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3 .Letters to Libby: Part Three

by Joseph A. White II

550 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #03-2111; ISBN 1-4120-1734-3; US$38.00, C$44.00, EUR31.50, £22.00

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 Three is the final book 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 II. The letters in part three chronicle a tale beginning in Italy at Caserta (June 5, 1944), and ending in Naples, Italy (January 22, 1945). Captain White spent his time flying King George VI, Prime Minister Churchill, Field Marshal H. R. Alexander, and others to their various destinations...all the while only wanting to get back to the good old U.S.A. and his beloved Wife 'Libby'!

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About the Author

Joseph A. White II was born in Mebane, North Carolina on February 8, 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 Philidelphia. 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, 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, transport, and personal pilot to a variety of notable characters (Winston Churchill, The King of England, Ike Eisenhower, Field Marshall Montgomery, and Field Marshall Alexander)

After the war he and his wife returned to Ann Arbor, Michigan, but not before their first born child (J.A. White III) was delivered on December 3, 1945 in Greensboro, North Carolina. In Ann Arbor at the University he worked on his Doctorate and taught French Horn from 1946 to 1947 and then continued to work on his Doctorate and was hired 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 this book).

In 1950 he and his family moved to Tallahassee, Florida where he began work at the Florida State University, while continuing working on his Doctorate. At F.S.U. he played and taught French Horn and a variety of other Music classes such as Music Theory and Sightsinging. He directed ensembles and dissertations as well as playing French Horn in several Symphony Orchestras around the nation. Joseph and Elizabeth's first daughter (Marcia Elizabeth White) 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) and final family member of the immediate family was also born in Tallahassee. After becoming a Profressor he also served as Assistant to the Dean at the School of Music at F.S.U. until he retired in 1990. Immediately upon retiring he was rehired as a Visting 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 working on administrative tasks concerning the 62nd Troop-Carrier Reunion for that year; and was found by his loving wife when she went to his office after he called her and said he wasn't feeling too well that day.

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.

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Excerpts

Friday Evening
November 3, 1944
Siena, Italy

Dearest Libby,

We are safely back in Italy, but I am depressed tonight because everything has gone wrong since this afternoon. I casually mentioned the flight in my V-mail because I thought it best to wait until tonight's long letter so I would have enough room to paint the whole picture for you. No, no quickening of the heart, darling, not at all serious, but a set of circumstances which forced me into a bad few moments.

The trip down today was fairly good, miserable only in a few places. I knew we would have to contend with the front that passed through Paris yesterday, but it was not fast moving, and I was assured that by the time we reached the Mediterranean we would break out in the clear. I was happy for that and could relax until we approached Italy where a stationary secondary front had been reported. We took off and flew almost due south from Paris, climbing until we reached eleven-thousand feet where the temperature was extremely cold. My feet were frozen stiff, but what a relief to be out in the clear. Just before we reached the southern coast of France west of Marseille, all frontal clouds disappeared, and we broke out into a beautifully clear day. But, of course, such couldn't be the case here in Italy. We had a devil of a time getting to our field from the coast because I had to make my way through the mountains to reach Siena. Finally, I found a place I could get through, and we arrived over the field at two-thirty after a five-hour fifteen-minute flight. A big, black thunderstorm lay north and east of the field making the air violently rough. I called the tower and asked for landing instructions "landing to the south." Well, the wind-sock was down, so I called again and asked the wind direction. He said: "Wind is from the north." "Then why are you having me land to the south. That's downwind," I responded. "Oh-Sorry, wind is from the south, straight down the runway."

Well, on the strength of that I made my approach in a normal manner, using quarter flaps. About two hundred feet off the end of the runway a gust caught me. My airspeed, down to 95, dropped off and the left wing went down. It was a bad moment, but with full throttle I recovered (such things often happen on gusty days) and continued on for a normal landing. But the s.o.b. in the tower had brought me in down-wind after all, and I couldn't stop the plane on the short runway, (it's only 2,800 feet to begin with, awfully short in the best conditions) so we rolled off the end of the runway onto the rain-soaked ground towards a ditch looming in the distance. There was nothing I could do. Imagine yourself in a car trying to turn on ice. Fortunately, with the throttle of the right engine pushed forward to the firewall and full left rudder we began to turn. Then, passing over a particularly soft spot the right wheel sunk about two and a half feet into the ground! And that's where Stardust is sitting right now. I was mortified, and I was mad, but not the least bit nervous. I was never so calm in all my life, but I still see red, even now. I sat there in the cockpit so angry I couldn't do anything but curse. I called the tower and had it out with the man who had given landing instructions. There were about four other planes up, waiting to land, and I told him to wake up and land those ships to the north like I should have been instructed to do. I had landed in a "8-mile-an-hour downwind!" Well, it's all over now. It was his fault, and mine. I should have gone around, but by the time I was finally able to tell I was landing with a tail-wind my airspeed was so low I had to land. And, of course, I had no idea the ground was so soft. That's why I said, it was a combination of circumstances beyond my control. I was committed to land; speed was down; I had to land. But poor Stardust. She looks so pathetic, like a wronged woman. I almost cried to see her up to her knees in mud, the right wheel sunk so far into the ground that the tip of my right engine propeller almost dipped into the mud itself. It affected me terribly. I know all of Stardust's funny traits, her sounds, and I felt as though I had let her down. My worst landing in over 1,200 hours of overseas flying!

And, as though that was not enough to sink my spirits, I am not at camp. I have not read your letters that I know are there waiting for me and that I had so hoped to have, but I am here in the plane! They have had so much rain here in the last two days that the road from the airport to the camp is impassable. There are landslides on the highway, trees blown down across the road, and bridges out! I tell you, I've had it with this Italy! Perhaps, someday I might want to come back with you, but things will have to be vastly different from what they are and have been for many months now. They will have the road cleared by noon tomorrow, then I can get back to camp and your letters.

We will be warm sleeping tonight, I think. I will sleep with my clothes on and blankets wrapped around me. There is no other place where your husband can rest his weary head. I don't mind. How often have I slept in my plane these two years. It's not as bad as it sounds, really.

But I had counted so on your letters tonight, and that is my biggest disappointment of all. Buy the way, I'm writing by flashlight. How like African days with Tiny hollering about the scarcity of flashlight batteries! I will never forget: "But Lieutenant, the flashlight batteries are almost gone!"

Goodnight, my dearest. I'm safe and well, and I love you-love you so very much.

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Friday Evening
December 22, 1944
Naples, Italy

Dearest Libby,

Another day has finally ended. It has seemed such a long one. Even though I have been busy, the hours drag, one after the other. This morning? That seems like last week to me. But at least I am tired tonight, and I think I will be able to sleep. It is so difficult to keep myself 'quiet' these days. Every beat of my heart says "Home!" "Home!" "Home!" And this tense, excited, anxious waiting has put me in the most awful state.

Alan and I have been out since noon today. We first went to the squadron where I picked up Bogardus's promotion orders, then to the hospital where we made him a First Lieutenant. He was so surprised and pleased he couldn't talk. I was awfully glad that it came through. Now, if Alan's promotion will come through before we leave for home!

We drove to Chief's headquarters after our visit to the hospital and stayed there until five o'clock this afternoon. A trip has been scheduled for tomorrow. I knew it would happen. It always does. We stay on the ground in good weather, but let bad weather come and up in the air we must go. It is rather discouraging, to say the least. Of course it is not planned that way. Unfortunately, it just happens that way. I am doubtful about flying tomorrow. I've checked with meteorology here, and the forecast is for anything but fair weather. But, if we can get Chief through, we must.

Though we have talked on the phone, this afternoon was the first time I have seen John since we left him at our former headquarters in Siena. He related an interesting bit of conversation he had with Chief. Last night, after dinner, Chief said: "I shall be sorry to see Joe leave us." John said: "Well, sir, I know that Joe will be sorry to leave you, but he is more than anxious to see his wife. He's been overseas over twenty-seven months now, much longer than the usual tour of duty for the Air Corps." "That's right," Chief remarked, "He is married. Have you seen his wife?" John said: "No, but I've seen her pictures, and she is lovely." And then Chief said: "I would like to see the children they will have." Leave it to Chief to make such a comment for he, himself, is very fond of his three children, and, as I have heard him say, he would like to have more.

John cautioned me about sending my next cable to you. Due to censorship, I cannot wire that I will be coming home. So whatever I say, know that my next cable tells you I am on my way home. I know what I'd like to say if they will let me: "Take the black nightgown out of the closet!" As far as I can see, Libby, everything is set. Furthermore, I don't expect to have to wait much longer.

About a half an hour has passed since I finished the last paragraph. I made a long distance call to the weather station in Siena and talked with a forecaster I have great faith in. It is just as I thought, and he agrees with the other two forecasters I have talked with here. I now know more definitely than ever that the proposed flight for tomorrow, or any part of it, is completely out of the question. I called Rupert and told him that Chief might as well forget about getting anywhere by air tomorrow. So, he will have to drive across the peninsula and take a boat. I am so sorry that he will have to spend two days getting to Athens when in flyable weather I can get him there in four hours and ten minutes. I will get up at 6:30 in the morning anyhow and make another report on the situation. All quite useless, but I'll do it in spite of the unlikelihood I will be able to fly.

Take good care of yourself, darling. I will be with you before long. I love you. Goodnight.

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Catalogue Information