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Quentin & Jackie Aanenson & Ken Burns in Los Angeles in July 2007
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Ken Burns, the outstanding documentary filmmaker, recently broadcast his latest epic documentary, entitled The War, on PBS beginning September 23, 2007. I was honored to be involved in many episodes of this show. For highlights of the world premiere of The War, click here. |
We are the boys of World War II. We are dying off at the rate of 1,500 a day -- that's 45,000 a month. That number will steadily increase until the unyielding laws of mathematics give us an increasing rate of deaths, but a decreasing number of deaths -- the remaining pool will have become too small.
Taps is just one sunset away.
But in our lifetimes, we made a difference. We had the good fortune to live during a time when honor, patriotism, and character were important. We stepped up to defend freedom, and put our lives on the line for the "cause." It was a moment in history that may never occur again.
World War II was the defining moment of the 20th Century. For millions of young American men, it had an impact on them that would forever be a part of their lives. Their personal experiences defy description -- the trauma and tragedy they experienced would be theirs alone to endure.
I flew most of my combat missions with the 391st Fighter Squadron of the 366th Fighter Group. The 391st Fighter Squadron still exists as a part of the U. S. Air Force. Their nickname is "Bold Tiger," and is worn on the right shoulder patch of their flight suits. I have incorporated this name into my e-mail address: boldtiger@prodigy.net
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Since Mr. Aanenson will be undergoing medical treatments for a few weeks, we are putting a temporary hold on DVD orders of A Fighter Pilot's Story. We are hopeful that we will be able to resume service in the future.
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The Face of WarThere was a special drama about the scene. The sky was steely gray and solid overcast. The ground around the church was chewed up by the vehicles -- the deep tread marks of the heavy tanks -- the tire tracks of the other vehicles, and the footprints of men coming and going. Some of the infantrymen coming out of the front lines ambled toward the church, as did some of the replacements who were moving up from the rear areas into the lines. The face of war could almost be defined by the appearance and expressions of the infantrymen who were changing positions. Those coming out of the lines, who had seen more than men should ever see, who had done things men should never have to do, had a blank, expressionless look about them. They were as dead men, walking, unseeing, silent. There was a different look about those going toward the front. They still had some of the characteristics of the boys they were. They talked and showed expression. They were not boisterous or joking -- for they knew where they were going. But they still retained some of what they were. This assortment of men -- all young men, but you couldn’t tell it by looking at them -- moved in and out of the small Belgian church. A Belgian Priest and an American Chaplain were conducting this ongoing service. There were 30 to 35 men standing among the pews as we walked in. The service continued for about 10 or 15 minutes. The Chaplain began reciting the Lord’s Prayer, and we all joined in. As he neared the end, German 88s started to drop nearby. No one moved. Just as he finished, a shell landed quite near the church. Normally, men would have been making a mad dash for cover, but for some strange reason, nobody moved -- we just stood there. Then behind me on the opposite side of the church, a man with a deep voice started reciting the 23rd Psalm, and soon everyone had joined in. The shelling continued, but it seemed that the voices of the men became stronger. I guess the thought was, if we are going to die, it might as well be in a church. In a few minutes, it all ended, and we were each on our way to our next assignment.” |
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So it was with my friendship with Johnny Bathurst, who shared space with me in our tent which we had named "Duffy's Tavern." Johnny and I had been through flight training together, but it was only after we got into combat that we became such close friends. There were missions during which we each – without hesitation – threw ourselves into great personal danger in order to help our buddy who was bracketed in by German flak guns. We flew down the gun barrels of those flak guns to give our buddy a chance to break away.
 Landing Strip A-1, Normandy. July 1944. "Johnny and Quent" One night we were in the Officer's Club at Laon, France, after a brutal day of strafing and dive bombing German strong points in our front. We had both had a couple of drinks as we tried to put that day out of our mind, when Johnny pulled something out of his pocket, and told me he wanted to give it to me. It was a St. Christopher Medal, and Johnny tied it to the metal pull tab on the zipper of my flight jacket. With great sincerity he told me it would keep me safe on future missions. Just before every future mission – as a part of my ritual – I touched the St. Christopher Medal as I swung into the cockpit. Strangely, when I went back to the States on leave a few months later, the medal fell off my flight jacket and was lost. It deeply saddened me, but I took solace in the fact that it had fully served its purpose.
When the war was over, our lives went down different roads. Johnny stayed in the Air Force, and I went back to finish college, then went into a career in the business world. We kept track of each other by letter and telephone calls for a number of years, then I lost track of him. In the early 70s I got word through a mutual friend that he had been killed while testing a high performance spy plane at high altitude. It was not until 1992 that I found out he had survived the disintegration of this plane, and was living in Seattle, Washington. We arranged to meet at the next reunion of our old Fighter Group, and renewed our friendship of those dramatic days so long ago. We had many good conversations and meetings during the next few years, but on December 6, 1999, my good buddy, John Forrest Bathurst, died after a long illness. But I will never forget him, and I will never forget how our friendship during those brutal days of combat during World War II helped both of us hang on to our sanity.
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| Artist William R.Farrell of New York City has created an impressive painting of Captain Quentin Aanenson standing with his P-47 Thunderbolt airplane. This painting, the Thunderbolt Patriot, pays tribute to those pilots who served their country in time of war. A photo of this painting and information about it can be found at Mr. Farrell's website by clicking here. |
Wesley Johnston's Dad's War
