This week the Memphis Belle came home to a place she’d never been before. And the Belle has been a lot of places. She was born in Seattle, Washington, on July 2, 1942. She flew to England in September and completed her first bombing mission over Europe in November. By May of 1943, she had completed her 25th mission and was sent “home”. She then toured the United States promoting War Bonds. After the war, she spent a little time in an Oklahoma airplane graveyard then a lot of time at various locations in Memphis, Tennessee. Since 2005 she’s been undergoing major restoration in Dayton, Ohio, and on Wednesday she was moved to the National Museum of the US Air Force. On Thursday, the exhibit was officially opened to the general public. That’s me.
I arrived about an hour before the scheduled ceremony and was happy to see that traffic was not as bad as I had feared. There were plenty of people there, though. By the time I made it through the line and security, only about a third of that one hour wait remained.
My first view of the restored airplane was somewhat obscured by some of those people who had been in line in front of me. I got a reasonably clear view by heading to the back where the media risers were.
The Memphis Belle is often referred to as the first B-17 to complete 25 bombing missions but that honor actually belongs to Hell’s Angels which accomplished the feat about a week before the Belle. But the Memphis Belle was the first to return to the States. It seems likely the the romance behind the name had a lot to do with the selection. Memphis, Tennessee, was the home town of Margaret Polk who was the fiance of Robert Morgan, the plane’s pilot. Although Margaret broke off the engagement before the war ended, I don’t doubt that it helped sell more than a few war bonds.
At war’s end, the Belle was designated surplus. In 1946, the city of Memphis bought her for $350 from an airplane graveyard near Altus, Oklahoma. They didn’t spend much more on her for a long time. She was initially parked outside at the Memphis Municipal Airport. In 1950, she was moved to the National Guard Armory and placed — still outside — on a concrete pedestal. In 1987, helped along by some noise from Air Force people, a covered pavilion was built for the plane on Memphis’ Mud Island. It was here I first saw her in 1990 and it seems like I should have some pictures around but a Friday afternoon search came up empty. The plane was moved to a Navy hangar in Millington in 2002 where the deterioration was reined in and restoration begun before the 2005 move to Dayton.
A formal unveiling had taken place the night before for the family of crew members and other VIPs. Today’s ceremony consisted of just a couple of short speeches and a symbolic ribbon cutting. I did not have much of a view of the ribbon cutting although it didn’t really matter. The participants’ names had been announced but I could not have put a single name with a face. The ribbon cutting was the signal to remove the ropes that had blocked the plane and the many displays around it. It quickly became apparent that this was not going the be a good time to leisurely read placards and study pictures.
It was, however, a good time to visit the new building that opened last year. On the way I paused to snap a picture of the B-2 and a man walking a few steps behind me caught up with me. “It won’t show up”, he said. I was too slow to get it but must have looked sufficiently quizzical for him to spare me the embarrassment of asking a truly dumb question. “Too stealthy”, he explained.
The closest thing to a space shuttle at the museum sits at the entrance to the new building. It is one of three NASA Crew Compartment Trainers. This is CCT-1 which was used in training more than 300 shuttle bound astronauts. Mock structures surround it so that it appears to be part of an actual shuttle.
A good portion of the new building is used to display the presidential aircraft that used to be in a building actually on the Wright-Patterson Air Force Base with a bus ride and additional security check required. I’ve seen them before but that didn’t keep me from walking through all of them again. Since I recently visited Ike’s birthplace, I picked his Columbine III to represent the exhibit and to show 1950s state-of-the-art audiovisual gear.
Weather had cancelled yesterday’s planned landing of other World War II vintage aircraft. Earlier, as I stood in that long line getting in, it was announced that they would be landing at 11:00 today. I misjudged the time but did get outside just in time to see the first B-17 approach the field through an opening in the trees. I caught the second one overhead, and thought I’d positioned myself for a better view of the landing but found out I’d positioned myself to pretty much miss seeing it at all. I had read that three B-17s were to be flying about this weekend , but I only saw the two. There were, as advertised, several P-51 Mustangs (3rd picture) in the air.
One reason I nearly missed the landings completely was that I tried to make sure there was nothing I needed to go back inside for. The decision was reinforced by seeing the line outside. It was just about as long as it had been when I arrived and now the museum was nearly full. I promised myself I’d return before long to read the placards and headed to my car.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me annually, it’s a holiday. This year, Easter and April Fools Day coincide making things like Easter Snipe Hunts something to be on the lookout for. I always post on Sunday and, although the reasons are somewhat different, Easter always happens on Sunday. That means there have been several Easter anchored posts in the past. Despite them all being pretty shallow, I’ll post links at the end of this article.
It’s a familiar story I’d never heard before. In no way is use of the word “familiar” meant to be dismissive. It’s just my way of acknowledging that many aspects of Malcolm Fletcher’s story are to be found in the stories of thousands of other World War II soldiers. Of course, each of those stories is also unique in ways both small and large. Large happenings that make Fletcher’s story unique include the actions that earned him a bronze star and the day he watched his brother get shot and captured. Getting coffee and doughnuts from the Red Cross in February and washing clothes and shaving in May are among the not-so-large pieces of the story that make it real. Numerous photographs, maps, and drawings — many by Fletcher himself — really fill things out.
It’s a great story and well told, but there’s no denying that the mere fact that it is being shared plays a big role in setting this story apart from most of the others. The majority of those soldiers never told their story to anyone. A relative few did write it down or record it but not many saw an audience beyond family, friends, or a veterans organization. That Malcolm Fletcher wanted to share his story is obvious. He expanded his wartime notes and produced a “diary”. The title is his. Not For Morbidity’s Sake came from the fact that, as his son Michael says in the foreword, “…he took no pleasure in telling most of this story”. Malcolm Fletcher died in 1994, and Michael, with help from his brother Mark, made publication of the diary a reality. To a large degree, this meant editing their father’s writings, but they also augmented the story with information gathered from other family members, friends, and even some of the men who served with Malcolm.
Those observations also fed some slightly philosophical thinking on the horrors of war and the brotherhood of man. He had personal experience with both. Whether the deeper of Fletcher’s thoughts came during his time in Europe or while he subsequently transcribed his notes in safety in the USA is unclear and unimportant. He was in the midst of battles where men destroyed each other with cannons, bombs, rifles, bayonets, and flame-throwers. He saw many and met a few French, Belgian, and German civilians whose world was ravaged beyond comprehension. And he was there at the end of the conflict, interacting with German and Russian soldiers to learn that “These Russies are just like us.”
You can’t judge a book by looking at the cover. Or, sometimes, by reading the title. That was the case for me with Onramps and Overpasses and the impression I got from the title and cover pretty much explains why it stayed on the unread pile so long that I don’t remember where it came from or why I have it. The cover is a nicely done long exposure photo of cars on a divided four-lane highway passing through what looks to be a rather scenic area. The title reinforces the image of high-speed limited-access roadways. The subtitle, “A Cultural History of Interstate Travel” does a better job of describing what’s inside but the preconception created by the cover and title led me to overlook the word “cultural” and misinterpret the word “interstate”. In my opinion, Perrier goofed on the cover and even more so on the title. Those are, however, virtually the only mistakes she makes here.
