I to attend an Opera with him and Rita.
What really surprised me was the enthusiasm of the audience. I always thought of music in terms of dancing and you could not dance to this music and the singing was in a foreign language which I do not sure anyone understood. However, the audience was very enthusiastic about what was taking place on stage. After each leading character sung a solo the audience would give the singer a standing ovation and shout BRAVO, BRAVO, BRAVO. I joined in the standing ovation and applauded but I was not one of those shouting BRAVO. It was not my kind of music. My kind of Opera was in Nashville at the Ryman Auditorium called the Grand Old Opry performed by a group of people from the Smokey Mountains in Eastern Tennessee.
After the program was over and the cast had taken their bows Chuck mentioned that we had been invited to the home of one of the guild members to meet the cast. I wasn’t excited about meeting what I thought would be a group of stuffed shirts. To my surprise they were just ordinary people. No stuffed shirts in the group. They were cordial friendly people. That part of the evening was better than the Opera.
Chuck never stopped trying to convert me to becoming an Opera fan but I was too much of a hard core country and western music fan.
-L.D. Todd
SEMPER FI (Always Faithful) was not for me
After finishing high school in 1942 I knew one of two things would shape my future. I had to go to work in the oilfields or get some type of training that would convince someone to hire me. But, I also realized in the very near future I would volunteer or be drafted into the service. As far as education was concerned I knew I was not going to college. There was no money for college and the effort I put forth in high school proved I was a long way from being able to do college work.
As a hobby I had always been fascinated with radio. Through this hobby I learned the government had a program to teach radio theory through the NYA (National Youth Administration). The course required you to attend classes 6 hours each day and participate in two hours of PT a day, five days a week for three months at a government provided facility. The facility turned out to be an abandoned grade school that the city of Cushing, Oklahoma had given the Federal government. The government made it into a dorm and installed army surplus kitchen facilities. The beds turned out to be cots that had been left over from World War I and taken out of storage. The people preparing the food were NYA students learning how to be cooks. The only saving grace for this disaster was the instructors. They actually new radio theory and did an excellent job of presenting the material.
Information about what was offered by the NYA was very limited at best. I was having second thoughts about enrolling since information about what was offered was poor. I asked several friends to attend the school with me. They all declined and would throw cold water on the idea.
I had to make a choice. Start to NYA school or go to work as a roustabout for the oil company my father worked for. About this time one of my friends said he would enroll with me. As things turned out, he realized more out of the course than I did.
Robert Williams and I had been friends all through high school. I was into sports, football, wrestling and baseball. Robert was into acting in plays and singing in a school chorus. When it came to class work we both did what it took to get by. Neither one us had anyone pressing us to improve the grades we were receiving. It never occurred to us that good grades were achieved by hard work.
Robert and I finished our 3 months and received our diplomas for having finished the course. We managed to survive the accommodations and bad food. As we were preparing to leave one of the instructors said he would recommend us for advanced radio theory if we were interested. It did not take us long to decide we were leaving Cushing. Wherever, we went the accommodations and food would not be as bad as what we had experienced the last thee months.
All of our worldly possessions were stuffed in one duffle bag. So, it didn’t take us long to pack. It was never a question of how we would travel it was always walking to the edge of town and stick out your thumb. There were two reasons for this method of travel. We did not have money for a bus ticket and we could beat the bus to Oklahoma City.
As we walked down Main Street in Oklahoma City it was a typical August day in Oklahoma. The temperature was above 100 degrees in the shade and not a cloud in sight. As usual someone was demonstrating you could fry an egg on the sidewalk. As we walked by the crowd a guy in a spick and span uniform asked us to go inside. Get out of the heat and have a cold drink he said. He looked and acted the part of being a marine’s marine. He had the Marine hymn playing in the office. It was loud enough to make an impression but not so loud it was overpowering. I had never had anyone pay as much attention to what I had been doing and what I was interested in. Robert and I were impressed to the extent that when we walked out of that office we had filled out forms to join the Marine Corps. All we needed was the signature of one of our parents. After completing boot camp we would be marines. It was going to be exciting to be a marine. As we walked away the sergeant in a very loud and impressive voice said when you men get back with those papers signed I will have your train tickets ready for your trip to California and your traveling money. He had already sold us on becoming marines and this only lifted our spirits higher.
It was about five miles to Robert’s house from downtown Oklahoma City. We stuck out our thumb and waited for a ride. We were lucky enough to get a ride almost to his front door. As we walked in the house Robert’s younger brother wanted know what the papers were he had in his hand. Robert told him it was papers mom or dad needed to sign so he could join the marines. About, this time Mrs. Williams walked into the room and before Robert could say anything Oscar said Robert and L. D. plan to join the marines. It was obvious Mrs. Williams thought it was a bad idea. Supper was ready and Robert’s father was going to be late. She insisted we go ahead and eat. As we were finishing the meal a car drove up the drive. Oscar knew who it was and bolted out the door to tell his father. Robert was going to join the marines. As Mr. Williams walked in the house you could see by the expression on his face he would be reluctant to sign any papers that gave Robert permission to join the marines. Robert immediately started pressing him to sign the papers. He told Robert to back off and wait till he had finished his meal and had a chance to talk to his mother. While he was eating Robert and I walked outside to try to access what they would do. We both agreed it would be difficult to get one of them to sign the papers.
Mr. Williams came to the door and asked Robert to come inside. The table had been cleared and we all sat down. Mr. Williams started off by telling Robert they would not sign the papers. But, let me tell you a few things the sergeant did not say today. This war will take years to win. You have evidence what war is like from what has happened to two of your acquaintances. One is buried in the battleship Arizona sitting at the bottom of Pearl Harbor. Another is a prisoner of the Japanese in the Philippines and you know how they are being treated. What you saw today was the good side of the Marines. What you were not told was what it takes to be a Marine and what your job will be after boot camp.
Mr. Williams continued. One purpose of war is to kill people and destroy things. Let me mention a few things you will be doing. You will be up before the sun comes up and will not get back to the barracks until after dark. You will learn how to use a bayonet to kill a person. You will crawl through mud and barb wire with live ammunition being fired a foot above you. You will learn how to take care of a wounded marine or maybe watch a friend die. There is no doubt in my mind that both of you will be in the service before this is over. But, let it be on your terms and based on what is best for you and not on the hype you saw today. After you have taken the time to put some real thought into what you want to do I think we will be able to work something out as long as you won’t be carrying a rifle.
I decided it was time for me to head for home. Robert asked what I planned to do with the papers. If you can’t go I am not going I replied. As I left the yard I tore the papers up and threw them way.
Robert joined the Navy a few week
s later and spent the entire war in Moscow. Moscow, Idaho. As an instructor teaching navy recruits radio theory. I joined the Army Air Force and learned to fly an airplane. One of the assignments was to learn Morse code and how to use a key pad. This was one thing we spent time learning at NYA School. The instructor assigned to teach the class did not know the first thing about Morse code or how to operate a key pad. I wound up teaching the instructor Morse code and how to operate the key pad.
I did not learn until the war was over Mr. that Williams knew what he was talking about. He had been in the infantry in World War I and had spent several months in the trenches in France.
Naturally we will never know what the outcome would have been if we had been allowed to join the Marines. I do know the way things turned out Robert and I never regretted the decision made for us.
- L.D. Todd
Deport to Brownwood to Paradise
The people of Deport did everything in their power to make sure every GI and his family was accepted into the community. Ruby and I had the good fortune to be living with one of the officers of the local bank. They told us to consider their home as our home. They knew firsts hand the problems someone in service experienced living as we did. They had a son that was on his way home from England. He had just completed twenty-five missions flying a B-17 over Germany.
Ruby and I had became close friends with another L pilot and his wife that lived in Deport. They were an older couple. They were in their thirties. Since Ruby and I were adjusting to married life while living in Deport Oscar and Bea Hope took upon themselves to make sure we did not have any problems. Their home was Shreveport, Louisiana. They knew I had relatives in Shreveport and on two occasions invited Ruby and I to make the trip to Shreveport with them. Out of curiosity I asked Oscar how he could get enough gasoline to make it to Shreveport and back. He said he would get the local filling station owner to fill his tank which would be enough to get to Shreveport and then rely on his friends at the post office, where he worked before the war, to see that he had enough gas to get back to Deport.
In the Army if you are enjoying the people you are around and where you are living, something will happen to turn everything upside down. We received notice one Monday morning the Paris army air force base was too close and all of the L-Pilots were to be moved to Brownwood army air force base near Brownwood, Texas. Our reporting day was the following Monday. Brownwood was to be a pool of L Pilots and the rumor was a new Liaison Squadron would be formed out of this group.
The local druggist was the ticket agent for the bus line that ran through Deport. I was making arrangement for Ruby and I to get to Brownwood when Oscar walked in. Being the friend he was he wanted to help us. He said it would be a tight fit with our luggage and 4 four in his coupe, but we had made trips together before and he invited Ruby and I to travel with them. I accepted and he accepted my offer to pay for the gasoline. This solved a big problem for us. Now we only had to find a place to live after we arrived in Brownwood.
The base was deserted by mid week. Some had already left for Brownwood and others had taken the opportunity to make a trip home and be in Brownwood Monday. The Griffins, the couple we rented a bed room with kitchen privileges for thirty dollars a month said they were sorry to see us leave. They said they had enjoyed having us live with them. We had lived with them three months. As we were getting in the car to leave Mr. Griffin said he was returning half of our rent as we had lived there only fifteen days of September. This was more than enough to pay all of our expenses to Brownwood.
With the trunk full, a suitcase tied on stop of the trunk and a duffle bag tied on each fender we looked like four okies leaving the dust bowl for California. We headed for Paris about fifteen miles away. Then to Dallas and Fort Worth. Brownwood was about one hundred miles southwest of Fort Worth. If we did not have any car problems we would be in Brownwood before dark. Brownwood was town of about ten thousand.
As we drove into Brownwood it was too late to start looking for a place to live. So we decided to stop at the first tourist court we passed and see if they had a vacancy. It was an accepted rule if a light was on in the office they had a vacancy if it was dark there was no vacancy.
We passed a tourist court and the office light was on. We stopped and asked about a cabin. He said he had two cabins available and if we wanted them it would be three dollars in advance. We did not expect much and we got what we expected. The cabin had a bed one table and one chair with a wash basin that had only cold running water. The shower and restroom facilities were in a room next to the office. Everyone used the same facilities.
The next morning we started driving down the residential streets looking for signs in any front yard that advertised a room for sent. We had toured nearly every residential area before we found a home with a room for rent sign in the front yard.
Anyone that had accommodations that could be rented did so to make a few extra dollars. With the air base and Camp Maxey near there was a shortage of rooms for personnel living off the base. We accepted the offer without looking at the rooms they were renting. When we did look at the rooms we realized they were far from a bargain. Compared to the living arrangement we had in Deport this was a dump. The one room apartment had been a garage with what I am sure was a chicken house attached. The furniture was barely adequate. The rent was the same as in Deport. One dollar a day paid 30 days in advance. Ruby wonder out loud what a mess and what have we got ourselves into. Staying in or around this place all day would be a nightmare.
The Hopes were more fortunate than we were. They managed to find a place that was acceptable. Compared to what we had it was a palace.
At roll call on Monday the CO outlined what was ahead for the next couple of months. A
squadron was to be formed and the pilots assigned to the squadron would probably leave for overseas duty. An evaluation process of testing everyone’s flying skills would start immediately and finish in a couple of months. The evaluations would start on Tuesday. To my surprise there was some talk of pilots intentionally failing their check flight. They were happy right here in Brownwood and would be satisfied to spend the rest of the war here.
The outline of what was expected indicated it would be difficult to pass everything on the first check flight. If you failed the first check flight you were given a second flight and if you failed it you would not be selected for the squadron. The outline included checks on night landings, night navigation, spot landings, barrier landings, dead stick landings and basic flying skills.
When I got home that evening I could see that Ruby was upset with where we were living. The curtains did not close completely, the stove and heater were impossible to make work, bugs were everywhere, the whole situation was a disaster and on top of that she is sure she heard someone outside our window trying to see in. She didn’t say she was ready to go back to Oklahoma City but I thought she was close to saying it. As we discussed the predicament she said tomorrow she was going to walk to town and see if she could get some leads on a better place to live. We had arrived in Brownwood with about one hundred thirty dollars in our pocket. Thirty of this was already gone paying for the dump we were living in. I was sure if we left this place these people would not return any of our money as the Griffins had done in Deport. We agreed Ruby would start looking for a better place to live the next day.
When I came in from the base Wednesday it was obvious we were moving. Our bags were packed and Ruby was ready to move out. She said she had found a place as nice as the one we had in Deport. We told the owner we were leaving and asked for a refund. But it was no surprise when he said no. We were only moving three blocks, but it was a world of difference in accommodations. We were down to about seventy dollars, but it never occurred to us we could not make it to the next pay day.
Our new home was old, but was an immaculately kept house and yard. The owners had two bedrooms upstairs which they rented to GI’s. They had remodeled a third bedroom into a kitchen with all new appliances. The couple renting the other bed room was John and Nancy Ratliff. He was a buck sergeant in the thirteenth armored Division stationed at Camp Maxey. Their home was Lexington, Kentucky. John and Nancy turned into great friends. John was a little on the extrovert side and Nancy a little shy. But, one thing she wasn’t shy about was having a cigar rolled from Kentucky tobacco after the evening meal and a shot of Kentucky bourbon. She was exceedingly proud of her Kentucky heritage.
The designated new squadron was to be the 163rd. The evaluations had been completed and I was one of the pilots selected. The table of organization called for all pilots to have at least the rank of Staff Sergeant. In my case I was promoted to Staff which meant a raise from a base pay of seventy eight dollars to ninety six dollars per month.
In early November we received a pleasant surprise. Ruby’s sister and her husband were visiting her parents in Fredrick, Okla. Which was less than a day’s ride by bus to Brownwood? We got in touch and invited them to come to see us. Even though we had only one room we could manage for four days. The room was furnished with a bed two chairs and a night stand. This was an oppurnity to meet Chet who was in the service in the combat engineers. Also to get reacquainted with Lucille as I had not seen her for several years.
When they arrived in Brownwood we met the bus and since it was only six blocks to where we lived we took off walking. John and Nancy fit right in. They had prepared supper and rounded up some bedding as Chet and I planned to sleep on the floor and Ruby and Lucille would sleep in the bed. Chet mentioned he had never flown in an airplane. I, said to him, after roll call at the base tomorrow we would check out a couple of parachutes and a plane and fly for a couple of hours. He mentioned later when I used the word parachute if he could have found a good reason he would have backed out.
The next morning after roll call we walked down to the flight line and checked out a couple of parachutes. Chet wanted to know if I had every used one. I said no and would only consider using it if a wing fell off. Other wise if the engine quit I would rather trust my ability to land the plane than trust my luck that the parachute rigger did his job right when he packed the chute. As far as I was concerned the chute was a cushion to sit on and not a very good one either. After a couple of hours flying they felt like they had rocks in them. I never rode with an instructor or check pilot that at some point in the flight he wouldn’t pull the throttle back and ask where you are going to put it. If you started looking for a place to land a check pilot would say take me home which meant you flunked the ride. If you were with an instructor he would not have any kind words for you after you landed. You always had to have a placed picked out to land the plane, no excuse was acceptable.
After a couple hours of flying, looking at various areas, doing the limited aerobatics the L-5 would do I told Chet to put his feet on the rudders and take hold of the stick and fly the plane. He was amazed at how simple and easy it was to maneuver the plane. He said later trying to fly the plane was the best part of the ride.
As 1944 moved to a close all members of the 163rd were given a ten day furlough which would carry over to January second. We were told to be prepared to board a troop train and leave for the west coast as soon as we returned.
Ruby and I caught the bus to Oklahoma City and spent a few days with my parents then took the bus to Fredrick and spent a few days with her parents. While visiting with my parents my dad asked her to stay with them while I was overseas. She accepted the offer and decided to apply for a job at Douglas Aircraft when she returned to Oklahoma City.
We were not told where our final destination would be. I would not have known where it was if they had told me. Three days on the train was easy living. Good food, sleeping in the Pullman car and for someone that had never traveled by train before and seeing country that I had never seen before I was enjoying the trip, all courtesy of the US army.
We had a stop over of four
days at Hamilton Field near San Francisco. We were given any shots that we had not taken, a physical and any equipment that needed to be replaced. Whatever you wanted all you had to do was turn in the old equipment and new equipment would be issued. No questions asked. All members of the Squadron were issued carbine rifles except the pilots and they we were issued forty five pistols but no ammunition. The fourth day was spent riding cable cars and seeing the sights of San Francisco.
We spent the fifth day boarding another troop train and headed for Seattle, our port of embarkation. Along the way someone had the idea of standing on the platform of the last car as it went through one of the many tunnels in Oregon and Washington. What they did not think of was how much coal dust and soot that would be left in the tunnel as the coal fired engine passed through. Needless to say, when they came in they needed a change of clothes and a bath. They had the change of clothes but no bath.
We still did not know where we were going. We ruled out Alaska since we were not issued cold climate clothes. So, it must be someplace in the South Pacific. We spent one night at Fort Lewis and boarded the troop ship the next day. Your space allotment was two by two by eight. Whatever you were carrying and you had to fit in that space. With hammocks hung five high it was crowded. The best advice for everyone was don’t get in yours hammock if a person above you is sea sick. The only time fresh waster was available for showers was two times a week for two hours and the rest of the time it was sea water. I learned the hard way if you take a shower in sea water don’t wash your head. The seventh day out someone spotted what they said was Diamond Head. Which I was told was a prominent land mark for Hawaii.
It was a pleasure to be off of that boat. The cramped quarters and the smell were overpowering. We loaded our duffle bags on an army trucks and an army bus took us to our quarters. They were quonset huts, which is nothing but a steel tube cut in half. There were sixteen cots in each hut and no flooring. When it rained water would run through the hut and it rained nearly every day. On the back door of each hut was a large sign. It is against the law to pick the pineapples.
Two L-5 crates were delivered to a baseball field near our quarters. The ball field was to be our base of operation. All the pilots pitched in to help the mechanics assemble the planes. We worked through the night with the help of three jeeps with their lights turned on. It was past mid January and not much time left in January for each pilot to get four hours of flying time in to draw flying pay for the month. By daylight the planes were assembled and ready to fly.
Flying over the island of Oahu and Pearl Harbor was an inspiring event. Flying over Pearl Harbor you could see the outline of the Battle Ship Arizona setting on the bottom of Pearl Harbor. It was disturbing to think a high school acquaintance was interned in the Arizona along with over 1100 other sailors. I remember exactly where I was when I heard about the attack on Pearl Harbor. I had just finished caddying 18 holes at Twin Hills Golf and Country Club. Never dreaming I would be flying an airplane over Pearl Harbor in the not to distance future.
I was extremely disappointed in the city of Honolulu. It reminded me of Reno Street in Oklahoma City. Whatever you wanted in Oklahoma City could be bought on Reno Street. Waikiki beach was also a disappointment. The water was clear and warm but you could not walk very far without stepping on sharp coral rocks.
In late January Tom Barwick and I were assigned one of the planes to check out each others flying skills. We loaded a fire extinguisher in the back and I got into the front seat and Tom got in the back seat. I took all the room I could as there were some high trees that we had to clear. I pushed the throttle wide open and started my stake off. It took me a few seconds to realize we had a problem. It was taking more force to raise the tail than it should. We were half way across the ball field before the plane lifted off the ground. Then I realized getting over the trees was going to be close. I let the plane gain speed after it lifted off and I started to pull back on the stick very gently. I had started my take off with fifteen degree flaps and as we were approaching the trees I pulled on thirty degree flaps and could feel the plane gain altitude. As we cleared the trees I could actually hear Tom heave a sigh of relief. Hey, he said, I thought our wheels were going to drag in those trees. I flew to an abandoned fighter strip and landed. By then I knew what our problem was. The fire extinguisher had slid all the way to the back and was resting over the rear tail gear.
We had flown about two hours and decided it was time to go back to the ball field. “You flew over, I get to fly back” Tom said. He climbed in the front seat and I got in the rear seat. We buckled our seat belts and shoulder harnesses and took off. This time the fire extinguisher was tied to the back seat so it could not move. The plane was about two hundred feet in the air and over the end of the runway when the engine quit. I screamed at him to land in the sugar cane field straight ahead. He said I can make a 180 and land on the runway. You are to low to make a 180 I said. It was too late for this comment as he was already into the turn. He pulled on forty five degree flaps but this did not give enough lift to the plane to complete his 180. We were about twenty feet off the ground when the plane completely stalled out. The plane was so low by then, it did not have enough altitude for the engine to pull the plane straight down and have the engine in Tom’ lap. When we did hit the ground we landed in the biggest sand pile in Hawaii. The wheels dug into the sand at least a foot deep and folded up under the plane and the wings buckled a little. Tom had a small cut on his forehead and I was not injured at all.
As we crawled out of the plane an army ambulance pulled up. They were at an aid station near the runway when they heard the engine quit. Even though we were not hurt they insisted a doctor should look us over. After the exam and while headed back to the plane we decided it was carburetor icing. Even though it was talked about I never new of a plane going down because the carburetor iced up.
To our surprise the CO had already heard about the crash and was waiting for us when we arrived back at the plane. Who was the pilot he asked? Tom answered the question, he was. Do you know what happened? Yes Sir, the carburetor iced up Tom replied. We walked over to the plane and the CO removed the cap from the gas tank and told Tom to tell him what he saw. Nothing Tom replied. That’s right nothing the CO fired back. The tank is empty. Carburetor icing my ass, you ran out of gas. The other tank is full. You never switched tanks. That brought the accident down to one thing, pilo
t error. The CO told him he was grounded till further notice. As the CO left Tom had one thing on his mind. A Court Marshall would be held in the next couple of days and he was positive he would be reduced in rank to private and grounded for ever.
The next morning Tom was resigned to his fate. The way he pictured it, it was all bad. He was told the CO, Major Bonner, the Operations Officer, Capt. Brinker, were to meet with Flight Officer, Lt. Berglin, and Flight Leader, M/Sgt. Darman, to discuss Tom’s status. At the meeting Sgt. Darman said he would comment on Tom’s flying skills, as he thought they were excellent and the squadron wasn’t in a position to sacrifice a good pilot because of one mistake.
The next morning Tom heard his fate. There would not be a Court Marshall or reduction in rank. Lieutenant Beerglin would put a letter in his file and give him a check ride to check out his flying skills. Afterwards he would be restored to full flying status. What we had been expecting materialized that morning. We were to be ready to board a troop ship the following Monday as we were leaving Hawaii.
Summer and Fall of 1942
own. Because of the reputation Packing Town and Chief Jim’s had, we had never ventured into that part of town. As we drove down main street of Packing Town the front of the building we were looking for was shaped like a teepee with larger sign above the teepee to let you know where you were. You were at Chief Jim’s. As we walked in the odor of smoke and stale beer was almost overpowering. The crowd was older and no one of ours age was there. The only flooring was a small area in front of the band for anyone that wanted to dance. We decided it was in our best interest to have one beer and leave. As we were getting up to leave who should appear but Chief Jim himself. One of the reasons we ventured into Packing Town was to see if Chief Jim really existed. He was a very impressive. He was dressed in buck skin shirt and pants with beads stitched into the fabric. Wearing mosicans and his trade mark head dress which had feathers around the head piece and down his back that almost touched the floor. If anyone ever wanted to know if we had ever been to Chief Jim’s we could say we had and saw the Chief himself.
The War Winds Down
The Invasion of Japan had been scheduled for the first week of November and we were scheduled to go as soon as a landing strip could be constructed. This would have been within a few days of the initial landing.
We had talked for a while and the Japanese soldier had not told us where he learned to speak English. I mentioned he had no accent and wanted to know where he learned to speak English so fluently. When the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor he said he was in Japan visiting relatives. When he was a small child his parents had moved to Hawaii and he had attended schools in Hawaii for 12 years. Since he was not an American citizen he was drafted into the Japanese army. He wanted us to tell him how he could get back to Hawaii. This was way beyond our expertise. How strange things work out. If he had been in Hawaii when the war broke out he would probably have been a member of the Japanese battalion that fought the Germans in Italy or an interpreter for the US Army.
Thoughts About James and Inice Keltner
While in high school Ruby’s father was transferred to northern Oklahoma where she graduated from Wyonna High School. Since Wyonna was truly a dead end town, Ruby decided to move back to Oklahoma City. Ruby always stayed in touch with the Keltner’s and was staying at a friends home when Inice asked her to move in with them. She moved her sons out of their bed room and on to an enclosed back porch and gave their room to Ruby.
After graduation Ruby and I never lived in Oklahoma City, but we always stayed in touch with the Keltner’s and spent many nights in their home whenever we were in Oklahoma City. James passed away several years ago and Inice passed away recently. There has been no one help Ruby and I more than James and Inice get through some difficult times.
