Flying Ace of WWI. Received the DFC from the King of England.
Served in the RFC from July 1917. Was stationed in March 1918, to the Western Front
Under Captain McElroy's “C” Flight of the famous 24 Squadron.
He came from America to fight in the RFC; and became an outstanding fighter pilot and ended up as one of the three best American Flyers in WWI. His score given in the Communiqués was not far short of twenty enemy planes destroyed; what was most remarkable was that tally of successes was achieved in six months.

(The following is copied from his published book “Combat Report” in 1973. His book was based on diaries and logbooks.)

Chapter 7---Midsummer Mayhem --- and Memories

Memories flashed through my mind of breakfasts in my childhood at the turn of the century. When school was out for the summer, my younger brother and I went to my great-grandmother's farm near Greenup, Kentucky, where we spent our three months school vacation. Greenup, about 1902, was a typical farm town with a population of around 1000 and was situated on the banks of the Little Sandy and Ohio Rivers. The Court House was in the public square facing the Ohio River boat landing with commercial buildings and offices on the three adjacent streets and the residential areas spread behind. Roads were very dusty during the summer and nothing but mud in winter. Shade trees of all sorts grew in profusion and a maze of multi-colored flowers appeared from early spring to late autumn. Homes, small and
large, were all kept in excellent condition and situated amidst neat lawns surrounded by white picket fences or ornamental wrought iron for the more wealthy. Several small churches were scattered among the trees and the main road. This little county farm town was then about 85 years old. No automobiles in those days to disturb the peace and quiet, broken only by the numerous songbirds. Sidewalks, of wood, brick or river gravel, lined the main business area and the public square.

Most business buildings, some with porches and some without, had cane-bottom chairs or benches out front for those who wanted to sit and whittle or just sit. During the summer most of these seats were filled with doctors, lawyers, storeowners, preachers, blacksmiths, farmers and the owner of the feed and livery stable. Horses, mules and oxen were very valuable live stock, wagons, buggies and saddle horses being the chief means of travel. Saturdays were the big days in town when the neighboring farmers with their families and farm hands would drive in with their produce to trade for products needed at home. The hitching rails on the four sides of the Court House Square would be filled with all sorts of transport before eight o'clock in the morning. The day would be spent talking and getting the news, trading horses, mules, cows and other wanted items. Much corn whiskey would be sold and some consumed on the spot and, no doubt, one or two saloons did a thriving business selling the illegal rotgut whiskey. The travelers would start to leave about 4:00 p.m. and by six o'clock the square would be back to normal. Yes, those people really enjoyed life. Not a worry in the world; no strife; no turmoil, no wars.

At that time, in our area, steamboats on the Ohio River were the favorite mode of travel for journeys greater than five or six miles. There were few trains and the steamboat was used even for journeys as far away as Cincinnati. The trains were faster but did not offer the pleasures, cleanliness and comforts of the boats. It was by steamboat that we traveled from my hometown of Ironton, Ohio, to Greenup. As many as six to eight boats went up and down the river each day and the public wharf was the center of attraction for all when a vessel came in. Apart from the many passengers, each boat brought in and took out tons of freight on each stop. The trip to Greenup, including calls at several farmhouses, took about one hour. At our destination the boat pulled in close to the shore, dropped her gangplank and deck hands would run off with a heavy line to tie it to a tree; the stern paddle wheel, turning slowly, held the boat in to the shore. We would walk off the gang-plank, climb the river bank to the square and await the arrival of a spring wagon or surrey to take us to the farm about five miles away. Not all wagons had springs in those days and appropriately, those without were called jolt-wagons.

Routine on the farm was rigid and my great-grandmother was very strict with everyone but me. By dark most everyone was in bed and when the first rooster crowed about 4:00 a.m., we were all up and out. Everyone had certain chores before breakfast. Mine was a trip to the corn crib to fill two baskets with corn and take them back to a bench near the rear of the house. A low hill hereabouts was the site of a fruit orchard.

At dusk our turkeys flew up and roosted in the fruit trees each night. The chickens did likewise at a lower level. As I sat facing that hill, shelling the corn at about 4:30, all those birds had their eyes on me. When the first grains of corn hit the ground, down they came. The turkeys first, soaring off that hill to land at my feet. A beautiful sight; gliding towards me. Soon, I was surrounded by chickens, ducks and turkeys. I always watched those birds with widespread wings coming through the air as easily as I could walk on the ground. How I wished I could do that. Little did I then know that within a few years, I would achieve this aim. But my mission would not be for food. No! I should be gliding down to kill my fellow men.

The fragrant odor of the breakfast prepared in the “summer kitchen” right behind me sure did smell good. When the food was on the table, a large bell would be rung. Within seconds, six or eight men, including me, would be around the pump, washing our faces and hands. Inside, a large table was covered with plates of big, fat biscuits and cornbread fresh out of the oven, butter churned the evening before, platters of fried slices of home-cured ham with “red-eye” gravy, a large dish of fried fresh eggs and another of fried bacon. Dishes of white navy beans and of fried potatoes. All this was topped off with jars of home made jams, jellies, preserves and sorghum molasses. A large pot of coffee was on the back of the stove. Fresh milk was served to me. This was the normal country breakfast. There was no ceremony at that table; every man looked out for himself and those with the longest arms had the choice of food. The table would be empty within fifteen minutes and everyone would be back to work.

My daydreams of past pleasures were brought to an end by the Klaxon shrieking out its alert …..