Anecdotes of Hay Baber in WWII

by Gregory Baber, his son

29 March 2008

Dad didn’t talk much about the war.  During my childhood I would often ask him to tell me about his time in the B-17s.  He never would.  Any experience he had, I received second hand from Mom.  In fact I never heard a full fledge war story from him until I was twenty seven.  In my subsequent reading about the perils of the European bombing campaign and about how the mortality rate was no more than fifty percent on some missions, I grew to understand why he wasn’t so eager to share his experience.  Dad faced terrors that couldn’t be explained properly to a child.  I believe that like many veterans, Dad had to keep the door to that part of his life closed.  It wasn’t until forty years later that he was finally able to share some of his experience.  These are some of the stories I got.

How Dad got into gunnery school:

Dad was nineteen years old when he applied for gunnery school.  He looked fifteen.  The minimum weight for gunnery school was a hundred and twenty pounds. Dad was barely a hundred and eighteen when he weighed in.  It looked like he was not going to be accepted when the orderly made a suggestion.  In the next room was a bunch of bananas.  He suggested that Dad eat as many as he could and then weigh again.  It worked.  Dad acquired the needed pounds and an aversion to bananas that lasted quite a while.

How my brothers and I almost didn’t come to be:

Dad told my brother, Brian, this story.  After landing from each mission, Dad would often help the tail gunner lug the heavy fifty-caliber machine out of the confined tail section.

One time Dad was carrying the barrel end, which was positioned right between his legs while the tail gunner hefted the other side.  Unfortunately, the tail gunner had neglected to clear the last round of ammo out of the machine gun before they moved it.  While struggling with the gun, it went off and blew the crotch out of Dad’s pants.  Dad never helped him again.

How Dad got one of his medals:

Dad received one of his medals for climbing into an open bomb bay and kicking a bomb loose that had become stuck in the bomb rack.  The plane would not have been able to land safely otherwise.  It must have been quite a windy view hanging over the open bomb bay of a plane going at least two hundred miles an hour, thousands of feet above the ground.

How Dad and Uncle Ernie started their Air Force career

This is my favorite after the war story.  Shortly after being discharged, Dad and his brother, Ernie, went to Richmond and became carpenter’s apprentices.  It was hard work and after a grueling three days of hammering upward into roof beams, Dad and Ernie were sent to the cold roof top to start shingling it.  As if this task wasn’t arduous enough, it started sleeting.  My Uncle Ernie told me that my father without a word made his way past him and started climbing down the ladder.  “Where the hell are you going?” said Uncle Ernie.  “Back to the Air Force," said Dad. “I’ve had enough of this.”  “Wait up,” said Uncle Ernie.  “I’m coming with you.”  Within the week they were back in.

This letter was sent to my grandmother, Bessie Baber:

Aug. 16,1944

Dear Mrs. Baber,

Undoubtedly you do not know who I am so may I introduce myself as only “Babe’s” navigator.  “Baber”, as we all know him by, Mrs. Baber, has been a wonderful fellow.  The time now since being through has come where chances are our paths will part.  Many times I have told him I was proud to have him on the crew, but I also wanted you to know.  Much of the credit I am sure goes to you, his Mother.

We call him a “kid” yet as he is still 19, but it was a man size job he did.

I’m speaking somewhat for the other officers of the crew - we feel we can hardly take off without him.  Some day you may show him this if you care, but may I say he is regarded completely among the best men I know.

To “Babe” himself I want to say thanks for all the help and the everlasting cheerfulness.  Best of luck to you all and anyone he works for I am sure he will be an asset to them.

Sincerely, Vern Spartz

Some years back I found this on the Internet.  Thought you might want it for the exhibit.  It’s a description of the day my father’s plane went down.  It was written some years back by the daughter of the flight engineer.

This story was supplied by Jeannette, a proud daughter:

My Father flew from Knettishall, with the 388th bomb group 563rd squadron as a flight engineer/top turret gunner on a B-17 called the True Love.  The pilot was McGrath.  On June 20, 1944, they were involved in a mid-air collision while in route to Magdeberg.  The plane above #873 Sack Happy, got out of control due to prop wash from a group of B-24’s, which crossed, over and ahead of their flight.  They flipped on end and skidded into the True Love.

Sack Happy's ball turret guns were pointed straight down and they ripped through True Love's vertical stabilizer.  Some say Sack Happy hit the True Love twice.  End result was Sack Happy was disabled, but managed to fly back to England and land.  The True Love went into a deep dive, from 23,000 to 4,000 feet before the pilots were able to bring her somewhat under control.  They managed to reach English soil when the plane started to fall apart.  The pilot headed her nose out to the North Sea and ordered bail out.  My Dad was the next to the last out, with the pilot being the last.  As the pilot jumped, the plane broke in two at the ball turret.

All were safe, except my Dad, whose chute failed.  He fell faster than everybody else and landed hard on a temporary airstrip on the beach, breaking his pelvis.  The English found him and took him to a hospital.  This was on the crews' 23rd mission for which they didn't get credit as it happened before they reached enemy territory.  My Dad flew one more mission after he healed - but as the doctors said it was too much stress on his pelvis for him to stay in one position for so long a time.  He was sent home on a hospital ship.

I started searching for the Crew of the True Love last March, and have found all but two of them, Newton, the tail gunner and Lewis, the left waist.  The pilot, McGrath, died 4-11-87 and Baber, the radio operator, died 6-10-87.  I started out with my goal being just to reunite the crew even if only by phone or mail-but it has turned into much more than that.  I have learned a lot about the human side of the war and have been glad of the chance to tell the crew "Thank You" for what they did.  I am also searching for the ground crew whose chief was Robert F. Love.  I have 160 pages in a surprise scrapbook that I am doing for my father.  Each of the crew and some of the guys the crew knew, are contributing.

So that is my connection to Knettishall.  Everybody who was in the war has a story, and soon all these stories will be lost if they are not wrote down.  What I am doing is not a professional job--just a loving daughter's tribute to her father.  All information is welcome and appreciated.

THANKS AGAIN—Jeanette

One of the members of the crew called my Mother about five years after Dad’s death and said that Dad was one of the bravest men he ever knew.  During the True Love’s rapid descent, Dad stayed at his station radioing the plane’s position until finally he said, “Baber, I said get the hell out.”  Dad never said a word but walked to the door and jumped.

Dad said to me that when he jumped, the plane was in a cloud bank- and he didn’t know whether he was over land or the North Sea.  He knew that if he landed in the North Sea, he would be dead from exposure within half an hour.  He was very delighted when the clouds parted, and he saw the beautiful English countryside.  His perils weren’t over when he landed, however.  The English home guard showed up with rifles and held him at gun- point because they were afraid that he was a German paratrooper.  Eventually Dad convinced them otherwise, and he was taken back to the base.

Thank you so much again for all your efforts.  It means a lot to our families.

Sincerely,

Greg Baber