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2. Letters to Libby: Part Two
by Joseph A. White II
620 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #03-2046; ISBN 1-4120-1669-X; US$42.50, C$47.00, EUR35.00, £24.50
Engine trouble, inlcimate weather, being bombed and strafed, friendly fire, field life and c-rations... All in a day's work for a troop-carrier and transport pilot.
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About the Book About the Author Excerpts Catalogue Information
About the Book
Letters to Libby/ Part Two is part two of a three part series. The books are comprised of edited letters written by Joseph A. White II to his wife (Elizabeth T. White ["Libby"]) during World War Two.
The letters in Part Two chronicle a tale beginning in Goubrine, Tunisia (August 12, 1943), and ending in Caserta, Italy (June 4, 1944). The misery of separation from the woman he loves and the vicissitudes of Army-Air Corps life are themes well explored in Letters to Libby/ Part Two.
About the Author
Joseph A. White was born in Mebane, North Carolina on February 28, 1918 to Joseph and Lillian White. He spent his childhood years in Greensboro, North Carolina where he met his wife to be (B. Elizabeth Taylor; daughter of Dr. and Mrs. Raymond Taylor) in the First Baptist Church of Greensboro at the tender age of nine years old.
He later attended the University of Michigan from 1935-1938, where he earned his Bachelor of Music Degree. From 1938 to 1940 he furthered his education at The Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia. He then went back to the University of Michigan to earn his Master of Music Degree during the years 1940-1941. The instrument he played was the French Horn.
He volunteered for active duty in the Army-Air Corps in 1941 before the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, then began his flight training and married Elizabeth on May 16, 1942 in Valdosta, Georgia.
From 1942 to 1945 (the period covered by the letters in the three part series Letters to Libby), he was engaged as a troop-carrier and transport pilot, and also as a personal pilot to a variety of notable characters (Winston Churchill, King George VI of England, Ike Eisenhower, Field Marshal Montgomery, and Field Marshal Alexander).
After the war he and his wife returned to Ann Arbor, Michigan, but not before their first child (J. A. White III) was delivered on December 3, 1945 in Greensboro, North Carolina. In Ann Arbor at the University of Michigan he worked on his Doctorate and taught French Horn from 1946 to 1947, and then continued to work on his Doctorate while being occupied as an Instructor there from 1948 to 1950. On May 5, 1948, a second son was born to them, (Raymond Alan White, the Editor of Letters to Libby).
In 1950, Joseph and his family moved to Tallahassee, Florida, where he began work at the Florida State University School of Music, while continuing working on his Doctorate. At F.S.U. he played and taught French Horn and a variety of other Music courses such as Music Theory and Sightsinging. He directed ensembles and dissertations as well as playing French Horn in several Symphonies around the nation. Joseph and Elizabeth's first daughter (Marcia Elizabeth White-Wurzel) was born in Tallahassee on May 6, 1951. Joseph White became Dr. White in 1958 when he was awarded his Doctorate from the University of Michigan. On July 26, 1959, their second daughter, (Carroll Taylor White-Jarrett), and final member of the immediate family was also born in Tallahassee. After becoming a Professor he also served as Assistant to the Dean of the School of Music at F.S.U. until he retired in 1990. Immediately upon retiring he was rehired as a Visiting Professor, and worked at F.S.U. until he died on July 31, 1999.
Dr. White died of a heart attack in his School of Music office on a Saturday, while working on administrative tasks associated with the 62nd Troop-Carrier Reunion for that year. He was found by his loving wife when she went to his office after he called her and said he wasn't feeling too well.
Dad always said that when it was time for him to go, he prayed that the Good Lord would take him quickly...and He did. It was a tragic but fitting end to the earthly life of a great man.
Excerpts
Thursday Evening
August 26, 1943
Goubrine, Tunisia
Dearest Libby,
Another day without mail from you, and I must admit I am disappointed. Somehow, I felt positive that at least a V-mail would come. At any rate, no one else received mail either, so there wasn't the added torture of watching other men read a letter while I had none.
My crew chief Sergeant Engle showed me the Clapper article this morning! It had been mailed to him and came yesterday, or the day before. I was anxious to read it because I wanted to learn just what sort of 'picture' the article presented. I don't need to tell you that it did my heart good to see Father Time's name in the paper, but I do wish it had given the names of the rest of the crew: Jimmy Hayes (copilot), Lieutenant Cooney (navigator), Sergeant Engle, and Sergeant Aubry (radio operator). The particular flight he wrote about was exactly the way he described. On that day as well as on the other days, we enjoyed flying the correspondents. They were friendly, very talkative, and whether in the air or on the ground, they worked at their typewriters almost all the time. Every time we landed, Clapper and Tragaskis would jump out and set up a work space under the wing-one under the right wing and the other under the left wing. Sergeant Engle also told me that his girl in Washington State had written saying she had seen an article about the plane and the crew. We don't know if it is the same article or not, but we will find out because he's asking her to send it.
I went up for a short flight this morning to swing the compass, a chore to be done not infrequently because of deviations in the earth's magnetic field. It was my first flight in two days because of the operational work I have been doing. Since then I have had little to do except read and play casino. We have received more rations. I was able to pick up four packs of cigarettes (two of them 'Twenty Grand'), some hard candy, and two cakes of soap. My supply of soap, toothpaste, and shaving cream is holding up quite well. It's the cigarettes that are low, and I do mean low. It would be a good time for me to stop smoking, but I doubt I will. Besides, I smoke no more than I always have, one pack a day, and most of that is done either while I am flying or writing you.
Another of our enlisted men received an awful shock day before yesterday. His wife wrote asking for a divorce. The shock came out of a clear blue sky with no warning or indication whatsoever. Up to this time, he has been one of our best workers. Now, he doesn't care about anything. I spoke to him about the change in his behavior, thinking perhaps our long tour of duty was beginning to get to him. He said: "No, lieutenant, my wife has just asked for a divorce." I was stunned! He continued to talk until he had relieved his tortured mind. Then almost belligerently said: "I'll not give her a divorce, not until I get home." That, of course, completely ties her hands because she cannot file for divorce without his consent. How can a wife do that? I cannot imagine such a thing happening, and therefore I can't even begin to realize what it would be like. He doesn't care about himself anymore, and I can certainly understand, but he will have to recover himself soon because in the air each of us must meet our responsibilities for the safety of all. I said a moment ago I can't even begin to understand because I can't even imagine that happening to us. You have often asked me always to remember that you love me with all the love of your whole being. I do remember, my darling, every minute of every day and night. My whole life is built around and for you. Were anything to happen it would be like the destruction of a temple that crashes to the ground because its sole support has been destroyed.
I guess the plight of the corporal has upset me. I hope I helped him by listening as long as he wanted to talk. Certainly no words of mine could help. Goodnight, Libby. Thank you for being what you are. I love you.
*************Wednesday Evening
September 29, 1943
Cassibile, SicilyDearest Libby,
My day has gone well. Though the length of time in the air was but a third of that of yesterday's flight, we still were away from Cassibile most of the day.
I wish I could adequately describe General Alexander's arrival at the plane this morning. (Actually, he is called 'Chief' because among all the generals here at 15th Army Group Headquarters (mostly British), there is only one general. Consequently, whenever he is spoken of it is always by that name. Please note that I said "spoken of." When he is "spoken to," he is addressed as General Alexander). His arrival really gave me a thrill. I suppose that may sound a bit adolescent. Perhaps you will better understand such a reaction if I paint a word picture for you. We were standing beside our plane waiting when from the perimeter of the field a big, long, open sedan, camouflaged in desert colors, approached. As it drew beside the plane, we came to attention and saluted. As the sedan stopped, General Alexander stood up in the back of the sedan, and returned our salute. Such a picture I could scarcely have imagined. Here, the second ranking general in the Mediterranean Theater, standing at attention and saluting us! His dress was immaculate in every detail. His blouse is a good deal lighter in shade than our American ones; his riding breeches about the same color as our dress pinks and close fitting, and instead of shoes his feet were shod in riding boots, shined to such a brilliant polish that it hurt the eyes to look at them. The left breast of his blouse was covered with ribbons, those stemming from his days as a line officer during World War I to the ones denoting El Alamein and the defeat and capture of all German forces in North Africa. Oh, he is a showman, and a magnificent one! As he and his staff got out of the sedan, he walked straight to me and said: "Good morning, White." I responded and, in turn, introduced my crew to him and to others in his party. Then we boarded the plane and took off for Malta.
On the flight yesterday, Al and I agreed that we should change our style of flying. Back at the squadron we more or less 'manhandled' the plane when not flying in formation. Banks were steep; descents were fast. Now we agreed to keep the comfort of our passengers in mind, so banks are gentle (no more than three degrees) and ascents and descents are made at no more than three hundred feet a minute.
The flight to Malta took only 55 minutes, and since we were several minutes early I made a slow, descending circle over Valetta before landing at Luca. We landed on a paved runway, and as I taxied back to the ramp I mounted outside my window the British "Union Jack," a pennant flown to denote the General's plane. The moment the engines were cut, Sergeants Meeler and Walsh opened the cabin door and attached the steps, then stood at attention as the General and his party descended from the plane. I followed, and as I stood at attention outside the cabin door, the General turned and said: "We should be back around four o'clock." Then he and those with him as well as those who greeted him departed in command cars. I can see that one disadvantage to this new assignment is the amount of waiting involved. Both yesterday and today, the approximate time of return has been indicated, but in order to be sure and have everything ready for takeoff the moment the General returns, I want us to be back at the plane at least an hour earlier. If by chance he returned a half-hour earlier than expected it would be awful, and even though it wouldn't be our fault I do not want that to happen. We have got to collect some reading material to help pass those hours of waiting.
Unlike yesterday, we stayed on the field today. Al, Alan, and I went to Operations to introduce ourselves and pick up some new maps. Meeler and Walsh stayed at the plane to top off the wing tanks and tidy things up inside. Sometime, when we are here, perhaps we will be able to go into Syracuse, perhaps the oldest and most famous city of Malta. I don't remember too much of my history, but I believe it was founded by the Carthaginians and, centuries later, its harbor became the scene of a great naval battle against the Greeks.
We spent most of our waiting time today at the field. It is quite a busy place, with various types of planes landing, refueling, and taking off. We ate lunch at an Officers' canteen; Meeler and Walsh at one for "other ranks," a term used by the British, and eventually all of us returned to the plane to wait. General Alexander returned almost to the minute he anticipated, and we took off and returned to Cassibile.
I was pleased with our first flight with the General. Both landings were excellent, and if the General's behavior is any indication, he was pleased, though he said only: "Thank you, White."
I think we will be free tomorrow, and as soon as Sergeant Meeler is finished with a 25-hour check of the engines and with some other things I want done, we will go over to Ponte Olivo for a brief visit and to check the mail. I wrote earlier of the 'waiting' disadvantage of this detached service; but it is far outweighed by the honor of the assignment and by the fact that I am now free to fly whenever the General doesn't need me, which of course is a day to day affair. So tomorrow by this time I hope I will have your letters unless they have already forwarded them. That is what they are supposed to do, but I'm praying they haven't yet. I told them I would probably be able to get back over in several days the last time I was there, but that has been three days ago now. I live for your letters, darling. While I am away from you, they are the very blood of my life. Come here and let me give you a real kiss and hug. Goodnight, I love you.
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