Robert Stanley Bower : Short Biography

Robert (Bob) Stanley Bower, son of Robert Charles (Stanley) Bower Jr and Sarah Jane (Sally) Hutchinson , was born Presbyterian in Niles, Ohio, in 1920. Bob graduated from Westminster College in Grove City, PA and Princeton Theological Seminary, in Princeton, New Jersey. Bob was the Minister at Harundale Presbyterian Church in Glen Burnie, Maryland, USA for most of his adult life. He passed away in 2009. Bob's father, Stanley Bower Jr. was born in Belfast, Ireland on 1 August 1897 to Robert Charles Stanley Sr. and Elizabeth (neé Hanna) Bower. Bob's mother, Sally Hutchinson was born in Aghadowey, Coleraine, Ireland 29 Sepember 1896 to Knox and Margaret (neé Forgrave) Hutchinson formerly of Mettican, Errigal, Ireland. Bob's parents, Stanley and Sally emigrated from Ireland in March of 1920 from Londonderry aboard the Caledonia, when Sally was 2 months pregnant with Bob and went to Niles, Trumbull, Ohio, the United States. Bob enlisted in the US Army Air Forces on Feb 22, 1943. They nicknamed him "Whitey" because he didn't drink, didn't smoke, and didn't swear. He became a bomber pilot on April 15, 1944 and was stationed in the European Theater with the 416th Bombing Group. He flew 37 combat bombing missions stationed from the US Ninth Air Force A-26 Invader Medium Bomber Base in France. He earned an Air Medal with six bronze oak leaf clusters for his bombing efforts, including attacking Vreeden, where he bombed German communications and supply routes. His missions included bombing runs in Spain, France, Germany, and other European countries. The Air Medal and bronze oak clusters are awarded for single acts of heroism or meritorious achievement while participating in aerial flight. Bombers had to complete 5 sorties in order to qualify for one bronze oak cluster. Bob earned two of his oak clusters for his bombing missions on Vreeden. Bob wrote this account of his flying: Flying in mind, spirit and body originated in Vacation Bible School in the First Presbyterian Church in Niles, OH. A young male leader used very early model airplane kits to catch our interest. From that time on, I made innumerable model planes. Each one more difficult than the last. My folks must have given me a seven mile ride to Hall's Airport north of town, where I saw World War I bi-planes land and take off from a farmer's field. There began my quest to secure dollars to pay for flights. I collected all the copper, metal and lead foil, which I sold to the junk dealer who made regular rounds. I used these dollars to pay for lessons by Ernie Hall, one of the oldest pilots in the United States at the time. As we approached the field over telephone wires, I would see Ernie raise and lower his glasses to view our approach. He taught me to land an airplane. Later, in cadet school, when fellows were having difficulty on the approach and landing, I had them sit in a chair. Imagining altitude, I tilted the chair forward simulating the approach and then reversing the tilt to suggest a three point landing. Timing and skill became essential in our approach and landing returning from a mission. Making a six ship in line formation, the lead ship would peel off in a steep diving turn to the runway. Each following ship peeled off every three seconds. The reverse was true on take off. Six planes with engines roaring, carrying four thousand pounds of bombs, nine hundred gallons of high octane gas, ammo for eighteen fifty caliber guns. Myself and one gunner sat with brakes locked. Following the previous ship, I had a brief prayer, "Lord, keep me stable and make me able to cope." Ten seconds after the previous plane started to roll, I released my brakes. Behind me, another pilot did the same. Frequently, in bad weather I would lose sight of the previous ship. Keeping a steady rate of climb (500 feet per minute) and an absolute fix on the runway compass heading, I would climb up. Sometimes, in fog, I would feel the turbulance of the craft 10 seconds in front of me. Proceeding up through the "soup", I with the others would meet above the soup and take a heading to Germany. The 37 missions were flown usually at 10,000 to 12,000 feet with a few experiences like: 1. Prior to take off giving my package of gum to the crew chief. He liked it and it made me hungry. 2. The issued candy bar I laid in the cockpit gas valves. Upon reaching the time of the troop line I'd eat the candy bar. If shot down, I'd at least have my last food for awhile. 3. While anticipating the black smoke from flak burst, I'd fly very tight formations. 4. Some missions had no flak but bad weather requiring the "drop" by radio signal through solid overcast. 5. On one mission, we had to fly low, taking us over a German airfield on our way to bomb oil dumps and hit a bridge (Hof) in Czechoslovakia. 6. We were briefed to expect 125 to 150 German flak guns (88mm and 105mm). Our troops had been pulled back so we could bomb the line. Later, we heard via ground troops that when we appeared, the guns were taken from them and pointed toward us. On the right hand turn off target, I saw a ship take a dead hit. The plane just seemed to blow all over the sky in a ball of flame. The pilot had lived four miles from my home. Later, his mom phoned for a visit, asking me how her son died. 7. Combat toll load still taken on the return trip, "I'm low on fuel. How much longer to the field" the second pilot asked? I had seen the ship as the pilot inadvertently pumped gas overboard. "You"re pumping gas overboard" I radioed. He crashed. 8. On a pilot's last mission (his 65th) I watched his plane struck by one of ours, over our own troops, in the second mission of the day flying into the sun. Flying formation in the number 3 spot, I'd receive a call to "move out Bower". Immediately I rolled in a full left aileron and right rudder to "slide" out. Exactly in the spot I'd been, the intruding ship appeared. Withdrawing power, I knew a crash was inevitable. As the intruding plane hit the left wing, and rolled into the left prop of the lead ship, pilot Rooney looked over at me. I still see his face and the smile he gave, evidently realizing it was not I who had hit him. I followed both ships down and saw one chute. The navigator, bombardier went out through the front wheel well. Both ships spired down. I lingered over head until both ships blew up and burned. It was to be Rooney's last mission. Sad to see and remarkable that I had not been in the collision. 9. Combat meant returning in the dark through overcast skies. There was no radar, ground control, or runway lights. Using no radar, forty two planes with pilots using a watch, compass heading, air speed, and altimeter and had to fly by formula. All landed safely. 10. Such flying at times, was more than some very few men, found to be mentally disabling. They had good reason. I recall one gunner screaming over the radio. All I could do was quietly say, "I've got it under control. We'll be O.K." It worked. 11. There was this mission, when at 11,000 feet, my canopy covered with ice. Afraid of sliding into the flight, I pulled up and away and was on my own. I called the gunner to crawl over the bomb doors into the cockpit. The bad weather was at ground level. Still using the altimeter but at times so close to the trees, I had the gunner call out when he saw the darkness of the forest. During this, I'm radioing for emergency directions. It was dark. Fuel was extremely low. I said to the gunner, we had a decision to make, "do you want to bail?" I asked. "What would you do?" he replied. "I'll find a field and put it in wheels up." I said. "I'll stay with you" he replied. Finally, a female voice came over the radio with directions and time to my field. At exactly the time she gave for the field, this lovely voice said, "Oh look! The field should be just off your right wing!" And it was. I landed with ten minutes of fuel left. I wish we could have met, so I could have thanked her. Survival was what counted. Post-combat flying came into play when the fighting ceased. Someone decided that I was one to fly a plane back to the USA. A 900 gallon added fuel tank was installed in the bomb-bay. Being one of three pilots, we flew to Marseilles, France. Being the third plane to land, the propwash of the two previous planes lay in my approach to the landing. The air lift on the right wing was destroyed and immediately tipped the wings almost 90 degrees to the runway. Thinking that a further approach would mean a crash, I very immediately pushed fuel. Both engines accepted the demand. I pulled up the wheels. Reduced full flaps to quarters and wobbled across the runway. At the end was a cliff. To have pulled up for altitude might have brought on a stall. So, I pushed the wheel forward and headed down over the cliff to skim the Mediterranean. Finally, I made it back to the field and landed safely. The next day, we were fueled up and flew out through the Straits of Gibraltar, turning south to pass over the Sahara landing at Marrakesh. Fueling up, we headed over the ocean for Liberia. During that section of the flight, a most severe tropical storm enveloped us. At times, I lost sight of the lead ship that had the only navigator. In Liberia, we re-fueled and took off for the Accession Islands location south of the equator in the Atlantic. Reaching the Accessions, we saw the one runway stretching to each side of the island's cliffs normally covered by sea gulls. The taxi strip was up and around an extended volcano. We were told to stay aloft, if many sea gulls were flying. Refueling and off again to Brazil. The cockpit heat was almost unbearable and landing then, we could not leave the ship, until in the heat, we let lose a bug bomb! Of course, there was no air conditioning. The plane's metal was Hot! Again refueling, the compass took us north to British Guiana, then to Puerto Rico and finally to Georgia, USA. Of course, there were a lot of other moments too numerous to mention. There were moments of laughter balanced by scary moments. It was all interesting. Once was enough. Once made it all so sad... I am one extremely grateful person to be alive.