Randolph AFB

Yesterday on our way through San Antonio on the way to Kerrville, we passed by Randolph Air Force Base, which immediately brought back memories, for that is where my dad, Max, did his flight training in 1941 as a member of the Army Air Corps. How he arrived there and what happened afterward has always interested me, and maybe you will enjoy it, too.

Dad was an excellent athlete at Buchtel High School in Akron, Ohio, so excelling in football that he received a football scholarship to attend Heidelburg College in Ohio and was recognized as a member of the Little All-American team. That resulted in his switching to Ohio State on a football scholarship, and he played the position of noseguard, as I recall. There were scrapbook pictures I remember seeing when he had his leather football helmet on... very funny! Alas, he hurt his back playing (probably during a Michigan game, as you KNOW what brutes they are!), and decided to quit college and join the military. He had always admired Lindbergh, and so he took off in that fashion, in an airplane, learning to fly the "big" bombers of the day, the B-17's.

He and my petite mother Martha were married on June 15, 1941, right after graduation, she from OSU and he from Randolph. His first duty assignment was for Hickam Air Base, Hawaii, and they began their marriage in a small house there, overlooking Scofield Barracks and the Base, close enough so that he could easily report to the flight line. In October they were greeted with more good news: Martha was expecting their first child, due to be born in June. While he was out flying patrols over the Pacific, she learned to do the hula, played bridge, and taught Sunday School classes.

Early one Sunday morning, just after they had gotten up, had eaten breakfast, and were getting ready for Sunday School, they heard tremendously loud explosions, and they assumed it was the Navy, shooting off more explosives again. Soon after, however, they realized that the noises came not from the Navy, but from the Japanese. Mom was so upset! The Zero's were actually shooting up her sheets on the clothesline, and she immediately ran out to rescue their wedding gifts from destruction, until Dad pulled her back into the house. Now, I had always heard this story, even as a little girl, so can you imagine my shock when we first watched the movie Pearl Harbor and saw that same scene being played? WOW!

He immediately ran to the burning Scofield Barracks, was able to find one of the undestroyed planes, and took off in hot pursuit, however late. That began a pattern which would last until the following year there for them. I once found a newspaper clipping from the Columbus Dispatch newspaper, describing how the plane my dad was piloting was the first one to sink a Japanese battleship, dropping a bomb right down its smokestack. However, over the years Dad seldom talked about those war experiences, except in remembering how many friends he had lost in those battles. He marked all of them in his Randolph "yearbook" beside their pictures.

My mother was having troubles carrying me, so the doctors decided that she should not leave Oahu, and as a result, I am one of the few American babies born during that period in Honolulu. Kahmeihameiha Boys' School was changed into a hospital, and that is where I was born. While she was in labor, she thought (to her dying day) that Dad was outside in the waiting room. In actuality, during the whole day, he was on a mission, had his plane damaged during an attack, landed it, and brought another plane back to Oahu just in time to be there as I was born. She just never knew. The nurse who assisted her in labor was named Judy, and that is where I got my name (not from Judy Garland, as so many other Judy's of the period did).

The pictures I have of those days in Hawaii are priceless... ones with them practicing wearing those awful, bug-like gasmasks, the bombed out Barracks, and many of the three of us together, just like any first child. I also have the telegram which my mother sent to my grandparents, telling them they were all right, and many other letters, complete with the censors blackened or cut-out words. There is also a piece of shrapnel from the front yard! My brother has an absolutely horrible bloodied and blackened Japanese battleflag which was dropped from the planes onto our yard, which Dad kept as a reminder. And, I still have a very tiny hula skirt, one which Mom wore, as well as baby-sized kimonos. There is a wonderful web site of a diary of a 17-year old girl who was living on Hickam, telling about life before, during and after December 7, 1941, and there are pictures, including some of those gas masks! Enjoy !www.gingersdiary.com

There are many more stories about Dad, ones to save for later, such as his being kidnapped in Bangkok while in the CIA..... No wonder I love those spy novels!