England

After going to France, then Germany, I finally ended up at Burtonwood Airforce Base outside of Warrington, England, assigned to the 7559th Aircraft Repair Squadron of the 8th Air Force.

When I first reported to Sergeant Griggs, the top sergeant of the repair squadron at Burtonwood Airforce Base, he was having a coffee break with the other mechanics who were all white except Corporal Robert Board from Beckley, West Virginia. As I sat down to drink some coffee, an African civilian worker came into the room. He had tribal marks on both cheeks and he went up to Sgt. Griggs and asked the question, "Who called me Sambo?" in perfect English.

I quickly placed Sgt. Griggs in a pigeonhole marked "bigot." Sgt. Griggs was a fat career airman, sloppy in uniform, and tacky. The African told him that he would report him to the base commander if he was ever called out of his name again. Afterwards, Sgt. Griggs tried to get on my good side, but I kept him at arm's length.

Some of our mechanics were as sloppy as our leader, Sgt. Griggs, sloppy in workmanship. We had worked on a Boeing B-29 Superfortress which had many bombing missions in Korea without any problems. We changed a couple engines. As I remember, we worked just about all night. The next morning, I was awakened by loud banging sounds as a B-29 was making its final approach to landing. My hut was close to the runway and I went to the window to see a B-29 bomber with engine number four on fire and engine number two backfiring, and in the process of "feathering" its propeller. (Feathering is the process of altering the angle of the propeller to prevent it from turning in the airstream upon engine shut down in flight.)

I recognized the serial number on its vertical stabilizer as being the aircraft we worked on the night before. I jumped from the bunk and went to the flight line with Bob. It took us, along with the other mechanics and Sgt. Griggs, the full day to find the problems and replace the engines.

The problem with engine number four was that someone had wrapped a kink in a fuel line with color code tape, rather than replacing the fuel line. It burst in flight and the engine caught on fire. I forget what was wrong with the number two engine. However, Captain Brown, our test pilot and base commander, called us all together and said, "from now on, every fucking airman will ride on the birds when I test fly them." "You will fly with me even if I have to load your asses in the bomb bay."

Sgt. Griggs was shipped off and things improved at Burtonwood.

Bob Board and I would go to Liverpool, England, for rest and relaxation (Air Force terminology for sex and sex). We went into a lounge and headed for the men's room as the band played to a large crowd of black airmen and Army guys. We approached the facilities, past a very beautiful English lady who was sitting alone.

Bob walked past her without a word, intimidated I guess. I looked at her and raised my right hand, as if to lightly slap her. She became insulted. She told me "if you even touch me, I'll have every black yank in this place jump you." Quicker than a flash, my hatred rose for that "white thing" that says "I'm better than you," "blacks worship white women." I slapped her so hard with my backhand that she spun in her seat. I told her that, "you may have every black yank in this joint wrapped around your pretty little finger, but this is one that you don't." The music slowed, some yanks looked our way, then the music returned to normal. Bob asked, "why did you slap that pretty lady for?" I told him that he wouldn't understand.

This woman chased me for as long as I was stationed at Burtonwood, but I never gave in to her advances. Most of my friends called me a fool, but if she had said "some" of the black yanks would come to her aid, I probably would have laughed. She said "ALL yanks" and that included me.

The white airmen of World War II had spread their hatred and bigotry of blacks to England prior to my service and the English had learned well. Many of them would check to see if we had tails, or would try to rub the color from our hands. Needless-to-say, we had many fights in England.

I was made a temporary crew chief when I was a corporal and all of the mechanics working for me were white. Taking orders from a black was a major problem for one of them and I made his life difficult because of his attitude. One day, as I was walking under a Boeing B-50 (a more powerful version of the B-29), I noticed the plane was rocking, as if someone was inside, as I waited for an inspection. I called into the hatch, "get out of the aircraft" or something to that effect. the airman with "the problem" came to the ladder and said "damn you and damn this airplane." I waited until he was off the ladder before I popped him in the head with my fist. He ran crying into the office and told the captain. When the captain called me into the office, I immediately told him that this airman cursed me when I told him to exit the airplane as I was waiting for an inspection and that any man who cursed me would be hit, up to and including President Eisenhower, saluted, and walked out and told Bob what had happened.

A month later, the captain called all of his mechanics together and promoted me to sergeant with full crew chief responsibilities. He then told the group that "you will check your hatred outside of the gates of Burtonwood. Lieutenants will obey the orders of captains, sergeants will obey the orders of lieutenants, corporals will obey sergeants, and privates will obey everybody...dismissed!" I never had anymore problems with white airmen.

I never saw a B-36 Peacemaker again except flying overhead at 40,000 feet. However, I worked on just about every airplane in the Air Force's inventory of that day, including the famous B-17 Flying Fortress of World War II fame.