Betty Keim's Military Memorabilia: Air Medal, Ribbons, Wings, Uniform Insignia
Betty Jane Keim
Betty Keim served as an Air Evacuation Nurse in the Pacific Theater in World War II. She wrote down and typed many of her thoughts and experiences in what could be termed a journal, memoirs or autobiography (unpublished work). We are honored to have this typed story and handwritten notes; transcribing it without changes or edits but formatted for website viewing. We have added excerpted sections below and a link to the full document.
Typed memoirs w/notes
Service Photo
Air Medal
Nurses Wings,
Uniform insignia: Patch, 2nd Lt Bars, US and Nurse Lapel devices, Uniform Ribbon Bar.
Dog Tags
(2) P38 Can Opener
I graduated from the Methodist Hospital in Ft. Wayne, Indiana in 1942. The hospital was the smallest of the three hospitals in town. It was often said that the Lutheran Hospital had the best equipment in town, the St. Joseph had the best location and the Methodist Hospital had the best nursing care! How glad I was that I had graduated from the old Methodist! Yes, it was called the OLD Methodist by nearly everybody Well, it was a tired, old hot building of nearly 100 beds. It had maintained a training school for many years and graduated not many new nurses every year. Of course it was well known that student nurses kept the hospital in existence—but that was true of the other hospitals also. Yes, it was a barebones establishment but it had a very loyal following of business personnel, nurses, doctors and Ft. Wayne citizens.
While I was there in 1939-1942 the training school had no laboratory, a single classroom, only a couple nurse instructors, an occasional M.D. class lecturer, one R.N. nurse supervisor on each floor during the day and 2 RNs for the 12 hour night shift over the entire hospital.
Those ugly and very heavy old beds had to be raised and lowered by good old muscle power and most of the rooms did not have even a sink or a stool. Thus bedpans were covered with a cloth cover and carried down the hall to the small flushing toilet. Each floor had one bathtub and that was rarely used. Of course there was no air conditioning and since the hospital was located on a busy down town street, electric fans were plugged in as much as possible—which was really not too often.
Our uniforms were a long, white apron over a blue striped dress. There was a heavily starched collar that often rubbed our young necks red and raw. And starched cuffs rubbed marks on our arms. We wore heavy black cotton stockings in black ‘old woman’s’ shoes.
While the hospital was actually staffed by student nurses, we did not receive any salary but we did get our room and board. ‘Board’ consisted as a rule of much overcooked food, but sometimes we had really good stuff and sometimes really filling food such as baked potato and cottage cheese EVERY Sunday! Our room was adequate—bed, shared dresser, chair and we could have an electric fan. One bathroom—toilet and shower for the whole floor of us.
I think the hospital got the best of that nursing school program but everyone was friendly and willing to help when ever help was needed. Help—even from the patients who usually seemed to appreciate what we were doing to or for them—or trying to do!
We did not have a teacher at our side during the day—only the lone RN supervisor over the whole floor. And at night we did not have any R.N. on the floor with us (there were only 2 R.N.s over the entire hospital). So soon we developed a sense of responsibility and since much of our equipment was old, inadequate or maybe even completely missing some of us soon developed a sense of ingenuity which saved us time, saved the hospital and maybe even sometimes saved a patient’s life.
Medicines were expensive. Equipment was expensive. Everything was expensive. So sometimes we learned how to develop something from nothing. The best that I can think of was that of making a substitute Wangensteen suction. There was help from a doctor on this one. Or perhaps it was us who helped him??
Wangensteen suction—a long rubber tubing (much like a LONG urinary catheter) would be introduced through a patient’s nose or mouth into the stomach. Medications or liquids could then be introduced through it into the patient’s stomach. Or liquids could be suctioned from the stomach by a syringe. For longer therapy, the tubing could be hooked up to the famous Wangensteen machine—electric—which could do the aspiration without the nurse doing it by hand and syringe. It was a very valuable piece of equipment.
The time did come when we needed the suction machine and there was none available. The doctor in charge made one from scratch (I know it was the doctor and not one of student nurses.) But I for one, watched and learned.
Soooo, one day as I was loading up my patients on some way out little island, the doctor came on board and told me that one of my patients might need some Wangenstein suction! Now, I most certainly did not need a sick patient with Wangenstein suction at 10,000 feet for a 12 hour flight. Duh. Then he brought me 3 empty IV bottles and a Levine tube! Shades of nursing back at the old Methodist! I was so glad I could tell him that I knew just what to do with all that stuff. Both the doctor and the patient looked so relieved when I gave them a quick demonstration. Fortunately, the patient did not need it. He got along fine.
So, I have been typing this and watching TV at the same time—but then I would have made as many mistakes even if I had not been watching the TV—the program was not very good anyway.
Now in training, we care for, nursed all the people admitted to our floor no matter where we were working: #3rd.-medical; #4th.-obstretical; 5th.-surgical; #6th.-operating surgeries and for awhile the living quarter for some of our supervisors.
Training—caring for the sick and injured was a whole different world for each of us. But we were there-–by choice—we had applied for entrance to the hospital and training school. We wanted to learn how to care for sick and injured people.
Of course there was active segregation. True, a man was placed in a room with another man; a woman was placed in a room with another woman all over the hospital. But on 3rd. floor there was something different. And only on 3rd floor. There, at the end of the hall were 4 rooms with 2 beds in each room. They were the same size as all other rooms with 2 beds and adjacent to the back (service, noisy) elevator, the back stairs and was over the smelly hospital kitchen. Of course men and women were not placed in the same; however medical and surgical patients could be placed in the same room. At the end of the hall, just outside of two of two of the rooms was a sink and a flush toilet. Of course, it was obvious that those rooms were segregated—only for ‘colored people’. No white people, never, never.
It was not unusual for 2-3-4 of us, never one of us alone however, after hours to go for a walk just to get away from the hospital. There was never any really nice place for us to walk—the old Methodist was not in the really best part of town—in fact, it was rather down town—anyway we would go for a walk to get some fresh air—in the red light district just 2-3 blocks from the hospital. We vaguely knew what a red light district was but it was close to the hospital and we did get some fresh—well, maybe just a different smell from the hospital.
And it was—Hi, Mrs. Green, how is your incision feeling? Mr. Brown, are you taking care of your heart? Miss Smith, is your cough better? (gee, there was a red light in her window)! There were always lots of people sitting on their front porches. It was hot Everyone was friendly. We had cared for them in those 4 rooms on 3rd floor. We had learned a lot about them and their families. But we never went into, nor do I remember ever being asked into their homes. The hospital frowned on us going on those walks—why, it was just not safe. We truly did not care where they lived or what color they were. To us, they were just people with dark skin. So we went anyway—there was never a problem of any kind. And we finally learned what the red lights meant! And occasionally we would hear someone important say something about ‘that class of 1942’! That was us, though we had not yet graduated.
And we surely did not know what they meant.
December 7, 1941 was going to be just another work day for a poor hard working nursing student –me. Or so I thought. I was up at the usual time, pulled on my white cotton (yes, I said cotton) stockings and put on my comfortable but very ugly white duty shoes. (We were now allowed to wear white shoes and stockings). Then I put on my blue and white striped uniform. Actually the uniform was not too bad except it seemed so very long. And it was. The bottom of the hem had to be 12 inches from the floor. It most certainly did not show off our young good looking legs. Then over the uniform went the starched white bib and apron. And of course the very heavily starched collar and cuffs had been pinned in place. The cuffs would still rub our upper arms and even leave marks on the skin but the stiff collar was THE worst. It left marks on our necks so badly that the marks were still present months after we had graduated. Then my prized cap was put on. I was really proud of it especially since I had a black velvet band on it. That meant I was a senior nurse. That was status. Why, in less than a year I would graduate, then on to take state board exams and then I would be a registered nurse (if I passed the exam). I would be so very happy. Then I threw my black and gold nurse’s cape around my shoulders and I headed out for the hospital just ½ block from the nurses home.
I would have breakfast and head up to the floor to go to work. Yes, indeed it was work but it was work that I loved. I loved the patients, I loved my status as a Senior and I loved the responsibility of my job—passing medicines.
As I remember, everything went OK that day. I had no big problems. As I said, I was medicine nurse that day. I had a little brown bakelite tray about 6 by 10 inches on which I carried the medicines to the patients. Liquid medicines were poured in little one ounce glass medicine glasses. Tablets were put on a little metal tray that fit right on top of the medicine glass. In that way you could give both liquids and pills to the same patient without taking up much space on such a little tray. Medicine identification cards would be pushed down in a slot at the back of the little metal pill tray. The cards were different colors depending on what time of day the medicine was to be given. I can remember only the white card which meant the medicine was to be given at bedtime (HS) or whenever necessary (PRN). It was an efficient method.
At any rate I was doing well in getting my meds out and per usual I was anxious to get at my charting before it was time to pour my next round of meds. Charting always seemed to take up so much time but it had to be done—just a necessary evil.
Room 315 was a two patient room about mid way down the hall. The medicine I had with me was for the lady in bed 1, the bed just inside the door. I turned into the room and stepped up to the left side of the bed. It was so long, long ago and I have forgotten the name of the patient but I surely remember how the room looked. It was dark and dreary and a little cluttered but heck, that describes most all the rooms on the floor.
Anyway, the patient was a nice lady and was not critically ill but at this time she just lay there, looking off into space, not even reaching for her medicine. She just had to tell me about the news she had just heard on her little brown bakelite radio.
I have mentioned bakelite before—I guess it was plastic or a fore runner of plastic. Our meal trays were made of it as were such items as the patient’s radio. Jewelry was also made of the stuff and I have noticed in the recent magazines that the jewelry is again more or less in fashion and the old stuff is sought after and brings a nice price when you can find it. I wish I had some of it now.
Well, the little lady said she had just heard that Pearl Harbor had been bombed by the Japanese and President Roosevelt said that we were now at war.
Pearl Harbor. Ships. Bombs. Japanese. War!
I must admit that up to that minute I had never been too interested in anything other than my training days and getting a job after I got out of school. Oh sure, I knew we had some soldiers stationed at the edge of town—I would often see them up town, out and around. I knew too, that planes flew in and out of Baer Field southwest of town, but so what? And I knew there was fighting in Europe but frankly, all that meant nothing to me. Heck, I was in nurses training; I read text books and very little of the newspapers. Of course television had not yet been invented and while we did have radios, I confess I had never been very interested in the news programs.
So where in the world was Pearl Harbor? And why would the Japanese bomb it and kill us Americans?
The patient told me Pearl Harbor was in the Hawaiian Islands. Well, I did know those islands were way out in the Pacific Ocean somewhere. And I knew they had volcanos on the islands as I even had a piece of lava from one of them. In fact I still have it. I also thought Japan was more far away across the ocean and why would it want to blow up one of the Hawaiian Islands? Why? Why?
The patient said she did not know why, but the Harbor had indeed been bombed and hundreds had been killed. You know, I clearly remember saying to her, “why, they wouldn’t dare!” But of course the Japanese dared, they had already done so.
Well, the lady finally took her medicine and I went out again on my appointed rounds for the rest of the day. Of course never once did I think that a mere 16 months later I would have become a registered nurse, would have worked on general duty at the Wabash County Hospital for 3 months, then 3 months as assistant night supervisor at my old home hospital, the Methodist in Ft. Wayne.
At the end of those 6 months, I actually volunteered to serve in the military nurse corps. I was sworn in as a 2nd. Lt. at that very same Baer Field outside of Ft. Wayne. I had become a member of the Army Air Corps. And even then I never once thought that in 1945 I would be stationed and living at a military base (Hickam Field) which was just a stone’s throw from Pearl Harbor, the place the Japanese had bombed on 7 Dec. 1941—the place I had never even heard of until that patient in bed 1 on third floor in the old Methodist Hospital told me it had been bombed.
When I joined the Army Nurse Corps on 6 April 1943 I was fresh out of nurses training. Well, I had been “out” since Sept. 1942. By April I had worked at the Wabash County Hospital in Wabash, Indiana for 3 months on general duty. At $90.00/month and room and board. Now, the room was OK but the ‘board’ was something else. As I remember, I was always hungry so poor Mother had to feed me often—and Florence and Marcele also whenever we got off duty and a chance to go to Roann. At any rate I liked the work but then came a better offer—I could go back to the old Methodist Hospital in Ft. Wayne as ass’t night supervisor at $75/month, room on the 6th. floor of the hospital and board. Well, even though it was less money, it was ‘home’ to me. I was used to their food and I would be working with one of my classmates. So I took the position and was there for 3 months.
The war was heating up and there were often reports that nurses were needed badly and perhaps in the near future a draft program for them might be started. Well, I realized that I was a new young graduate, single and would be just ripe for the draft. I had no brothers to serve in the war so I became a wee bit patriotic and started thinking about joining up. And so did two of my classmates—twins Naomi and Nelma Byrt.
So we 3 signed up and shortly after were sworn in at Baer Field (at the edge of Ft. Wayne) and in to time were shipped out to serve our country at Scott Field, Ill. Outside of St. Louis. That was not a bad assignment. Oh yes, nurses never were drafted!
I liked it there also—general duty—just as it had been back at Wabash and the old Methodist. Of course sometimes it became boring—depended in what kind of a ward I was on. Generally, the nursing was done by wardmen and the nurse did the paper work and passed medications. It was all OK.
After a few months as I really got settled in I discovered a few facts that were always there but I just had never given much thought about them. Our chief nurse, Lt. Gorman, had been in the army for years and yet was only a 1st Lt. Why I never would get a promotion! Then I realized that after the twins and I had arrived at Scott, only 3 or 4 other nurses had come. Yes, I was truly low on the totem pole. I would never be considered for even a head nurse position—there would always be a more senior nurse up for those posts. Oh yes, I was stuck in a rut. Thank heaven, I liked the rut.
Then one day Capt. (she had been promoted) Gorman ordered me to take a crew of ward men and open up a new ward. I do not remember just why it was necessary for us to have more beds—perhaps that was when the mighty Mississippi River was flooding and our soldiers were sent to help the victims and do all the stuff that is necessary when a flood occurs. Any way, I got some ward men and equipment and went to work, and work we did, airing, scrubbing beds, walls, floors, windows, latrines and all those beds and furniture moved around. It was hard work and it took us a couple days but the place smelled so clean and fresh and we all were proud of our housecleaning.
I smugly thought that since Capt. Gorman had picked me to supervise the job that she would see what a great job it was and what a great supervisor I had been, and would give me the head nurse position for the ward. How dumb of me! I was still low on the totem pole and of course I went back to my old job. Oh well, I liked it so not much was lost except I did have red, scaly hands and broken fingernails for a long time.
I have never liked obstetrics. Never, ever. Oh, I liked the babies and I liked the mothers too, as patients. But I did not enjoy taking care of them. I think it was because in training Florence and I had so much to do all the time. Then when we went to IU in Indianapolis for 6 months of training, we had to work 6 weeks in OB there. I hated it then too. And I did not like it any better when they asked me to work there after graduation. No way!
Three months after graduation, I was back at the old Methodist as assistant night supervisor over the whole hospital. Often I would be in the labor room checking the patient’s progress and then in the delivery room dropping either for their delivery. So, I was again doing OB work. And I still did not like it even though I could walk away as soon as the mother and baby were in their new beds.
WW2 had been going on for 2 years; the government was asking for volunteer nurses; Mother had no sons to go off to help protect our country; I thought I could be doing what I had been trained to do; my friends and former class mates, Naomi and Nelma Byrt were to join the army also: I would be taking care of soldiers and soldiers did not have babies. Becoming a nurse in the army sounded good so signing up was an easy decision for me to make. Yes, I would serve my country and still do nursing, which I truly loved.
So Nelma, Naomi and I were sworn in as officers in the U. S. Army Air Corps and were sent off to Scott Field at Bellville, Illinois. The good old Wabash Cannonball train could take us from Ft. Wayne and deposit us in the St. Louis Union Station. From there it was just a bus ride to the base. We felt we were very lucky to be stationed together so close to home.
Scott Field was a typical army camp. Well, maybe it was better than most as it had been established way back in 1917. At least it was older than most. The hospital itself consisted of many wooden barracks which house the medical patients plus minor surgery patients. Then, there was the beautiful Brick! The Brick was a permanent brick building which house surgery and the more serious surgical patients.
I was assigned to the second floor of the Brick which I considered to be the REAL hospital. Boy, did I have a lot to learn. The barracks proved to be just as real a hospital as the Brick was. Anyway, on my first assignment there was a charge nurse and a couple ward men (GIs) who did nearly all of the actual care of the patients. So on my first day the charge nurse showed me all over my domain—it did not take very long. The ward had a nice little utility room, a small nurses station and a rather large ward of GIs who were all agog, wondering what the new Louie—me—would look like and just how GI (strict) she would be. I do not remember a medicine room but I was sure there was one as my ward had both pre-operative and post-operative patients so we would have had to have some medicines readily available. It did not seem too bad—rather like the hospital at home. I thought I could handle it after I had time to learn where everything was located.
While the charge nurse was filling me in on the rules and regulations etc. about how the army air force wanted things done, I started quaking inside. Why, it was indeed very different from the old Methodist. There, I had been a ‘wheel’, here I was just going to be a very small insignificant cog. Then I almost wished I was back home in Indiana. Then she really lowered the boom on me and I did indeed wish I was anywhere else instead of standing there in front of her.
In an off-hand manner she told me that right around the corner was the OB ward! And that I might be sent over to help out sometime. I felt like crying. Because after all, one of the biggest reasons I had joined the army was to get away from OB and now on my first day of work in the army, I was told that I might have to work on a maternity ward!
That was just awful. Obstetrics in the army—an army of men. How could that be? Actually, it was really very simple. I just had never thought some soldiers would be married; that married people had babies and the army took care of female dependents. I wished that I could go home but of course, that was not possible. After all, I had volunteered for this position; I had taken an oath to serve my country; I could not resign nor even ask for a transfer. Actually, I was just another piece of government property; it could tell me what to do, when to do it and I would have to do it. That was the army way. And I was now army.
Of course the day came when I was assigned to the OB ward and I went, dragging my feet and wishing I was elsewhere. Actually the ward was pretty much like the OB ward at home. There was a nurse on duty and there were a couple of ward men to do much of the care of the patients. Yes, the men helped care of the women patients way back then and no one seemed to mind nor make a big deal of it. In fact, some of the days I worked there were fun days. I helped deliver a few babies and once even poured ether for the patient’s anesthesia. Nelma spent some time there too and since I was just around the corner in the post op ward we often helped each other when one or the other got extremely busy. We were good friends so that was an OK thing to do.
The O.D. (Officer of the Day) was a doctor who was in charge after the day shift left and as so, was always available for anything that we needed him for. Well, one evening I was called to get to OB as quickly as I could. They were in need of a nurse in the delivery room right away. So I rushed around the corner and learned that they were right—they did indeed need a nurse—and a doctor also. They were having a baby. The ward man was on the ball—he had all the equipment and the delivery room ready; the patient was even more than ready and I would soon be ready. Then the doctor rushed in. What a shock. He was an Eye, Ear, Nose and Throat specialist! In an instant a question flashed through my mind—had this doctor ever delivered a baby? In another instant I learned he knew or remembered nothing practically about deliveries. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. I really believe I knew more than he did. After all, I did have all my experiences at the old Methodist and at Indiana University Medical School and I had even delivered one baby by myself—a breech. For one, I was glad I had had all that experience.
Well, with me behind the doctor and the very capable wardman behind me, we delivered a fine healthy baby. I am sure we, the staff, was as relieved as the mother when the baby popped out and started to cry. I do not remember if the baby was a boy or a girl, but it was a good delivery and I was proud of all of us.
Later I learned that the EENT doctor had his practice back home in Wabash, Indiana, just a few miles from Roann, where my mother lived. A couple of times I thought about dropping into his office to ask if he remembered that delivery.
I never did but I wish I had.
.......
There came a day at Scott Field when 2 notices were posted. One was asking for volunteers to go with a general hospital for overseas duty. The other list was for volunteers for air evacuation. Ok, I had already figured out that I had no chance for promotion there at Scott field. Lt. Gorman, chief nurse there at Scott, had finally made Captain after so many years and there were dozens of nurses there at Scott who had been there for ages, I just knew that there was just no way for advancement for me. I do not think that I even called Mother or Katy to ask their opinion. I just put my name down under general hospital. As I looked over the list I found there was not a single person on it that I knew so probably those girls were really old timers and wanted a change as much as I did. Well, no matter. I could learn to be friends.
I few days after I had signed up, Capt. Gorman called me into her office. Ugh. Duh. What in the world had I done wrong? It seemed there was 5 slots for air evac nurses and there were 6 names on the list. Two of the girls were very good friends and both wanted to go. So the Capt. did a study of all the names on the lists and noted that on the Air Evac list was a nurse who lived in my barracks—in fact just across the hall from me. She was new and I barely knew her name—Eleanor Hiltenen. The Capt. thought, wondered, said that if I removed my name from the general hospital list and placed it on the air evac list, then she could release both those friends names and neither would feel left out. I could tell that the Capt. had REALLY thought it all out. So would I?
Air Evac did sound interesting—I had never heard of it but it did truly sound interesting. Now, I had been up in that flight in that B-17 just recently and I loved it, and I knew I would never get promoted at Scott, so I said yes. That pleased the Capt. so I knew I had made a right decision. And indeed it was my decision.
So the Capt. Would scratch the two friends names from the air evac list, put my name on it and I do not know who replaced my name on the general hospital list. It was Eleanor who dubbed us the Scott Field Flyers and that name has stuck to this very day. Sadly there are only 4 of us now as Gussie (Delores Gusinda) died a few years ago. So the “Flyers” now are: Eleanor Hiltenen Heimonen of Michigan, Agatha Cox DeMicco of the east Coast (state I do not remember tonight), Bernadine Shule Steele of Illinois and myself. And we all stay in touch!
To be sure there is no way I can truly tell if the Capt. and I made the right decision but I do know that I was never unhappy. Oh, sometimes I was tired, apprehensive, disgusted, wondering but never afraid or unhappy.
Training for air evac was something else. To be sure all of us were registered nurses (RNS) and as such could have practiced (I wonder why we always say ‘practiced’) nursing or medicine where ever we really wanted to (out of the army). But as with any profession there are specialities—those areas that are staffed with people trained in that one specific area and that is what air evac was supposed to be. And I guess it really was.
It was truly interesting, looking over a representative class schedule of 8 May to 13 May 1944. That was a 6 day week beginning at 7:30 AM and ending at 1730 (5:30 PM).
We had classes in aero medical nursing, taught by Capt. Stroup ( a nurse), tropical diseases was taught by a doctor who also taught field sanitation. Map reading was taught for many days and we even had an exam about it! I wonder where they thought we would ever need or have access to a map. We also had hours of army organization, country and customs etc.
Aero-medical nursing and tropical nursing classes were probably the most interesting of all. I seemed to have notes on motion sickness also, prevention and treatment. Since I think I was the only one who ever got air sick and no matter what I learned about it, I was never helped by that information. I really needed medication but as far as I know, nothing was really known about what to take to prevent or cure the sickness.
And of course, we had drilling, drilling, marching, marching, marching. There was lots of physical training which I am sure toughened and helped to keep our weight down. Also, we learned how to pitch a tent and load litters onto a plane.
One week we had 2 hours of swimming. In water!! Ugh, ugh. I hated water then and I still hate it—except to drink it—it is my favorite beverage. A class on survival was held 2 days one week. That was the class that showed us how to launch a life raft and sea survival. All that was taught by a tough, medium tall, very well built male, Captain Mall. I do not remember of any truly formal training of or for swimming. But I do remember one ‘swim class’—a lot of us were in the pool. I suppose we were to be able to swim at that time—maybe only a few strokes at least. Well, I could not swim so I was just fooling around in the water then Capt. Mall yelled at me to start swimming. And I naively yelled back—“But Capt. Mall, I can’t swim!” Then he really yelled at me—‘Keim, I saw you just fooling around. START SWIMMING!!” And you know what?? I actually did a few real strokes! Then the class was over, Capt. Mall left and we all got out of the pool. He was really and truly a tough guy.
Did I say that we did a lot of marching, marching, marching??? We learned what kind of patients we could safely transport—as if we, ourselves would have any control over who would be put on our planes. Only a flight surgeon would control that. They would be in charge until the plane took off—then we would be on our own. And oh yes, we soon learned that one needed a certain amount of Moxie to be in air evac.
Field sanitation was rather interesting, also, learning all about latrines was so very, very worthwhile. I guess it was—even though we as women officers had never picked up a shovel or dug a hole or even cleaned a latrine that is (but ask us about dirty, stinking bed pans)—I guess all that was a good thing to know just in case----
So we learned that toilets were called latrines for disposal of human waste. They were 1) Straddle Trench—must be at least 100 feet from a water supply. And were used to stand with a foot on each side of the trench. I do not know how wide the trench was to be! 2) Deep Pit Latrine—box with 4 holes, 8 feet long and 30 inches wide which allowed 2 feet per person. 3) Bored Hole Latrine was to be 12-25 feet deep. All that was so good for us to know since we were flight nurses.
An interesting item—we were told that the country of Bulgaria, had actually evacuated a few patients way back in WW I and that France and England were the first to do it on a large scale. Feature that.
Now, the care of mess gear (meals) was something else. They told us that trays etc. were washed in hot soapy water, rinsed 2 times in boiling water. Out in the field there would be 3 large containers which were to be placed over a fire trench to keep the water boiling and also a garbage can in which to scrape the garbage before using the hot water to cleanse the trays. And all mess gear just be air dried. No towels.
(Well, believe me, it really was not like that in many places, I’m sorry to say)
Then they told us more about our planes. Evac planes would, could not bear a sign of a Red Cross which would mean that they had only patients and medicine on board. Because sometimes there would be baggage, food stuff, ammo and sometimes even fresh troops. So our planes would look just like other war planes. That was something we were very sorry to hear—we would be just as vulnerable as any other plane! WAR.
Have I said that we did a lot of marching, marching, marching??? Oh yes, we did a lot of marching—perhaps it was to get us trained to walk up and down the inside of our planes??? No, I think it was to fill up our time. To be sure all that left, right, left, right did not do us any real harm but it was rarely fun. You had better be sure that your shoes-boots fit well and that your canteen was filled with good, clean, cool water. Of course, the water never lasted as long as the hike.
Then there were classes on positioning patients in the plane. Heavy patients were to be placed on the floor litters, medium patients in the center and light patients on top. Also, the sickest patients were to be turned toward the aisle, casts toward the wall and of course no parts were to ever hang over. Air sickness cases were to be placed I the foreward part of the plane (an air force nurse subject to air sickness could be, should be, would be any where and every where). It made sense to put any contagious case in the rear section. Frankly, I wondered if that kind of patient should be flown at all—and cases of frequent urination were also to be placed in the back section. Why? The toilet was at the front of the plane!
Of course, in real evacuation, a lot of that info/advice was left back on the classroom floor.
When they told us of the patients who really were not to be transported by air, we ‘real’ nurses agreed and we had not even yet completed the air evac course! Those patients were: 1) severe shock, 2) recent major operative procedure, 3) severe anemia, due to hemorrhage, 4) complications of pneumonia, 5) complications by any restricted breathing. We knew those kind of patients should have good, constant nursing care and we had already surmised that we would not have too much medical equipment (‘tis true, we didn’t’) but surely a flight surgeon would not even suggest that kind of patient should be flown anywhere.
Have I mentioned that we did a lot of marching?
Chemical warfare was also taught and it was emphasized that chemicals were indeed going to be used. That was a class to which we really paid a lot of attention and at one point in our training, we had to don gas masks and dash through a smoke filled room and presumably through real poison gas. Whether there was truly any poison gas, I do not know but I do know that I did exactly what I was told to do. I was not going to take any chances—or even a breath. I was a fast runner—maybe all that marching helped!?
We also had classes in record keeping, military correspondence and how to write letters. Did I say that we had a lot of marching in the hot Kentucky sun? I used to wonder where we, as air evac nurses, were going to march? Perhaps from cloud to cloud?
Then there was the infiltration course—that was the class to teach us to crawl—maybe that would be from cloud to cloud??
So we bussed out to a piece of chocolate looking land, rough and tough, rough and tough. Yes, it indeed looked rough and tough. And we knew it was going to be that it was—rough and tough. Surrounding the whole area were strands of real barbed wire. Holes, humps and clumps of all kinds of dirt, plowed and unplowed ground, real dirty dirt—a very ugly piece of real estate. We were on our bellies and were to crawl from one side of the hell hole to the other side. Fortunately we had our steel helmets on. Because there was a LOT of noise—zing—over our heads and we were warned to keep our heads down as all that noise and zinging was truly live ammo being shot over us! Real live ammo! It was no joke—it was the real thing!
Wel, I do not know if all that was true as I did all my crawling close to that dirty dirt, very close. With all that noisy whistling over my head, I most certainly was not, would not, did not raise my head to see what they were really shooting at. Nope, not me.
So yes, I was most certainly relieved when I crawled under the last of the barbed wire and could sit up with no fear of being shot. I most certainly did not mind all the mud and dirt on me—I really liked the looks of the ditch I had dug as I had crawled to safety. I did not mind all the mud and dirt on me—I was just so very glad there was no blood and guts hanging out!
Now, my roommate, Gussie, when she finished crawling out—sat up and put her lipstick on!
Were we ever going to have to crawl from cloud to cloud?
Then one day we were bussed out to the edge of the field to a shooting are. Why would air evac nurses need to know how to shoot a gun? Part of our training—who knows—but there was indeed a war on. We were told a few things about a gun—a rifle, I think and then we sat down with the gun at a target. We were on a real firing range! Well, I do not remember if I ever hit the target—but my friends took my pic aiming at it. War!
Yes, there was a lot of stuff on our curriculum that seemed quite unnecessary and sometimes even inappropriate for nurses in air evac. But it did not hurt us to learn the stuff as indeed we would be over foreign land and water, even non friendly land and since it was war, one could never really know for sure, what, where we would eventually be. So we had classes in ? ? ? ? ? for various reasons.
And we did a lot of marching, marching, marching.
Yes, we had lots of hours in and out of the classroom. I learned a lot, most of which I forgot years ago and was not of any help to me anyway. I was indeed always glad and grateful of all I had learned back at the old Methodist Hospital—a gift of gab and a love for people and nursing—and in air evac—I learned that all nursing was not done at a clean bedside and in a white uniform.
A few years ago, the NEWS SENTINEL, one of Ft. Wayne’s daily newspapers asked for letters re ‘where were you when the war was declared over?’ Well, of course I well remembered where I was. I was flying back toward Oahu with a load of patients. So I sent off a letter to the paper; they called me in a couple of days. They wanted to publish my letter and I was to go to their office for an interview and to take some snapshots with me. Of course I was glad they liked my letter but as for snap shots—I truly did not have much to choose from—most had other people in them also. But I did take several with me, including the one of me aiming the firearm. They showed me all over their offices and decided to publish the fire arm pic. They even published a special telephone number for me in case anyone of their readers wished to call and talk to me. I do not remember any one, but one, who called me!
Coral Gables was such a beautiful place. It was a whole different world for me, a little farm girl from Roann and Ft. Wayne, Indiana. Of course, I had read and heard about such places but never in the world had I thought that I would ever live in such a place. It was fantastic and I was thrilled to be there. It did not even seem like an army post. It was so beautiful.
So how did I get to Coral Gables? To be living in a hotel? Well, one noon about the middle of September 1944, after graduation from Air Evac at Bowman Field, we were told to move from out dorm back to a hot old barracks. Then we were to report for a lecture. No big deal about that. Someone was always lecturing us about something at any old time. Usually it did not amount to anything. I think they just dreamed up topics to keep us occupied and busy. Well, at Bowman, a lecture was being than being out on a hot dusty foot march. So we went to the lecture hoping it would be half way interesting and worthwhile.
Then in the middle of that lecture, a Colonel came in and announced that he needed 20 nurses right away in Coral Gables, Florida. He explained that those nurses would no longer be considered active flight nurses but would be the first to be called back for flight duty if and when the need came. All the remaining air evac nurses were to be assigned elsewhere. Where, who knew? Now, we had been hearing rumors that something less exciting than air evac would be happening to us and that the future of air evac at Bowman was rather questionable. Where or what, we did not know. So we were not too surprised at his announcement. Our chief nurse told him he would have the 20 volunteers in 2 hours; so he gave her exactly 30 minutes to come up with the list. That was the army way. Well, we 5 Scott Field Flyers got our heads together. Aggie was the most calm and sensible of all of us.
We were young, trained nurses, eager for travel and adventure. If we volunteered we knew where we would be going---if the promise was kept. If we did not volunteer, who knew where would be sent. And they had said we would be the first evac nurses to be called back. Yes, we did know how well the army kept its promises. But Florida sounded like more like fun than Alaska or some other such out of the way place. We were good friends and we did not to be separated. So we 5 volunteered and 15 other friends and acquaintances signed up fast to go to Florida. Our chief nurse had her nurses well within the half hour the Colonel had given her.
So we rushed back to our barracks, packed up that night and flew out the next day to our new assignment. Fast work, but again that was the military way. Poor Mother learned of my move only after I got to Florida. Yes, the folks at home had to get used to military ways just as the gals and guys in uniform did.
Our new Post was the Biltmore Hotel. The FAMOUS Biltmore Hotel. We had really lucked out. We were glad we had volunteered, oh yes indeed. The hotel had been converted into a hospital that could and did receive patients flown in from Europe. So maybe while we were not flying the patients, we would be caring for them after their flights---sort of like air evac in reverse.
How well I remember one fellow who had just been flown in from Italy. He rushed up to me and said, “Gee, a real live American girl, where’s the milk?” I guess I should have been flattered that he mentioned me first---before the milk!
Another favorite patient had a foot amputated but he was really getting pretty good on grit and crutches. He could hardly wait to get sent to a permanent hospital so he could be fit with an artificial foot. He was going to learn to fly a plane and be a pilot! And I just bet he did---I certainly hope so.
Word came through that we were indeed still in Air Evac---word that rather surprised but pleased all of us. That meant we could wear our beautiful and hard earned wings if we wanted to. And I wanted to, as did all the rest of the girls. We were also informed that we just might be called back to active air evac duty. While I was happy to still be in air evac, I remember feeling a little sorry as I liked the hospital and the patients and the work and the food and my quarters---yes, I liked working at Coral Gables! But of course I could only wait and see what the army air force would say---and when.
Since we were in Florida in September and October, it was hurricane season and sure enough we had a hurricane warning. Of course all the old timers knew what was going on and what to do but for all of us new comers it was fascinating and scary at the same time. The warning was taken very seriously and so all the windows in the hospital and our quarters were boarded up which made everything pretty dark and gloomy. I wondered what we would do if we lost our lights. Beds were set up all over the hospital and filled with patients from elsewhere. Civilians with families moved in also. I wrote Mother that we had 300 extra people and that they put 20 pregnant women up on my ward. And I had always hated OB!
Our quarters were boarded up also and we had to clean and fill our bath tubs with water. We learned that a hurricane is like an extended tornado with heavy, heavy rain.
Everything was a confused mess and especially when we lost electricity for 2 days and 2 nights. So I quickly learned what we had to do. We relied on candle power and flash lights. Some of the nurses were boarded at the hospital in case of real emergencies. I was allowed to stay in my quarters and I did get some rest when I wasn’t worrying about when the real storm would hit and what I could and would do. Fortunately our area was missed and finally everything got back to normal. But what we did get was quite an experience for those of us from the Midwest.
While I was there in Florida, Katy had joined the Navy and had taken training in the WAVES and eventually landed in a hospital in California. Katy, who had not wanted to go into nurses’ training was now a Corpsman and doing the same thing I was doing---nursing. How about that. Now, Mother had 2 of us to worry about---me as I might be sent overseas---but Katy no doubt would remain in the states.
Florida flowers were so varied and colorful, palm trees and grass were so green and it all was so different from Indiana. One time I did as many did---I sent a coconut home to mother. A real for sure whole coconut.
It was easy to send as all I had to do was stick Mother’s name and address on it and ship it out. A person could send such stuff that way back then but I doubt if I could do it today. Anyway the coconut made it to Roann but when Ruth Flynn, postmistress, took it from the bag there was no address on it. Later, she told us she sat there to think of who of the local kids was stationed where coconuts grew. She finally connected me to Florida so she shook out the bag and there on the bottom was the lost address tag. So Mother got a real ‘live’ souvenir from Florida. It was a very unusual conversation piece back in those days and in fact it is even so today. I put a couple coats of shellac on it and it is now on a top shelf in my living room. Now I know a coconut in the husk does not sound very unusual or fascinating but believe me, it was really something back in 1944.
The day did come when we learned that 12 of us were being transferred to Randolph Field in San Antonio, Texas at the new air evac training school. That meant we were truly back in air evac and would be seeing some action at long last. Our good friends, Esther Manion and Mildred Ritter were not going with us. Manion had gall bladder problems and an ulcer and both were older than we were so they planned to get out of the service. We never saw Ritter again but we did meet Manion in a rest home in the summer of 1992. We had attended an air evac reunion in Louisville that year and made a special trip to St. Louis to see her.
I was rather edgy about leaving---I liked Coral Gables, I liked the work and I liked one of my patients very much even though I was engaged to a home town man who was also in the service. This man was tall, dark skinned and handsome. He was a navigator and so he was an officer. I was working at that time on an all officer ward and he was assigned alone to a 3 bed room. Thought that was odd and I noted that he never mingled with any of the other officers. But then he was a quiet man who did a lot of reading. Anyway I thought he was very nice and when he asked me out on a date, I said yes. He was from a town in Alabama named Peachtree and he said some people there called him Shine although his name was Leonard Robinson. That made me stop and think. I thought Shine was a horrid name some people gave to a colored person, a Negro. Way back then the races did not mix very much no matter what their education or rank was---in the service or in civilian life. So I think he was telling me that we were black and white and I believe that was the reason he was not in the same room as the other officers. And I just never thought to see what his medical record said. I had been around---exposed---to colored---Negro people all during my 3 years of nurses training and truthfully the color of one’s skin meant nothing to me. So we had a few dates---he was always a gentleman, we had fun, I had my orders to go to San Antonio so that was that. Yes, I had my orders.
..........
Kwaj as it was most often referred as, was not a big island nor was it a beautiful one bit oh, it was a very important one and I was always happy to see it come into view whether I was going down under or whether I was headed for home.
Kwaj was 1433 miles or about 8 hours from Johnston Island or coming from the direction of Guam. It was 1396 miles or 7-8 hours. I found that after flying 8 hours from any place it was great to get off and stretch and breathe in some good old salt air. Yes, Kwaj was always a real relief spot for me.
It was only 60 miles and 30 miles wide but it had a large blue lagoon and it originally had been a Jap submarine and air base. I say ‘had been’ because it was one of those places that the U.S. had to possess and of course our fighting fellows finally wrestled it from the enemy. I had been told that the only green on the island was over the massive Jap burial grounds. I do not know for sure---I never personally saw it. Just a few years ago, maybe in 1990, I was at an air evac reunion in Louisville and met an ex-Marine pilot who had spent many months there and he had never seen such an area. So who Knows?
I do not know what medical facilities they had there as I never met any nurses or doctors who might have been stationed there. I never saw an officers’ club, but I did know where the mess hall was! I was usually there one day and out the next so I really never had a chance or desire to go out looking for anything except my own quarters and bed.
Our nurses’ quarters were pretty nice---good beds, or should I say good cots. There was an adequate laundry room with piped in water. Our quarters were marked also---a big sign over the door spelled out HELL’S ANGELS. Most of us loved it. Then someone, probably GIs had edged our walks with rocks. A nice homey touch. I am sure that every male on the island knew where we lived and as far as I know there were never any guards around our quarters as there on Biak and Guam.
We had a lovely beach, rather isolated and quiet and wonderful clean sand. Of course I never went swimming but sometimes I used to just lie on the beach and soak up the sun. Believe me, there was always an abund- of it and it was hot!
As I said, our cots were comfortable even though our own little room cubicles were not---they were hot and stuffy. One morning I thought my room was haunted---when I awakened I saw that my floor was moving. At least I thought it was. It was a wooden floor and covered with sand I had tracked in. As I lay there just looking at it, I discovered that it wasn’t the floor that was moving---it was the sand. Now, how could that be? It was a very weird feeling, watching it. But then I discovered that it was not the sand but only the zillions of tiny animals or crabs or organisms that I had tracked in with the sand on my shoes and clogs. Oh, those crabs or what not were not dangerous but just the same I did not want them crawling over my bedroom floor. So after that I kept a broom hand and always kept my own room swept out.
On one of my stop-overs one of the other nurses mentioned that she had seen my bandage scissors at the desk near the phone. Oh no, not mine, I said, as I had lost mine weeks ago. But she insisted and since B. Keim was inscribed on them and I was the only B. Keim in the Pacific area, I decided that they indeed were mine. But how did they get there? Who knows? I have always said there must have been a thief somewhere out there in the Pacific. But I rather imagine that one of the other Flyers had picked them up by mistake in our apartment and then had just mislaid them there on Kwag. I was really glad to get them back as I had had them since nurse’s training and one of my patient’s had inscribed my name on them. I even had them for years after that but I finally lost them at the hospital back in Ft. Wayne---probably threw them away with soiled dressings. It was almost like losing a friend.
I was on Kwaj on 4 July 1945 and it was just another day. But one I will probably never forget. The 4th is nearly always a hot, hot day at home and one would think it would be even hotter closer to the equator. I suppose that is generally true but it wasn’t in the day I landed there on my way home from Guam. I was to spend the night there, then pick up load of patients the next day and go back to Hickam. Just routine stuff. But the wind was anything but routine. It was cold and I actually had to put my fuzzy, fuzzy flight jacket on to keep warm and I even sent to bed with all the covers I could find. That wind felt as if it had just blown off a glacier. It’s the truth---it was COLD.
I stopped at Kwaj 22 times (I counted them) and had never stayed longer than overnight until I arrived there on 8 Nov. and did not leave until the 14th. Six days on that tiny island and the only thing I can remember is one meal I had at the mess hall. And the only thing about that meal that I remember was the turkey. A turkey dinner had sounded pretty good and I was really hungry---until the fellow brought out my plate. There was the fixings and my turkey---a leg that was complete with tiny pin feathers still on it. Need I say more? Ever since that day I have not like turkey.
Another unforgettable time on Kwag was a very pleasant one. I had had a rough trip coming in from Guam---I was disgusted and tired and more than ready to hit the sack as soon as I got to the quarters. My disgust and anxiety must have shown on my face as I left the plane, looking for my transportation. A young, good looking black GI met me with his jeep to take me to the nurses’ quarters. He very quietly asked me if I would like to get off by myself for a while. Would I? Yes. So I hopped into the jeep and he drove us out to a quiet deserted part of the beach. We crawled out of the jeep, sat down and did not say a word for a long, long time. We just sat there watching those never ending blue waves that kept lazying up to our feet and then rushing back out to sea and kept repeating over and over. It was very colorful, very peaceful, very soothing. I do not know how long we sat there, talking very little until he said, “Lt., I had better get the jeep back to the motor pool or they will send out another one to see what is wrong.” So I thanked him, we dusted off our pants, crawled back int the jeep and he dropped me off at the nurses’ quarters.
That does not sound very spectacular or exciting and it wasn’t but it was a kindness that I have never forgotten.
...............
Okinawa, or Okie as we called it was at first just another island in a big ocean. A very important and costly speck in a big ocean. Invasion and securing an island is always costly and Okie would be no different.
I had left Hickam on 29 March at 11 A.M.—a decent time—I could have breakfast just before take off! We had the usual 4 hour flight from Hickam to Johnston, spent an usual 1 ½ hours there, then on for a 7 ½ hour flight to Kwajalein. It was always good to get out of the plane, stretch our legs and breath in some fresh air. We were there for a pleasurable 4 hours and then on for 7 ½ hours to Guam—total that trip as 18 ½ hours of flying. Even though I had been merely a passenger—dead heading, it was called—it was tiring and I was tired, dirty and hungry per usual. Dead heading was never restful—at least for me. We landed on Guam at 11A.M. on 30 March 1945.
But I had plenty of time to rest up—my next flight was not until 14 April—2 weeks later. That was a long time to be inactive—not working—and that could be pretty tiring also. But even in our quarters, someone was always coming and going—I had just not yet been reach on the work roster.
The invasion Of Okinawa had begun on Easter Sunday and was very bloody from all reports. I think Eleanor said when ‘got in’ on the 3rd. day, If so, that was a very early trip.
My first trip in was not until 15 April—the invasion had been on for 2 weeks. It was a 7 ½ hour flight from Guam—that was not too bad. I came back with a full load of patients—28—but I was lucky as none was seriously ill or wounded. That was good, I thought. I had never believed that true medic doctors would allow critically ill or wounded men to fly out as our flights were always long flights of7-8 hours over nothing but water, water, water. Besides our planes were just not equipped as hospital wards are—we were just mor or less for transportation of less critically ill or wounded patients.
After that trip I quickly worked my way home to Hickam on the 19th. It was good to be home again! I did the washing of self and clothing in lots of good soapy hot water, read my mail, packed my B 4 bag and left on another trip. It had been a quick turnaround—I wished I could have taken my bed with me.
So on 21 April, I left Hickam—to Johnston—to Tarawa—to Los Negros—to Biak—a 26 and 15 minute trip—a long time. I was tired. Even though I was dead heading. Then on 27 April I left Biak with 28 patients—to Los Negros—Tarawa—to Johnston—to Hickam and home, sweet home—a 25 hour and 25 minute trip! Did I say home, sweet home???? Yes, on 29 April. It was so good to be home and sleep in my own bed –for a week.
But then I was off to the states for a turnaround trip. Fast trip. Mail to read and laundry today and in 5 days I was off to Saipan. It was very nice there but I was there for only 4 days and then on back home at Hickam on 20 May and THEN on 22 May I was off to Guam. I most certainly getting in a lot of flight time—was really earning my flight pay! But it was tiring.
But now back to my trip to Okinawa. I arrived on Guam on 22 May and on 25 May at 18:45, in the “company” of 2 other planes, we headed for Okie. Each plane had 1 nurse and 1 tech and of course we were off to pick up patients. Just another job for us—evacuation of ill and wounded men as severe fighting was still going on . It was a bloody battle—not a push over.
My tech and I were rattling around back in the cabin. Oh, we were not squaring dancing or anything like that, as per usual we had plenty of cargo of something or other. Fighting men always needed supplies of some kind or other all the time. And of course our planes were never marked with a huge Red Cross to indicate we had patients aboard. An enemy, if they sighted us, would not have honored the Red Cross anyway. Our planes were fair game. So we were going into Okie to deliver whatever we were carrying and would soon be leaving with sick and wounded. A routine trip.
But then our pilot came back to tell us that he and the other 2 planes had just been ordered to abort our mission. Jap planes had been over Okie, were expected back and the field commander most certainly did not want 3 big planes on the ground when the enemy appeared again. Well, we also did not want to be sitting there loading patients when the enemy appeared again. So all 3 of our planes were being directed to Clark Field in the Philippines. They had been alerted that we were friendly planes and did not know how long we would be there with them.
Clark Field was one of the most aged and important of the air bases. It had been an early base for those wonderful B 17 bombers early in the war. And very early on, the Japanese had flown in and practically ruined the base and all of the planes. As such, the base had been the basis for many articles and books.
So we had started for Okie, would land at Clark and would be safe there. well, whatever, where ever. I was going where the pilot took me. And at Clark maybe I would see some familiar faces.
I knew a Troop Carrier group was stationed there. I was in the ATC (Air Transport Command) and we had the long over water flights in the C 54s. Troop Carrier were in smaller planes (usually C47s) was closer to the war action and flew the wounded for shorter distances. We air evac nurses had trained at the same school with the same instructors and would probably know each other. At least we all were in the war to aid the sick and wounded.
So we 3 planes landed at Clark. Of course they had been alerted about our situation and were ready for us but I’ll bet we were bodies that they could have done without. On landing our pilots went off to where their pilots went, our techs were taken to where the techs were and we 3 nurses were taken to the nurses’ quarters.
The nurses quarters seemed to be a lot less luxurious than those on Guam. But still, they looked pretty good—they were to be our home until ????. The nurses made us welcome and yes, many of us knew each other. That was very nice.
So we had landed at Clark—no fear from the Japs there—at least for the time being. But again, who really knew what was going to happen when after all Clark had not know early when they were almost blasted off the earth by a Japanese air attack.
So there we were and for how long no one knew. Yes, the nurses quarters were not as nice as ours on Guam but we would have a roof over our heads, I knew they would feed us and I did not think there was any danger of being bombed by the enemy—but what did I really know??
The nurses quarters were surrounded by a cement wall with lots of holes in it—all from the attach from the Jap air strike a few years before. Their quarters , while not spacious, were indeed adequate and I wondered how we would manage—3 drop ins with only the clothes on our backs. But not to worry, we were told. Their cook would just cook a little more, someone would loan us some clothing while we washed ours and hung them out to dry—that would be fast and then we would be ready to go if orders came that it was safe for us to go on to Okinawa.
And as for sleeping—well, when 3 girls went on their night duty, we 3 drop ins would sleep in their beds. Of course, we would need to get up when those night girls got off duty. There would be no sleeping in for us! Well heck, one can’t have everything all of the time.
So that is what we did—showered, using their soap, put on borrowed clothing, then washed our own, brushed our teeth with our fingers, combed our hair with our fingers and got along just fine.
For the rest of the crew—the men—who knew how they were faring but we figured that they would be taken care of. Of course we could not leave the area—we had to be available if word came that it was safe for us to land at Okie—where was there any place to go anyway?
Yes we enjoyed ourselves—at least I did. Some of us had the very same air evac training so there was much that we could cuss and discuss. And I knew one of the girls—C. Obenoff—a nurse from way back at Scott Field in Illinois. So since she knew me, the Clark Field nurses collected the rather large sum of $50.00—and a list of perfumes and cosmetics that they wanted me to buy for them in Frisco on my next trip into the U.S. when ever that might be. In return they would give me a pair of ladies tan pants! That ‘passing on’ was one of the means that mail, packages or what have you was sent, passed on or not delivered. It was indeed chancy.
I remember one time that I agreed to be a messenger-delivery girl- - to someone I did not knew (perhaps I have written this elsewhere??). Anyway it was a huge salami that I agreed to carry. Frankly, I do not remember who gave it to me to carry, nor did I know the person to whom I was to give it. Nor did I know how, who or when. And right now I wonder how I got the salami in the first place. But I guess I had promised some one that I would give it it a try—to pass it on. And so I did indeed get down to where the recipient -to-be was stationed and I got word to him that I had his package—and he came rushing up right away to get it. And was he mad when I gave it to him. He really screamed at me—why his huge salami was moldy. Oh, He as angry! So—“Hey, fellow, stop screaming at me. I do not know how long this salami has been on the road, no one can carry an ice box around with them. ‘Tain’t my faunt.” well, he was not a nice person—while I was sorry that his precious processed meat was not in prime condition, he need not have screeched at me. I’ll bet he just cut off the moldy part and enjoyed the rest—or maybe he threw it all away. I did not know nor care. I had done what I had promised to do—I delivered a package to him.
Well, that was the way a lot of stuff got moved—if you were lucky. Now for me, I bought the cosmetics, sent them on with someone I knew. The girls did indeed receive their purchases and yes, I got a pair of ladie’s pants—so nice to wear something made for women—men’s jeans just not go great on women’s figures—but if that was you had- - - -.
We nurses there at Troop Carrier were having a ball. At. least I was. I understand that the pilots were not having a good time. A couple of the crew had wanted to go into Manila and see what their night life was like—but of course they could not –Manila was not really that close, transportation was not that easy and besides they had to be available should the info and orders came for us to fly on into Okie. It was just too bad for the pilots—poor boys. The techs—I don’t know about them.
Well, after 3 days we got the call—we could get into Okie to get our patients and then on ‘home’ to Guam. While I had actually enjoyed my stay at Clark, I was ready to go to work and get back home.
Now this—I am not sure of—whether it was from the Red Cross at Clark or on Okinawa—but I wound up with a box of meat sandwiches and a couple jugs of lemonade for my patients. I do know that the Red Cross was always there for food and drink for my patients. ALWAYS.
When the jeep got us 3 gals back at the air strip, the nurses were ready, the techs were ready and the pilots were not. We nurses were told of a long time rivalry between the two outfits—the ATC and Troop Carrier—and our outfit—ATC—needed fuel and Troop Carrier really did not want to fuel our planes. I stretched out on a bench and went to sleep, hoping someone would awaken me if and when we got ‘gassed up’. Wouldn’t you have thought that that problem would have been solved early and not at the last minute? Finally, our planes were fueled, I was awakened and my tech and I crawled up into our plane—we would be off.
Since I and my tech were such old hands at flying and we each had so much to tell each other re the past 3 days, we just crawled up on the plane and took a cold metal seat next to each other. We each had a lot to say. I noticed that our plane was still loaded with all those heavy boxes. It did not seem that any was missing—so perhaps there had been no stealing but of course I had not counted them—I was not responsible for cargo!
Our plane roared down the runway and I do not know what happened but my tech and I were tossed around and landed on the seats on the other side of the cabin. A near crash? But the pilot straighten up and we flew right off into the wild blue yonder. Those cargo boxes barely moved.
Although my tech and I had been tossed around, we were not hurt—we were very lucky but we had not been very smart. We had not put on our seat belts! Yes, each of those cold metal seats was equipped with a seat belt and for some reason neither of us had put ours on when we first sat down. Now I can honestly say that ever since that day I have always fastened a seat belt if one is provided.
And that is the truth!
The beautiful blue sky was not blue all the way. Before long we were in a fog, heavy pea soup. It was obvious that this was not going to be a fun trip. Of course the 3 pilots were in touch with each other via radio about the situation and I learned that my crew was having a lot of big laughs.
Reason: on one of the other 2 planes , the co-pilot was none other than a Major Cherry. There is a long store about him and I will make it very short. He had been on the plane, probably the pilot, with the famous Eddie Rickenbacker and others out over the Pacific somewhere the plane had gone down. All the men got on life rafts, a couple died before long, they were floating for weeks—one story of survival—a bird landed on the head of Rickenbacker, he caught the bird and they had some food on that day! Well, hope of being rescued was really fading fast and Cherry took a boat or a raft and sailed off by himself—thinking perhaps he would get into a different shipping lane, would be seen and eventually all would be rescued. And I guess that is what happened, more or less. There have been many books and articles written about all of it. Very interesting.
From my pilot’s conversation I gathered that Cherry had been a king sized boorish person for the past 3 days. They were laughing that if he saw a fishing vessel down below on the ocean, he would shinny down a rope, tell the fisherman how to survive and climb up the rope again. Yeah, I got the impression they did not care too much for him. As I have said, much had been written about all of it—in fact he was recently featured in an article in a Reader’s Digest . It is worth reading.
Anyway—we were nearing our destination on Okie when we got another important message. The Japanese were expected back very soon; the ground forces could not get patients down to the line for us to fly out—we just could not be on the ground very long but they did have dome GIs close by—they were not patients, but were slated for rotation and since we were so close to Okinawa-----we-----this mission was definitely not as it was supposed to be. That was for sure.
There would be no patients for me—as there simply was no time to load them. I do not know anything re the other 2 planes. Only mine.
So we landed, men were standing down below just outside our open door, ready to crawl on. I looked down at them—why, they were being interviewed by the very famous newspaper columnist, Ernie Pyle! Gee, he was from Indiana, and I was from Indiana. I was going to yell down at him—maybe he would interview me. But no, my tech and I were pressed into service to help the crew—we had to get all those crates unloaded. All those heavy boxes were full of ammo! I never knew that air evac planes carried ammo—but this one did—and I did want to be rid of it –I did not want to be hit by the enemy and blasted off the planet. I do not know what the other 2 planes had. But my tech and I helped shove all those heavy boxes to the door and off the plane. It was work.
Ernie Pyle left, 28 men had their baggage and were anxious to get on the plane and get gone, our plane had been on the tarmac just over 2 hours, the men pile on and we were off for Guam—we hoped! Neither my tech or had set foot off the plane that day!
Yes, we were off up in the air again and as far as we knew, we were headed for Guam, 8 hours away—or who ever, what ever, where ever or when ever—after all that had been our trip so far.
I think that I have said somewhere that I had food and drink on board and yes, I truly do not know how, where I got it. But I THINK the Red Cross at Clark gave the food stuff to me. No matter, I did have food and drink and a long flight ahead of me.
So somewhere sometime, I broke out the food for my passengers. Oh my, the complaints we got. The sandwiches were dreadful—just huge slices of some kind of meat between 2 thick slices of bread. And the lemonade’. Why, there was silt (and indeed there was—but that was always in the bottom of the thermos and so there was silt in the drinks that I had served the fellows. I thought they should have been grateful that I had what I had-- Would this trip ever end???
So some of the men groused, some slept and the tech and I did what we could to make them comfortable and prayed that not ing else would go wrong. Yes, we finally landed on Guam, our home base. Yes, it was home, sweet home and safe and sound.
But where was the flight surgeon. I should report to him as I always did after each flight. I finally found him—he was not a very tall man, neatly dressed, hands on his hips and he actually snarled “where in hell have you been?” What a welcome home—and after such a perfect??? trip too!
Then I had all those not so nice passengers to put somewhere. Somehow they would up in a room in a b barracks close by. How, when, where they then to go, I did not know and frankly, I did not care very much. But I still had all their luggage. Somehow I got it all loaded in a jeep or two and we hauled all their stuff to an empty room next to the one in which they had been placed. I just went to the door, announced that their luggage had arrived, I hoped it was all there, hoped they had a nice ‘vacation’ and I got back in the Jeep and went to the nurse’s quarters. What a trip. I do not know re the other 2 planes except that they did get back to Guam safe and sound.
That was a trip I have never forgotten. It still makes me tired just thinking about it. And I still do not remember just who gave me the food and drink. It was very gracious of who ever did and I think my passengers should have been more gracious and appreciative than they were.
Good old Clark Field. I wonder what it is like now. From reports and newspapers –near by Mount Pinalbo would have up to 50 eruptions per year and Subic Bay was only 50 miles away with Clark only 10 miles away. It had not really erupted for hundreds of years and only 4-5 times in the past 200 years. But on JUne 15, 1999, it really erupted—largest in 80 years. Then on 1 August 1999 it erupted again and Clark Field was blanketed with ash and debris and was finally closed on 11/26/99.
Oh, that trip to Okie—I left Guam on 25 May –to Clark and Okie and back to Guam on 28 May.
Then another trip to Okie on 13 June—a quick round trip –with patients that time.
Then another trip to Okie—on 26 Sept—another quick trip with patients again.
And I even got off the plane those last 2 times!
Read the complete memoir of Betty Keim.
Do you have WWII memorabilia that you are not sure what to do with it? The children don't want it? Then let us help you preserve this history by donating these items to the Army Air Corps Library and Museum. We are accepting donations in the form of uniforms, medals, ribbons, patches, photos, memorabilia, papers, gear and equipment. We also accept monetary donations to support our operations and long term plans. This website is part of the Army Air Corps Library and Museum, and as a 501(c)(3) Non-profit, your qualifying donations are tax deductible.
Read about how we need your support and use donations.
Historical Artifacts: We are looking for photos, documents and other types of artifacts including uniforms, medals, insignia, gear, manuals, and training material. We accept electronic/scans or originals of pictures and paper records. A General Order could be an award document that contains information on many servicemen. Special Orders may contain transfers or other information. Flight records, accident reports, maintenance logs, after action reports, pilot encounter reports, diaries and biorgraphies; all of these types of documents help us support or mission: preserving your history! Contact us today for instructions on sending us this material. Contact Today
Are you an AAC, AAF or USAF Veteran, family member, historian or WW2 enthusiast? We Need YOU! Contact us today to see how you can help the Army Air Corps Library and Museum, a Texas Not-For-Profit Corporation. We need your help! We are looking for volunteers that can help us with the following tasks. Typing and Transcriptionists: One of our big projects is extracting data from the thousands of documents we have and putting this data into a database where we can display the information on a website such as this one. We also need assistance with retyping unit history documents.