Neither of Them Got Over March 6, 1944

Sometimes in dealing with grief, we can view how those we respect have handled crushing sorrow in the past. My own father came to mind since his world was turned upside down 73 years ago, on March 6, 1944.

                My mother, Bernyce Smith Gates, received a v-mail from him dated February 20, 1944. Optimism exuded from his news. He had “completed his tour of duty” but was censored from divulging how many combat missions he had flown. He conveyed he was finished flying and had begun instructing. Although he was restricted from telling his 19-year-old girlfriend any specifics, a yellowed copy of a recommendation for a direct commission as a gunnery officer are in his military keepsakes. 

                Before daybreak, his “old” crew departed for one of the first missions over Berlin. His crew, commanded by Major Fred Rabo, the pilot, was briefed to fly the position of lead plane over the target. Tom Kon, Alvie Wescott, Edward Friesorger, and Steve Keaton tried to coax Dad to fly his position of upper turret gunner and serve as flight engineer, even though they knew he had completed the required 25 missions and had been awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross. (I was told by Charles W. Harris, a World War II aviation expert, that of the airmen that flew in 1943, statistically, only one out of three survived. Dad flew missions throughout that year.) The airmen who completed 25 combat missions were grounded after completing the 25th mission.

Edward Freisorger, My father,
Edmund Gates, Jr., Steve Keaton
and Tom Kon. Happy times in
England. Dad was the only one
of the four that was not a POW or
killed in action.

Edward Freisorger had
almost impercetibly signed
on this photograph, Your
Waist Gunner. Best of Luck
and may you live to be old
and gray, Gates. Freisorger
 died on March 6, 1945.

                His close friends mentioned above left their wallets with him as they prepared for departure. I am pained to imagine the devastation he felt when he learned his former crew took a direct hit from the anti-aircraft fire over Berlin. Since it was a historic mission, a general accompanied the 10-man crew. Seven out of eleven were killed, including his dear friend, Tom Kon, the radio operator, with whom he had been for two years from their early days of training over the Mojave Desert in California. Edward Friesorger, the right waist gunner, also was reported as a casualty. 

                His close friend, Fred Rabo, the pilot, parachuted out just before the B-17 exploded over Berlin, although he never recalled pulling the ripcord. Red Morgan, the co-pilot, bailed out, too. The two enlisted men, Alvie Wescott and Steve Keaton, who flew the ball turret position and the tail gunner position, jumped out over enemy territory. As Dad would say, the rest of the crew and the general “rode the old bomber down.” He spoke of the incredible loneliness and heartache that he felt in the stillness of that evening in the barracks by himself without his crew....his combat brothers.

William H. Wescott aka "Alvie"
taken on May 9. 1945, 10 days
after being liberated from the
prison camp in Germany.

                The military immediately began processing Dad’s transition back to the States. He was teamed with Harold Armstrong, another airman, and did a tour of a factory in England that made flak jackets. Later the two were interviewed by the BBC as a morale boosting broadcast. It seemed these responsibilities were given to him to divert his thoughts from the events of March 6.

                Not long before Dad’s stroke, he indicated that he was personally escorted to El de France, the ship that would transport him back to the United States. That made me question his state of mind. His trip home from Glasgow, Scotland, to New York Harbor began.

Dad returned to the States and after a furlough home, traveled to Miami Beach then on to St. Petersburg, Florida, spending the bulk of the six weeks there at an Air Force convalescent center.  This time seemed to be an effort by the military to help Dad deal with the loss of his crew.

Before his death, Fred Rabo and his wife, Dorothy, came from California to visit in Oklahoma. He told Dad that it had hurt him greatly to look back from the cockpit to see Tom Kon was down. The three of them had been together since their training days. Fred’s family said it was hard for him to talk about his World War II experiences, since he broke down in tears. My cousin, Daniel Edmund Gates, related that as a young boy the first time he showed Dad a book about the Eighth Air Force that Dad said, “Danny, I don’t talk about that because it makes me cry.” (Fred told Mother only Dad and he could understand what had happened to them on March 6, 1944.)

Fred and Dad at my parents' home in 1989. (Fred
         and Dorothy were married 58 years. Dad and
          Mother were married 67 years. The two airmen
           and the loves of their lives totaled 125 years of
              marital commitment to each other. The "Fort" and
           their crew photograph are in the background.

          Fred Rabo and the other three were released from the German prison camp where they were held near the end of the war in Europe. It was rumored the entire prison camp where Fred was detained was scheduled for annihilation. However, before the order was carried out, Fred was freed.

Fred returned to his home in northern California and began a successful farming and ranching career. Dad loved raising cattle. He developed his skill and reputation as a carpenter. Yet neither of them ever got over March 6, 1944.

Both built strong, long-lasting marital relationships. They raised families. In their communities, they gained respect of their neighbors. But they never got over that ill-fated day over Hitler’s Nazi capital.

How did my father keep off the road of self-destructiveness after his great loss in 1944? How did Dad remember men, with whom he served, that paid the “ultimate price” by giving their lives for freedom, yet maintain his stability? How did he retain a loving faithfulness to Mother, provide purposeful fathering to Angie and me, and remain a man who valued people above all else?

Dad was raised with principles and a respect for the Bible. When my maternal grandmother, Gladys Rainey Smith, presented what the Bible said about humans’ sinfulness, Dad agreed he wasn't perfect, but thought his exploits over enemy territory earned him points with God. Grandma continued confronting him with his own sinfulness, no matter how much good he thought he had done. He was shown the verse that Peter quoted in his first sermon recorded in Acts 4. Peter preached about Jesus being crucified and closed his message with the statement in Acts 4:12.

Neither is there salvation in any other;

 for there is no other name under heaven given among men,

whereby we must be saved.

Finally, Dad embraced that life-changing belief in Jesus on December 11, 1945. The commitment he made permeated his life and interactions with his family, neighbors, and his fellow Christians. I never saw anger, debilitating depression, or harshness in his life that could have stemmed from his wartime experiences, even during his toughest battle as a stroke patient the last 43 months of his life. Even though he never got over March 6, 1944, he turned his loss and sorrow into a tribute to those who “never came back” by living out his faith and patriotism each day to the very end of his life.

Only the Lord knows the number of days we have on the earth. May we make the same decision that my father made in 1945, by asking Jesus to forgive our sins, relinquishing our tight grip on doing what we want to do, and instead obeying the directives in His Word. Dad would assure us living God’s way brings rewards in this life – he enjoyed life to the fullest – and now is experiencing eternal dividends that are beyond understanding with our finite minds.

               May we follow Paul's admonition written to Titus in the book bearing his name in chapter 2, verses 6-8:

Likewise, urge the younger men to be self-controlled. Show yourself in all respects

to be a model of good works, and in your teaching show integrity, dignity, and 

sound speech that cannot be condemned, so that an opponent may be

 put to shame having nothing evil to say about us.

Paul wrote to the believers in Galatia the secret to living that life in chapter 2, verses 19-20:

What actually took place is this: I tried keeping rules and working my head off to please God, and it didn’t work. So I quit being a “law man” so that I could be God’s man. Christ’s life showed me how, and enabled me to do it. I identified myself completely with him. Indeed, I have been crucified with Christ. My ego is no longer central. It is no longer important that I appear righteous before you or have your good opinion, and I am no longer driven to impress God. Christ lives in me. The life you see me living is not “mine,” but it is lived by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. I am not going to go back on that. (The Message)

Note: To learn more about Fred Rabo, his contribution to the Eighth Air Force, and the events of March 6, 1944, complete with interesting photographs, go to this link:  http://www.482nd.org/h2x-mickey

Many of the facts regarding Dad's experience on March 6, 1944, can be found in Okie Over Europe, available for checkout at the Fairfax Public Library in Fairfax and the Pawnee Public Library in Pawnee. The Woodland High School and Middle School house copies as well. All of these entities are located in Oklahoma.

Death -the Unwanted Invader

On Tuesday, I thought I had this week's blog completed. I woke up Thursday sensing I needed to write in a different direction. I first heard the account of Blondin from my grandmother, but had never seen the photo or read his quote until discovering them as I researched this week. The quote strengthened my own trust in the Lord this week, beautifully illustrating what a life following Him looks like.
Death – I was never protected from its pallor and the incredible sense of loss reverberating from it. As a two-year old, I recall sitting motionless on a tufted chair, with only my eyes moving, observing with piqued interest as Mrs. Lyons, on the organ, accompanied my parents and maternal grandmother as they sang for a funeral at Poteet Funeral Home in Pawnee, Oklahoma. The deep, rich sounds emitting from the foot pedals on the organ mesmerized me. Only the promise of a flower, by my father, if I was a “good girl” as they sang, could keep quiet an active little one who liked to move to music. Sure enough, once we got to the “gravy-yard” – Mother quickly helped me acquire the correct terminology – and the burial service concluded, my father gave me the beautiful carnation that he had promised. I still associate the fragrance of this flower with funeral services. This ritual was repeated numerous times in my days as a preschooler.

Even though I was never sheltered from death, attended many funerals, viewed many corpses, and sniffed flowers of a variety of hues, to this day, in no way does it feel familiar. Death persists as a saddening, shocking, eerie severance.

This week after attending two funerals and grieving over a youthful life and a tiny one lost, I am once again left with the encompassing sadness, stability-shattering stress, and sapping of the peace which I seek to maintain during each of my days. The peripheral dims into oblivion and the stark reality of death and what lies beyond positions itself in magnified view, unable to be avoided.

There is no easy way around it – Death is our enemy. Paul states this in I Corinthians 15:26 The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.

Despite the promises of cryonics, the finality of death occurs for all of us. Whether it assaults my sphere suddenly or stealthily creeps into my presence, I recoil from death. No matter how prepared we are for the death of a loved one, the sorrow sinks deep into our beings.

The only comfort I find is in the scripture. Paul, inspired by the Holy Spirit, wrote to his young protégé, Timothy, in the final letter from the Roman dungeon, with his impending beheading squarely in his future.

And now He (God) has made all of this plain to us 

by the coming of our Savior Jesus Christ, who broke the power of death

 and showed us the way of everlasting life through trusting Him (Jesus)

II Timothy 1:10 (TLB)

This is why I suffer as I do. Still, I am not ashamed;

 for I know Him [and I am personally acquainted with Him]

Whom I have believed [with absolute trust and confidence in Him and in the truth of His deity],

And I am persuaded [beyond any doubt] that He is able to guard that which I have entrusted to Him

Until that day [ when I stand before Him].

II Timothy 1: 12 (Amp)

Whether glimpsing a coffin, a hearse, participating in a funeral, or weeping over the loss of one loved, I am brought face to face with my own mortality. How do I deal with that?

My memory rewound to a morning when listening to Chuck Swindoll teaching about trusting Jesus. Each morning I listened to him as I got ready for teaching at Woodland Elementary. Swindoll retold a historical account from just before the American Civil War. A French aerilist named Charles Blondin staged a frenzy-stirring performance over Niagara Falls. According to Swindoll, it was an over 1,000 foot trip 160 feet above the raging waters of Niagara Falls.

Swindoll mentioned Blondin and a wheelbarrow. Anyone who knows me and my writing, knows I spend considerable time in research to assure myself that my facts are as accurate as possible. What a remarkable photograph I located on the Smithsonian Magazine site! It showed Blondin carrying Harry Colcord, his manager. In the article written for the online magazine by Karen Abbott on October 18, 2011, she quotes Blondin’s advice to Colcord for safe passage:

Look up, Harry… you are no longer Colcord, you are Blondin.

Until I clear this place be a part of me, mind, body, and soul.

If I sway, sway with me. Do not attempt to do any balancing yourself.

Read more: http://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/the-daredevil-of-niagara-falls-110492884/#W6Ho3F25UFCWIXdZ.99

Blondin Carrying Colcord - accessed from smithsonianmag.com

What a vivid visual illustration from history that mirrors how genuine trust in Jesus looks! I must become one with Jesus as I love and trust Him with my mind, body, and soul. Doesn’t that sound like how Jesus answered when he was asked what the greatest commandment was?

Jesus said to him, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart,

with all your soul, and with all your mind.”   Matthew 22:37 (NKJV)

As I allow Jesus to carry me, remaining unified with Him, on the “tightrope” through this world, over its treacheries, I can successfully traverse this life, arriving safely at the end.

O Lord, may I love and trust you each day, seeking strength from Your Word, knowing only You will transport me securely to the other side by Your power.

Note: I never think about Niagara Falls without this memory excerpted from Okie Over Europe on which Dad and I collaborated to recount his World War II experiences.

          Edmund’s crew trained over Niagara Falls, the Great Lakes, and the wooded areas of New York. Their plane had the ten 50-caliber guns already in place. No ammunition, which would have weighed approximately 4,000 pounds, was on board. They were never able to test fire their guns. Edmund was secretly counting on all those years of squirrel hunting in rural Oklahoma to bolster his preparedness for engaging the enemy.
         One day while training in upstate New York, Fred Rabo, their pilot, enthusiastically announced, “Boys, we are going to see Niagara Falls!” Fred flew Target for Tonight down below Niagara Falls. This enabled them to look above and see the water thunderously tumbling and rushing down. It was quite a spectacular sight for Edmund to see. Although this maneuver was not outlined in his training manual, Captain Rabo knew these young men were leaving the United States for far more dangerous experiences, and this would be the only opportunity for them to see Niagara Falls from that thrilling vantage point. Edmund observed alarmed tourists with their mouths gaped open in awe at the sight of the powerful bomber with its roaring engines overhead. The entire crew laughed uproariously at startling the unsuspecting tourists at Niagara Falls.

Watering the Piano

Who Knew a Vintage Piano Needed Water?

                The beautifully restored 1916 Story and Clark upright grand piano emitted a loud twang while I was on the telephone. Mother heard the startling noise from a distant room. The incident prompted me to contact the piano restoration expert, Bill Miller, of Tulsa. Mr. Miller had completely restrung the piano’s strings along with renovating it inside and out last year. To learn more about that restoration, access the blog post entitled I Hope This Is Not My Seward’s Folly:

http://bernadeanjgates.blogspot.com/2016/04/i-hope-this-is-not-my-sewards-folly.html

Mr. Miller at the restored piano.

                 Upon Mr. Miller’s arrival, he confirmed my speculation. One of the strings had broken when we heard the loud “zing.” Several other issues needed to be addressed. His capable assistant, Alan, went to work alongside Mr. Miller. He assured me that each concern could be corrected. He wanted to do another tuning to get this instrument of yesteryear in finest sound.
                 Curiously, Mr. Miller informed me of a step I needed to take to keep the upright grand in sterling condition all through the winter months. He explained the vintage piano constructed, over a hundred years ago, of imported wood – valued handsomely in its own right – suffered horribly from the heat required in a home during the cold of winter. The heat dried out the wood, resulting in damage to the otherwise beautifully-sounding instrument.

                He said the solution is simple – a small plastic bowl of water, equaling about one cup, placed in the corner of the base of the Story and Clark treasure. Mr. Miller stipulated that I maintain the water in the bowl, advising that I check it on a two-week cycle. “You’ll be surprised how quickly that water will disappear,” Mr. Miller quipped.

                I asked about a contraption (humidifier, dehumidifier, and a control unit) I had seen to regulate the moisture inside pianos. The placement of it on an upright piano becomes almost impossible and since it remains on, mold and mildew can exacerbate the piano owner’s dilemma according to Mr. Miller, aka The Piano Man.

Alan,the knowledgeable assistant

                After he and Alan had gone, I reflected on the importance of water to the optimal performance of the 1916 upright grand piano. Immediately, I thought of the phrase used by the Apostle Paul in his letter to the church at Ephesus from chapter 5, verse 26, Sanctify and cleanse…with the washing of water by the Word. Paul’s likening of God’s Word to water struck me in light of the piano repair and its recommended ongoing care.

                Many people have referred to experiencing a “trial by fire” or being “in the hot seat” when going through a challenging ordeal or experience. David wrote of finding himself in that predicament as he wrote Psalm 119:25:

My soul clings to the dust; Revive me according to Your Word.

These statements cause me to envision someone with a parched soul, ready to succumb. The only hope for this person, drained of life by the heat of adversity, is renewal by the Word of God. I attest, in times of concern for Dad following his strokes, that only by reading the promises of God’s Word did I gain strength to continue doing the task He had called us to do.

                From the same chapter, these words from verse 131 aptly describe the dehydrated soul’s longing for God’s Word:

I opened my mouth and panted, For I longed for Your commandments.

There are times I have felt such aridity in my heart that it seemed like I needed intravenous access to His scripture.

                In one sense, as we read the Bible, study and discuss it with friends, meditate upon its truths, access social media in which we see and hear its principles whether in words, visuals, or music, we ingest His powerful truths into our bone-dry lives. This continual acquisition of these words of encouragement, strength, and power is like the refreshment of water to a thirsty person.

Bernadean and Bernyce at the restored piano.

                The vintage piano’s wood had dried so much that it broke one of the strings. The sound it produced was altered greatly. Hopefully, the continual presence of the little bowl of water will prevent the valuable Honduran wood from drying in this destructive way.

                In the same manner, as we daily face moisture-sapping events, relying on the principles of God’s Word throughout our days, will nourish our spirits. Just as I will keep the piano hydrated at all times, we must maintain the intake of scriptures each day. Then our lives will make beautiful music in the hearing of all we encounter.

                By the way, the vintage piano that I saved from being salvaged, sounds incredible. You can be sure I will check the little bowl and be sure to keep the piano "watered."

When the Benders Sang on the Radio

The Armstrongs lived in a house on the hill just north across from where Vonda and Greg Goad’s drive is located today on what is now called Big Bend Road. Their family leased the place adjoining the land my grandparents, Calvin Callcayah and Gladys Rainey Smith, rented from Lora Kirk Betts.

Sidney Armstrong, the patriarch of the family, along with his sons, Leo, Buster, Cecil, and Arlo, farmed the tillable land and raised cattle. One summer, my mother, Bernyce Smith Gates, recalled the concern she witnessed in her parents when some of the Armstrong family's cattle ate Johnson grass with nitrite or prussic acid toxicity and died. In the Depression of the 1930s, livestock loss devastated the already tight family budget

One day my grandparents heard a loud blast from the Armstrong place. They hurried over to see what had happened at their neighbors’ farm. What a sense of relief, to realize, it was just a pressure cooker that blew its lid! Thankfully, Laura, Sid’s wife, was uninjured, just startled.

My grandmother enjoyed telling of Laura’s opinion of Sid’s commitment to punctuality. She commented to Grandma, “The sun and moon may vary, but Sid’s watch never does.” I don’t know about Mrs. Armstrong, but my grandmother seldom worried about being on time, no matter how frequently Grandpa consulted his watch.

The Armstrong family and my mother’s family attended church services at the Belford School building. Mr. Armstrong led the music as my grandma played the piano. He read music and as another blog posting told, Grandma had taught herself the musical staff and the note names as a young girl. Their church services were filled with music.

P.T. Stafford, a World War I army chaplain, and his wife, a former army nurse, founded a daily radio broadcast, Daily Radio Revival in 1936, on WBBZ, the first radio station in Ponca City, Oklahoma. The station had been in operation in Ponca City for less than 10 years.

Reverend Stafford, as a guest minister, preached to the Belford School congregation. He invited the singers from the church to sing on his broadcast. My mother said Mr. Armstrong, his daughter, Laverne, and his sons, Leo and Buster, sang on the WBBZ program that aired live. My grandmother sang and played the piano. Mother, a preteen, sang with them and also did The Beautiful Garden of Prayer as a solo.

How interesting that the Benders once again were on the cutting edge of technology! Mr. Armstrong died before I was born. I recall a visit by Mrs. Armstrong to my grandma and remember how they seemed to enjoy reminiscing about earlier days in the Bend.

I enjoyed teaching several descendants of Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong at Crowder Elementary School and Woodland Elementary School.  Many fulfilling years were spent as teaching colleagues with Denta Wayman Carter and JoLu Renfro Mashburn, both descendants of Sidney and Laura Armstrong.  Both of their grandmothers, Ada Armstrong Frank and Dessa Armstrong Martin, had already married and no longer lived in the Armstrong home at the time of the radio singing.

My father recalled fondly hearing Ada, Denta’s grandma, sing with her sister-in-law, Melva Smith Frank, the mother of Jewel Dean Frank, in the little Pentecostal churches in the west Bend. Dad would say, “They could make those hollers ring!”

Dad said that Ada had a strong, clear voice that carried for miles. Mother noted that she had a soprano voice similar to Karen Peck, Sue Dodge, or Vestal Goodman (now deceased) in the southern gospel music genre. 

Dessa, JoLu’s grandma, sang alto and harmonized with her sister, too. I remembered hearing Dessa singing with the “Over the Hill Gang” in her latter years at the Ralston Bible Church. Otis “Babe” and Lucille Goad also sang in that little group. What precious memories!

Based on Dad’s memories, I delighted telling Denta and JoLu, when we teachers had to sing, that I knew they could sing. It was in their DNA!

A typewritten memorial acknowledgment was found in my grandma’s scrapbook. Evidently, she and Grandpa had contributed to some Christian ministry in Mr. Armstrong’s memory and this appeared in the ministry’s publication. She had written this tribute to accompany the contribution.

_{PIONEER GOSPEL WORKER PASSES ON}

_{In sacred memory of our beloved brother in Christ, S.L. Armstrong who departed this life at his home in Ralston, Okla. July 27, 1947. Bro. Armstrong loved the souls of men and women, and suffered much persecution to try to rescue them for the Lord. As he was preparing to attend Sunday School, he suddenly passed away} 

_{with a heart attack, leaving his wife and 8 children. He leaves a fine Christian record of consistent living for his Master and may God bless the bereaved.}

_{Mr. and Mrs. Calvin Smith,}

_{Ralston, Okla.}

            _{As I reflected on the small tribute written by my grandmother for Mr. Armstrong, a couple of phrases leaped from her scrapbook page. One phrase was loved the souls of men and women. May we always love people more than things, knowing God so valued humans that Jesus sacrificed His life for them. Another phrase that caught my attention was record of consistent living for his Master. May we desire that consistent living for Jesus to bring all glory to Him.}

       

This photograph was found in one of Gladys Smith’s albums. This is a photograph 
of the seven living children of Mr. and  Mrs. Armstrong when Gladys and Calvin Smith attended
 the Armstrong Reunion held in Ralston at Dessie Armstrong Martin’s home in the 1970s.
 They are from left to right standing: Ada, Leo, Dessie, Eathel, and Laverne. Kneeling left 
to right: Arlo and Buster. Mother noted that there was an older brother, Cecil. Coincidentally, 
Cecil married Nola, the oldest daughter of Perry and Ruth Woods, the dear friends of my 
grandparents. Mother recalled how difficult it was for Nola, with two little girls, when
 Cecil was suddenly killed. Yet on Tuesday, November 2, 1982, during my grandfather's
funeral service, Nola Woods Armstrong sat faithfully, in Hillcrest Rehabilitation Center, by 
my grandmother who had experienced a devastating stroke just weeks earlier. Only a
true friend, widowed so many years earlier, would recognize how much a woman, in such 
a frail condition, who had lost her husband of 59 years needed support and love at that 
very hour. In my mind, even though Nola had moved from the Big Bend many years earlier,
 Nola sitting with Grandma poignantly illustrates that she still had retained the compassion
 and caring of a true Bender. Lots of former residents of the Big Bend remain Benders
 in their character.