It’s been too long

It has been well over a year since I have posted anything about my grandfather.  It will be one year in November since I did any work on him. The only reason I can give is that I have been trying to get my own life in order. While the jury is still out on how that is coming along, it has made me try to put myself in my grandfather’s shoes. The times that we each lived in were so different, and despite the technological advances I get to live with today, I envy his time and his path in life.  I don’t envy the war he witnessed, the war he fought, and the men he had to watch die. I envy that when he made his choice, of what he wanted to do and be, he did it. He wanted adventure. He wanted to try something new, something the people of Nebraska would never think of doing. And through that choice he lived an extraordinary life. The kind of life I grew up hearing about, in awe of the places he had visited and lived and the people he met. It was the sort of adventure I always wanted in life. But, as I said, the times in which we live/d are very different.  For as many adventures as he had, I always seem to be stuck behind a computer, trying to figure out where to go next, and trying to find where I belong.  I turn 30 next March, and as much as my parents tell me not to, I can’t help but compare my life to where my grandfathers’ was at 30.

I have taken information on my grandfather, including personal items from before, during, and after the war, within the last year, but I have been too busy with what I have explained above to get around to posting it. If I don’t get to it before the end of the year, it will be my New Years’ Resolution for 2018. I hope to see you before then.

Remembering Sacrifices

On Memorial Day, we remember and honor those who gave their lives in military service. I’ve never had the inclination to grill out, throw a pool party, or go to the lake, as it seems those are the most popular explanations of “what we did for Memorial Day”. To be honest, growing up, my Memorial Day’s were usually spent at some soccer complex for some “Memorial Day Cup” with my teammates and parents, as were most weekends that people were doing fun things. I don’t regret that, but it has an impact on what I do with this day in my future.

After completing my graduate project, I have a newfound respect for those men who never made it home to see their families in war. For the 362nd Fighter Group, I saw the names and faces of these boys-turned-men as I searched through books, papers, photographs, and webpages, and I was saddened by how many did not make it home.

I was especially saddened when I saw how many men my grandfather knew and flew with personally that didn’t make it back. To know how close he was with them and how much they meant to him, I can get some inclination of how he felt to lose them.

So for this Memorial Day, in honor of the men of the 362nd who gave their lives, I want to list them here. This list is from the first couple of pages of “Mogins Maulers – the 362nd Fighter Group’s History of WWII.” The authors (a few of the men themselves and their families) make sure to note that this may not be a comprehensive list, that some may have been forgotten or lost. For now, these men are listed in their squadrons, in the order their lives were lost.

362nd Fighter Group Headquarters Personnel

Capt. Clough F. Gee, III
Major Berry Chandler

377th Fighter Squadron

Lt. Homer V. Waits
Capt. John E. Moist
Lt. Raymond J. Shea
Lt. John E. Hayden
Lt. Ralph D. Day
Lt. Walter J. Booth
Lt. Donald R. Gipple
Lt. Emory A. Riggs
Lt. Burleigh E. Curtis
Lt. Richard M. Hoff
Lt. Ralph E. Phillips
Lt. James P. Harris
P.F.C. John E. Goodale
Lt. Jack D. Conatser
Lt. Elroy M. Nangle
Lt. William H. Ort
Lt. Roy D. Christian
Lt. James G. Newman
Lt. Fred C. Ford
Lt. Robert E. Daw
Capt. Roy L. Barker
Lt. Archie E. Billings
Lt. Willard Nagelstadt
Capt. Darden W. McCollum
Lt. Asa W. Shuler
Lt. Cecil M. Gurganus
Lt. Virgil P. Kirkham
Lt. John B. Fisher
Capt. Kenneth Caldwell
Lt. Merrill E. Holland
Lt. Robert V. Mendenhall

378th Fighter Squadron

Lt. Burdick
Lt. Charles Armstrong
Lt. Richard Huber
Lt. William F. Hall
Lt. Maynard L. Cowles
Lt. Daniel A. Sipe, Jr.
Pvt. Robert Taft
Lt. Kevin Gough
Lt. Craig A. Gilbert
Lt. Leon R. Bentley
Lt. Alva D. Bessey
Capt. Harry R. Stroh
Capt. Leon Bilstin
Lt. Andrew Sunter
Lt. Richard Heyne
Lt. Alvin A. Johnson
Lt. Richard K. Grant
Lt. Joseph J. Maucini, Jr.
Lt. Robert W. Snell
Lt. Gordon J. McGrath
Lt. Vernon A. Post
Lt. Edward E. Smith
Lt. George F. Robinson
Lt. James W. Noland

379th Fighter Squadron

Lt. George S. Palmer
Lt. Kenneth K. Kitts
Capt. Hugh F. Houghton
Lt. Theodore D. Jensen
Capt. George W. Rarey
Lt. Robert G. Barnes
Lt. I. L. Taylor
T/Sgt. Arthur L. Hartman
Lt. Harold D. Wood
Lt. Harold Wellek
Lt. Warner H. Marsh, Jr.
Lt. Donald H. Wilson
Lt. Joseph T. Price
Capt. Raymond A. Mitchell
Lt. Louis A. Bauer
Maj. Carroll A. Peterson
Lt. Chester B. Kusi
Lt. John K. McMahon
Lt. Robert A. Sovern
Lt. Donald J. Kueffner
Lt. James H. Sheets
Lt. Philip P. Heelan
Lt. Jack C. Taylor
Capt. Timothy F. Ruane, Jr.

These men of the 362nd paid the ultimate price for their country and our freedom. They are just a small list among thousands, but they are important to me. The least I can do is remember them and their sacrifice.

Thank you, gentlemen.

Visiting Dayton

For those who may not know, the National Museum of the United States Air Force is located in Dayton, Ohio. It is open to the public from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. Monday through Sunday, everyday except for Thanksgiving, Christmas Day, and New Year’s Day.  I discovered its’ existence at my grandfather’s memorial after he passed away in 2006. For the full story on this, see my very first entry.

I was able to visit the first time for less than 24 hours on August 23, 2006, due in large part to my commitment to Division 1 soccer at the University of Arkansas at Little Rock. However, I was very thankful for that short amount of time; I was able to get an up close look at a P-47, the artwork, the cockpit, and the general exhibit.  I was able to get a better view of my grandfather, his bravery, and his talents as a pilot. I didn’t appreciate it at the time, but I understand its significance now. I also didn’t appreciate the access we were given; since it was a new exhibit, and we were family, we were allowed to get closer than others.

And it was nice and warm since it was summer.

I didn’t get that treatment the second time, from the museum or the weather.

The second time was March 3, 2016.  I had been in contact with the Museum Curator, Jeff Duford, and Archivist, Brett Stolle, for over a month.  I had wanted to visit on the 10 year anniversary of my grandfather’s passing, February 17, but priorities prevented that. Then, I had wanted to go the following week, but commitments prevented that. So the first week of March it was, and although it had been about 65º F two days prior, the weather was a frigid 25º F when I landed in Dayton on the 2nd of March.  It was snowing by the 3rd.

After landing around 10:30 a.m. local time and picking up my rental car, I made my way to my hotel (Drury Inn and Suites, which I highly recommend!) to unwind and unpack. I called my mom to tell her I had arrived safely and she asked when I was going to the museum. “Not until tomorrow,” I said. “You don’t want to go there today?” she then asked. “Not really, I’m kind of tired. I am going to take a nap then do some homework and then write a blog post,” I told her, feeling confident I knew what I was doing. “What if you don’t have time to see the museum tomorrow?” she pressured. In the back of my mind, I knew she was right. “No, I’ll have time,” I lied. “Are you sure?” she followed up. “Yes, Mom, I’m sure, but thanks for worrying,” I sighed. A few more niceties, I love yous, and a goodbye later, I was putting my shoes back on and heading out the door. I don’t hate it when my mother is right, but it can get very exhausting.

The directions were simple enough to follow from my phone. The Museum is located just outside of the Wright-Patterson Air Force Base.  It took less than 20 minutes to get there from my hotel, and I arrived around 2 p.m.  There were planes sitting out on the lawn, as well as a control tower and Nissen huts. The museum itself is, in layman’s terms, massive. They are currently in the process of finishing construction on a 4th building and its’ 4 exhibits, which will open in June.  For now, they have 6 galleries in 3 1/2 buildings (not to mention the two parks on the outside). However, I focused my attention on only one gallery; the WWII gallery.

I made a beeline for my grandfather’s plane after walking through security, fighting back tears I didn’t even know I needed to shed (still can’t account for the emotional moment). At the exhibit, I had to stand behind the barrier like everyone else and take pictures and video from afar. It made me kick myself for not being able to spend more time there the first time, but I did what I could with the time I had. For 3 hours, I traipsed around the gallery, taking photos and video of the his P-47, the bombers they would have escorted, and the other planes that would have filled the sky on D-day.  I read as much of the information sheets as possible, learning about what was happening in the other fighter groups, tactical air commands, and air force units in the European Theater.

At 5 p.m., they announced the museum was closing. The volunteers who had been walking around the exhibits started calling out to us stragglers. I joked with an older gentleman volunteer as I made my way to the exit (I wasn’t the strangest museum visitor he had seen walking around for three hours taking pictures, so yay!), and as I made my way down the sidewalk towards the parking lot, a familiar song began playing over the intercom.  “Off we go into the wild blue yonder, climbing high into the sun,” came the lyrics. I almost cried again. I remembered my grandfather playing this on his computer when we would come visit. When I was still young (and light), he bounced me along on his knees to it. I hadn’t heard it for over a decade, but it came right back to me; the song of the U.S. Air Force.

I arrived back at the museum the next morning at 8:50 a.m., 10 minutes before I was supposed to meet Brett Stolle in the main entrance of the museum. I sat there, not daring to turn the car off for losing the heater, pondering what this experience would be like.  It would be my first official visit to an archive, and although I had taken college classes and knew the do’s and don’ts, I was still nervous I would mess something up.  This was the main reason I came to Dayton, I fretted, so I better not screw it up. How I could screw anything up, beyond destroying the records and the building itself, I still don’t know, but I was nervous nonetheless.

I hadn’t known that there was even an archive associated with this museum until visiting their website (see the link above). And while the museum sits just outside of the gates, the archives is located on the base itself; I didn’t realize this until after I met Mr. Stolle, but I’ll get to that. So, as the clock turned to 9 a.m. and I braced myself for the cold and wind, I heard the Song come on over the intercom again, this time without the lyrics. Probably a good thing; I might have started crying again. After entering the lobby and going through the metal detector, I did a U-turn and introduced myself to Mr. Stolle. He shook my hand, we exchanged a few pleasantries and then back outside we went. I followed him to his car and got in the passenger seat. As I buckled in and tucked my bag and purse under my legs, he told me I needed to get out my I.D. for the security gate.

So up until this moment, I had expected most of this. For those who have never visited an archive of any kind, making an appointment before visiting one is preferred, if not required, especially by larger archives.  This allows the archivist to locate the records you are wanting to see and have them ready for you when you visit. This shortens the wait time and increases the research time for the user. This also may be required because some records are stored off-site, meaning they have to be transported to the reading room for the user to look through.

But for the archives in Dayton, it means a little bit more.  Security clearance did not seem absolutely necessary for the part of the base I entered into (the guards hardly glanced at me), but the archivist was responsible for me while I was on base, so he needed to know I was coming.  I had been in contact with Mr. Stolle for about a month when we finally pinned down a date for my visit. I don’t think they all take that long (it was mostly on my end), but it was necessary for this archive.

He answered all of my inane questions from the museum to the base, then started telling me more about the base and its history. The building he took me to housed the archive, actually called the Research Division of the National Museum of the United States Air Force. Key cards were required to get into both the building and the reading room, double the insurance for the security of the records.

After signing me in on a board on the wall (for all who entered to see) and giving me a visitors badge, he walked me through the mostly darkened building. There were hardly any people there, a mixture of the early hour and the weather, I presumed, but there was still plenty to see.  He pointed out the work stations to our left; wood and metal cutting, printing, and painting. They did everything in-house, he explained, to cut down on overall costs. Having seen what they had in only one gallery in one building, I knew that was an important thing for their work.

As we hung a right past the work stations, the outlines of planes stretched through the darkness to the back wall on our left. In the foreground the light exposed several rows of cabinets.  All of this was enclosed within an 8-ft fence. The planes were obvious enough; donations made that were most likely headed to the museum for future exhibits. The cabinets, Brett explained, housed other donated objects such as goggles, helmets, and weapons, that may also make it into the exhibits someday, but for now were used for reference for the research division. After about 30 paces down this corridor, the wall on the right opened into a space full of, for lack of a better word, stuff.  There was no fence around these things (I didn’t ask why) but they weren’t in pristine condition, giving rise to the idea that they might still be processing what was located in that area (and it was in need of some preservation work).

After about another 30 paces, we hung a left, walking the outside of the fenced-in area until the door to the reading room appeared on the right.  A swipe of his card and we were through the door. He proceeded to his desk just inside the main reading room, and I just stood there looking lost.  He showed me the records I had requested, those pertaining to my grandfather, all of which had apparently come from my grandmother. Some of the things I recognized, others I did not. I dug into the material (figuratively, not literally; be gentle when handling records, folks) and began the nearly 6 hours I spent in that room by just going through the folders to familiarize myself with it. I highly recommend this approach which allows you to get a cursory understanding of what is available; when taking photos, notes, and copies, you can easily lose track of what you have and have not gone through. Also, try to keep the records in the order you found them. It isn’t always a necessity, but it is a courtesy.

After about an hour, I got to meet Jeff Duford, the curator I had been emailing for close to 2 months.  He had personally worked on my grandfathers’ exhibit, something he told me he will always cherish (he loved my grandfather’s story and thinks my family is a delight). He said he would be back later and we could talk more in depth, so I continued on my search and he went about his work.

Around 1 p.m. I had to take a bathroom break. I felt like a kid in school again, having to tell Brett who then had to take me to the restroom. He also had to wait for me outside the bathroom because you needed a key card to get back in the reading room. I’m not going to complain; security measures are put in place for a reason, and it is great to know they have that security for those records.

Around 1:30 p.m., I was ready for Mr. Duford. He sat across from me and we chatted about his talking with my family after my grandfather passed away. Most of my questions revolved around planes, mainly, the markings on them, how many they had, and why they chose my grandfather for this P-47. Mainly, he told me, it was because of a book by Lt. Col. John J. Zentner called The Art of Wing Leadership and Aircrew Morale in Combat. I laughed, saying that was the book that encouraged me to do this project. He showed me two more books (both of which I later discovered we had in our own house) on the Ninth Air Force and the 362nd Fighter Group, and we talked until I had run out of questions.

So just before 3 p.m., I thanked Mr. Duford for his time and informed Mr. Stolle I was done with the records.  I thanked him as he led me out of the reading room door, and I waved goodbye to the records on the table; the sentimentality had hit me, and I was sad to leave them. We headed back down the still-darkened corridors (the snow had picked up so a lot of people had just called in) and back to the sign-in board. He wiped off my name and took my badge, remarking on how much thicker the snowflakes were getting. Back to his car, then back to the checkpoint, then back to the museum. He dropped me off at my rental car because I was mentally drained from the time in the reading room and just wanted to get to the airport.  I thanked him a second time, telling him I hope to see him again soon, if nothing else to see the rest of the museum and any new information he might have on my grandpa or the 362nd Fighter Group.

I sat in my car, trying to warm both it and me up. I called my mother, telling her I was about to head to the airport. “You aren’t going into the museum, again?” she asked. “No,” I replied, “I’m too tired. And I’m pretty sure I got everything I need.” It was quiet for about 5 seconds and then I heard her say, “Are you sure?” In the back of my mind, I knew she was right. This was all the time I had to spend here before my graduate project was due. If I missed anything, I wouldn’t be able to get another shot. “Yes, Mom, I’m sure,” I lied. She wished me a great flight, probably hearing the eye roll I gave her through the phone.

The next minute was spent psyching myself up for heading back out in the cold and snow (it is a good 2 minute walk to the entrance from the parking lot) and looking for new information in a museum I had already convinced myself I had found everything I needed in.  I’m glad I did it (and yes, I told my mom thank you for encouraging me). I got extra shots of information posted on the walls, planes my grandfather would have flown in the Pacific Theater, and the German artillery pieces they had within the exhibit.  It would help me tell the story of both my grandfather and the 362nd.

So, around 4:15 p.m. I decided I was done. I stopped in the gift shop on the way out, purchasing a travel mug for my parents, a shot glass for my collection, and a commemorative spoon to continue the collection my grandparents had started (I currently have theirs on a wall in my room).  Back out into the cold and thickening snow, back into my chilly-again rental, and back to the airport I had arrived at 30 hours earlier.

It was still a short trip, but all-in-all a very successful one, for both me and my project.

Lesson Learned: It’s All About Balance

When I was 6, my parents let me try several different ‘sports’, mostly those my sister was already doing. Ballet, softball (T-ball at the time), horseback riding, soccer, and my personal favorite, gymnastics. It was a thoroughly busy schedule because I think we did most of them 2-3 times a week. This lasted for nearly two years until my parents told me I could only pick 2 to continue.

By that time, ballet and gymnastics were my absolute favorites. Ballet was graceful and beautiful and I enjoyed it (and I was the best in the class, no big deal), and gymnastics was fun and interesting and there were new things to learn every other week. I was also 8 so the hard parts had not started, but those were the two things I looked forward to after school. My parents shot both of those down, saying I was going to be too tall for gymnastics and have too large of a frame for ballet. They were right; soccer and softball were more up my alley, but I learned that one of my favorite activities in gymnastics would be what I unconsciously strove for throughout my life.

The balance beam; one of the fundamentals of gymnastics.  I remember falling off once, when I first got on it. I got something akin to vertigo, and it took me a second to recover, but after that, it was always a breeze. When they taught us to do little jumps and turns, it just made it that much more exciting, and I relished in it. It was also the lower beam and only about a foot off the ground so it wasn’t a huge deal to anyone but me, but still, the thrill of making it through without falling was amazing. I also remember getting yelled at for being on it when I wasn’t supposed to. I didn’t stop, though. I was such a rebel.

But what does this have to do with my grandpa? Nothing, really, but it has everything to do with my life and this project.  That same thrill I got from making it across the beam I get from keeping balance in my life. Since I started playing competitively in soccer until today, I was always better (inside and out) when I could balance work and play, school and sports, family and friends, etc.  Being more involved with or giving more of my time to one than the other always makes me more tired, cranky, and unproductive. The weird thing is that I didn’t even realize this until I had quit playing soccer in college. Balancing my life had always seemed like autopilot until that point. Having to change everything that I had been doing for the past 10+ years altered that, and I’m still trying to figure out how to get back to it. Maybe I never will.

Why is this such a big deal, you may ask. Well, this past week was supposed to be my Spring Break. In theory, it was supposed to be when I relaxed, didn’t think about school, and went out and had fun.  Yeah, that didn’t happen. I was focused, no, obsessing, over this project. I had so much information and so much to do with very little time that I lie awake at night stressing out about it and couldn’t sleep well enough to be productive during the day; that all culminated in an anxiety attack on Wednesday.  This is what happens when I can’t keep my balance.

I fall. Hard.

I finally found my balance on Thursday. I gave myself permission (yep, I’m weird like that) to finally go see a movie. I hadn’t allowed myself to go in about two months claiming I had too much homework and needed to stay focused on the project. But, movies are my thing. Well, movies and books, but I don’t like to read for pleasure during school months; its’ just an invitation to procrastinate for longer amounts of time. But, in going to see that movie and spending two and a half hours away from the stresses of the project, I was able to dive back in headfirst and get more done in the following 6 hours than I had the previous 4 days. Truly, all work and no play makes Jamie a very dull girl.

So what did I learn? Keeping my balance is just as hard as finding it, perhaps even more so when I’m facing a deadline. But I need to do it.  Getting away from the work, even for just a few hours, can have an overall positive impact. Both my mental health and my workflow  benefited from stepping away.

What can others learn from this?  There should always be a balance between two extremes.  It may look different for other; some people need to work for months before they feel they have earned the time to relax while others only need to work a few hours. I think the most important thing is to listen to yourself and pay attention to your work habits.  I was little more than useless at the beginning of the week. Now, I’m being much more productive, and while the deadline for this project is even closer than before, I know that if I need to step away from it, I should.

I just need to keep my balance.


Searching through storage

The hunt for primary sources continued yesterday and the day before, but this time, in Tulsa, OK.  Two rather large storage units have housed most of my grandparents’ stories for a few years now, the result of downsizing from a very large 4 bedroom house to the two bedroom studio apartment my grandmother now lives in. There were some items that have already been passed on to her children and grandchildren, like furniture, china, and memorabilia, but the bulk of it sits in the units, waiting for the time when it must be dealt with.

I was not sure what was in there. My uncle, who is in charge of the estate, did not think there was anything of use to me in the units, but then again, I don’t think he understands exactly what I’m doing. Honestly, sometimes I feel the same way. But it was a 4 1/2 hour drive that I was unsure would bring about anything new, let alone everything of interest.

My father accompanied me on this trip, to help me make sense of what I was going through and also because we were not exactly sure my uncle would help if he did not show up. I’ll let you all make of that what you will, but nonetheless, I was very thankful he was with me. It could almost have felt like a vacation, except for moving around dusty boxes, cabinets, and bags of bedding. Considering my dad had the flu earlier in the week, he was a real trooper to stick with me through the combined 7 hours of rummaging through items.

It was completely worth it.  It seems I’m not the only sentimental on my father’s side of the family. There were memories from my grandmother’s teenage years, my grandfather’s childhood, and his family as far back as 1864. A bag marked “Asst photos of Lena Lyle” was the most precious thing I came across. Although it held nothing of note for my project, it gave me a glimpse of my great-great grandmother and her family, I think as far back as my great-great-great grandparents (I have to consult a family tree to be sure). Tintypes, newspapers, and memory booklets with the most beautiful handwriting I’ve ever seen were all housed inside this treasure trove of family history. I was standing there telling me dad I wanted dibs on this (as if I have a say at the moment). I definitely want to rehouse those items in something a little more durable, which I hope to do around Thanksgiving when I am up there again.

As for what I could use in this project (and beyond), there was an absolute treasure trove of items. A filing cabinet held dozens of folders with emails, pictures, and mementos of my grandfather, the 362nd, and his fellow fighter pilots. In the boxes that we were able to get to and go through, childhood and college photos, letters to and from my grandfather, and the Laughlin family rations booklets of WWII made me absolutely gleeful.  My grandparents cared about their history as much as I do (or as my dad kept saying, they like to hoard stuff). In either case, it was everything I had wished I could find but had not held out hope for.

It was far too much stuff to go through in the under 48 hours that my father and I spent in Tulsa. Thankfully, my uncle had already said we could take what we wanted; he just wanted us to bring it back. Thank God, because there is such a trove of information to go through, I most definitely will need some time with it. I will also be rehousing some of it since the boxes are coming apart. I don’t think acid-free folders and boxes will do any good going back in the unit with the other old folders and boxes, but some better protection is definitely warranted for those items.  I also do not think I will be getting through everything in the 2 weeks I have until my graduate project is due, but I’ll get to what I can and continue on even after. I definitely have plenty to work with.

The moral to this story is the same as the last entry:  search through everything that you possibly can, even if you don’t think you will find anything. I sure didn’t, but I found a piece of my grandfather’s history that I can’t wait to share with the world.

Lesson Learned: The Hunt for Primary Sources

While I was already under certain time constraints, I definitely did not help myself when it came to finding sources. More questions should have been posed to family members, mostly my father, of what was available closer to home.  My initial thought was to look through archives rather than family records. This is mainly due to the fact that I had a preconceived notion that I had already seen everything we had on my grandfather. Combined with where and how I found inspiration for this project, this was the basic problem with my hunt for primary sources.

My inspiration for this project came almost a year ago, as I was procrastinating on another hunt for primary sources, this time for a History class.  I was hitting dead ends in the search and was becoming very disheartened and stressed. To ease that feeling, I went to Youtube and searched for calming music. After settling on some Hans Zimmer, I had the sudden inclination to search for anything on the 362nd Fighter Group. Googling my grandfather had not produced anything new in a few years (I found myself doing this about twice a year since his passing), so I did not search for him, which turned out to be a good thing. In the results page, there it was; color footage of the 362nd Fighter Group, and 3 minutes in, there was my grandfather.

I subscribed to the content creator (Zeno’s Warbirds) and messaged him to find out where he had found this footage. This was the beginning of my project, even though it took me another two months to officially declare it as such. My hunt for primary sources should have started soon after I found that first video. Instead, it took another four months after my official decision to figure out where to look for more records, and still this was nowhere near home. St. Louis, Missouri, Dayton, Ohio, and Tulsa, Oklahoma were my points of reference when I could have been looking in my own house.

So, sorry to say, I’ve accomplished more in the search for records on my grandfather in the past month than in the previous eight months.  I would say this is due in large part to my lack of understanding what was actually out there, along with not asking questions  to those who would know more, a.k.a. my father and uncle. I also overloaded my class schedule in the fall so that any real searches were rushed and half hearted until December. Contact with the archives in St. Louis was not initiated until then, and I had to have my father actually do it since I was not considered next of kin.  That was also when I began my correspondence with the archives in Dayton, and both the archivist and museum curator there proved to be the second biggest help in my search for information after my father.

So the lesson learned in my hunt for primary sources:

  1. Search sooner rather than later
  2. Search near before searching far
  3. Ask questions, no matter how stupid they may sound

In the end, I felt far more foolish for not asking the obvious questions about the items closest to me months ago. Now, I know.

The Project: Omeka and WordPress

This project will endeavor to publicize the military career of Colonel Joseph L. Laughlin. For the short term, and for my graduate project, it will focus on his WWII career as an officer and commander in the Army Air Corps. After graduation, I hope to continue this project to explore his post-war career in the United States Air Force.

I will do my best to remain objective, and I have professors who will ensure that I remain so.  This project will be combining my three areas of study: Information Science, History, and Management.  Using Omeka, I will be able to have an online archive, where I can make these records accessible yet unchangeable.  The exhibits will be presented as an online museum, guiding you through his 30 years of service, pointing to his leadership positions in management situations and how he handled them. I hope that in some small way this project will bring to light the long and incredible career of Colonel Joseph L. Laughlin in a way that has not yet been presented.

I will also use this blog to narrate my trials, failures, and successes in my quest to find and present these records. Already, I have found some channels work better than others for archives and repositories, and I have discovered that some of the best material is actually right under my nose.  Writing about my experiences, I hope to provide insight to those like me looking to do a similar project, hopefully not under time constraints.

But perhaps the most important thing I should mention is that Colonel Joseph L. Laughlin was my grandfather. As such, I am privy to family possessions and records that others would not have, but that is also why I think this project is so important.  He left an indelible mark on everyone he met, and I hope this project can show why that occurred.

I think a project like this was always something I wanted to do after hearing him referred to as a hero and a great leader from the men he flew with. One veteran personally pulled me aside at a reunion to tell me how my grandfather saved his life. Other veterans shared their war stories with my family and I, usually involving my grandpa, and always he would be sitting behind them yelling, “oh, stop making that crap up!”

His stories were almost always never really about him. He would talk about how honored he was to know the men who flew with him, emphasizing the teamwork they would utilize to beat back the enemy and get the job done. He never spoke to me of certain times or places or events, it was always general. When pushed by others, he would give a few more details, but generally I remember he remained humble, nostalgic, and with a hint of sadness.

Of course, these are the memories (mostly) of a child and teenager.  How he really spoke of them could have been wildly different, but I wasn’t really listening to Colonel Joseph L. Laughlin. I was listening to Grandpa Laughlin.  For the first 16 years of my life, that was all I really saw him as:  my stocky, hug-loving, softy grandpa who loved bacon for breakfast and having all of the family around the table at Thanksgiving.

Then, in November 2005, we traveled to Tampa, FL, for the 362nd Fighter Groups’ reunion. It was not something that the family usually went to, but my grandfather had made plans with us all to renew his vows to my grandmother, to her surprise. It was a memorable weekend. Not only did I get to witness my grandparents’ 60th anniversary and vow renewals, I began to view my grandpa as his squadron did, as Colonel Joe.

Unfortunately, I did not know how precious little time I had left with him. That was the last time I saw him in person. Excepting phone calls on Christmas Day and New Years Day, I did not get to speak with him again. More importantly to this project, I didn’t get to ask him about his service in WWII, how it affected him, and how he wanted to be remembered.  That is my biggest regret.

On Friday, February 17, 2006, my grandpa was taken from us. It is never easy to lose a beloved family member; it is even harder to lose a hero you were just starting to appreciate.  It still hurts to talk about it. Even now, almost 10 years later, I have tears rolling down my cheeks. At the memorial my family found out the truth:  he had been diagnosed with terminal cancer just before Tampa and had been given 6 months. He told only my uncle (and my grandma, of course), not wanting to worry the rest of us with the short time he had left. I remember feeling very angry at him for this, almost resentful. I didn’t get the time I wanted with him, and for a few months, I blamed him for that.

Then we found out something incredible: my grandpa had been in talks with the Air Force Museum in Dayton, OH because they wanted to do a refurbished P-47D with his emblem. The opening was not until late 2016, so my grandpa knew he wouldn’t be seeing it. I like to think he kept this a secret to lessen the blow of his death, or to allow us time to mourn and celebrate him and he wouldn’t have to be there yelling at us, “oh stop making that crap up!”

As I would continue to learn, that was how Colonel Joe was, and that was why so many of his men respected and followed him.  He did not want to add stress and worry to those he cared about; he would get the job done so they wouldn’t have to. That was Colonel Joseph L. Laughlin, my grandpa, my hero.