Waist gunner John Wyatt honored for World War II exploits, many of which have been documented by his family
For exemplary service as a member of the U.S. Army Air Forces during World War II, for flying 30 missions as a waist gunner on a B-24, John P. Wyatt of Lewiston was presented U.S. Sen. Michael Crapo's Spirit of Freedom Award Wednesday.
Wyatt, recipient of the Distinguished Flying Cross and Air Medal with three oak leaf clusters, accompanied by his wife of 61 years, Doris Wyatt, and other family members, was honored at the Veterans Day ceremony at the Idaho State Veterans Home at Lewiston.
His memory doesn't work so good anymore, Wyatt, 91, said prior to the event. But he never did talk much about his war years, said his wife and eldest son, Bruce Wyatt.
He had mentioned they put their flak vests on the floor of the plane to stop the debris coming up from below, and that it was sometimes numbingly cold.
They knew he had won the Distinguished Flying Cross for his service and had flown missions over much of Europe. They picked up bits and pieces at the crew's few reunions over the years, including their mission logs.
So that no one forgets, another son, Jeff Wyatt, put together a book for the family: "Over Germany: In Recognition of John P. Wyatt's Service in the U.S. Army Air Corps, 1942-45." It documents his training, the men he served with and the planes they flew.
Among the photographs is one of the fresh-faced young airman with his recently awarded wings, probably taken fresh out of basic training. Then there is a second portrait, still in uniform and at most four years later, but the face is lined and shadowed. The reasons are recorded in the mission log kept by Victor Darilek, the engineer and nose gunner, on the crew of the "Delectable Doris," the B-24 they flew.
"Delectable Doris" wasn't his Doris, whom Wyatt came home to marry in 1949. She was in her early teens when he left for the war, and he was in his 20s. They moved in different circles, she said.
Probably a good thing. Her father wouldn't have been happy if she had been the raven-haired, totally naked Doris on the nose of the airplane. Instead, it was the pilot's English sweetheart Doris.
Wyatt's wife and children have heard the monkey story he was fond of telling after a shift working at the mills in Weippe and Pierce. But it had nothing to do with Mission 9, May 25, 1944, when the plane came home with maybe 400 holes in it. The notation in the mission log reads: "Flak shot up our ship pretty bad. Cut our rudder cables - landed without rudders. [Radio operator gunner A. J.] Galgano and Chi [navigator S. Chiarenza] hit by flak, but not hurt."
Nor does he talk about Mission 14, June 6, 1944, over Normandy.
"This is it!! The invasion of the COAST!!" Darilek wrote. "No flak - no fighters. Ours were the first bombs to hit the invasion coast from the heavy bombers."
Others assignments followed: Mission 16, when the brakes went out on landing. Mission 18, when another B24 had to ditch and sank in 15 seconds. Mission 22, when they almost froze but saw Holland, Belgium, France, Germany and Luxembourg in one day. Mission 26, over St. Lo, France, described by Darilek as "one rough mission, got hell shot out of us. Lost two planes... Got three holes in our ship."
Mission 26, over Brunswick, Germany: "Feathered No. 1 engine. Lost a few ships. Plenty of sweating, getting nervous.
And finally, Mission 30, Aug. 25, 1944, over Wismar, Germany, at a time in the war when surviving 30 bombing runs was a ticket out of the war: "7 Hrs. 50 Min." Darilek recorded. "No fighters, plenty of flak. Easy raid ... I've had it."
No, Wyatt preferred to tell his wife and children about a monkey. It belonged to the pilot, Bill Graff, who wanted to send it home to his little sister until he found out what six months' of quarantine would cost.
That monkey was mean, as Wyatt told the story. It bit everyone, it did unspeakable things in their towels and ate their candy bars. Everyone hated it.
So finally a couple of the crew members caught it in a box, ran a hose from a vehicle exhaust into it and waited. Half an hour later, they thought surely the dirty deed was done and opened the box. The monkey "just flew out of there," and unfortunately, to their way of thinking, appeared none the worse for the experience. Eventually, the pilot gave it away and peace reigned until their 50-year reunion when someone told the surprised man what had been done. It had been half a century, but he still got mad, Doris Wyatt said. Samantha Wyatt, John and Doris' granddaughter, heard the Mission 9 story as related by other crew members and turned it into a story for a seventh-grade class assignment.
As she records it, the pilot, Graff, was ordered by the ground control to ditch the plane in the English Channel after their rudder was hit. A big, lumbering B24 was hard to get out of in the air or in the water. Men were killed by its huge tail when they tried to parachute. Then there was the icy cold water. The chances of survival were low at best.
The pilot, veteran of just five flights, was scared; he'd lost his nerve, they said. Wyatt was the old man of the crew, just a sergeant. He pulled out his handgun and pointed it at the pilot. "You will land this plane, pilot. You can do it. Land the plane," Samantha wrote. The others stood with him, preferring to take their chances together. Slowly, the pilot brought the plane back under control, and they landed safely.
John Wyatt denied that's what happened. There was no gun involved, he told his family. The pilot just "needed talking to."
Hats off to you Grandpa!
P.S. This is from the Lewiston Morning Tribune
