Researching, interviewing and writing articles is just about the
most enjoyable thing I have ever done and I am constantly amazed at the great stories our
people know. This past week, in interviewing retired veterinarian, Dr. Dee Bourke,
for today’s feature, a second story came to light.
Dee’s brother-in-law dropped in for a visit. He lives in Austin, and we got
into a conversation of our own. Dee, who was a member of the Flying Tigers in World
War 11, introduced us by saying that his guest was also a flyer in WW 11. “Jim
was stationed in North Africa,” he said. I said that my brother was stationed
in North Africa during the Big One. Then I told them how Austin debarked from
Homestead, Florida. Jim said that he, too flew from Homestead and to a base in South
America and then to North Africa.. I said that Austin was headed to Natel, Brazil
but had a forced landing on some little island, had to change planes and have another go
at it. From Brazil he flew across the Atlantic to Casablanca. Jim replied that
he was in Casablanca before moving to Algiers. Somewhere in there, the whole
conversation became unreal to me as Jim told of experiences that my brother had related to
us. Both men were pilots of B-25s, the Billy Mitchell bomber. They were
present when Mt. Vesuvius erupted. ( My brother gave me an ashtray fashioned from some of
that molten lava.) The Army Air Force pilots and crew were sent to a rest camp on the
Isle of Capri. (I have a tiny silver bell engraved with Capri.) Jim said the
Blue Grotto there, was really beautiful. I remember Austin telling us about the boat
ride on the beautiful blue water. Austin was in the 12th air force. So was Jim.
After 56 missions over Italy and Germany, my brother was sent back to Florida for
rehabilitation. I have a copy of the orders from the flight surgeon stating that
after having three planes on either side of his plane, The Shooting Star, shot down, and
losing several close friends in combat missions, that Austin was no longer fit for flying
duty and needed to be grounded.
Jim said that after 59 bombing missions over enemy territory, he was so unstrung
that he was landing his plane about 10 feet off the ground. He was sent back to the
states where he and his wife lived in a hotel on a Florida beach until his nerves settled
down. It was an emotional experience for me because I knew the stories so well that
talking with Jim was almost like my brother was there with us in the room. Austin
died of bone cancer two years ago and I inherited his many giant scrapbooks. He was
a “keeper” of everything and during one long winter, he put documents, ticket
stubs, autographed pictures of musicians he met, his own photographs, souvenirs,
letters, and other treasures in these heavy books. I hadn’t looked at those
books since I brought them home after the funeral. Now I got them out and page by
page read my brother’s military history contained in the largest book of all.
It was enjoyable reading but sad too because he, like so many of our heroes is
gone. My brother was proud to fight for his country and although it was a dangerous
time and he came back from the war a changed man, he was always proud of his medals and
his silver wings.
