Great Uncle Earl

Written by Michael MacQuarrie

Copyright 2010

This may not be used in all or part without prior written permission from the author, Michael MacQuarrie

Thanksgiving Day is traditionally a time for family gatherings, a time to give thanks and reflect over the last year as we celebrate life, love and health together. Every year my family would meet at my grandparents home in Ottumwa, Iowa, to share this holiday and enjoy good country cooking. The highlight was always the stories the old folks would tell about times they had experienced throughout their lives, and nobody was better at this than my Great Uncle Earl.

At 6’ 3”, 240 lbs, Uncle Earl was a big, burley man. Crusty with age and ornery from experience, his stories were always the highlight of the holiday. My Aunt Mary, his late wife, had died ten years earlier, and Uncle Earl had been alone ever since with his memories and stories. He had plenty of time to rework and develop his stories over the years, and we always enjoyed the new slants and versions his stories would take. You          see, Uncle Earl was a war veteran of the big one, WWII, and he loved to tell of his many and varied experiences, much to the delight of the kids. For years I was one of those kids, and grew up wanting for more stories from my Great Uncle Earl.

Last Thanksgiving was the best yet, with great food, great family, and great stories. After dinner we all sat around waiting for the turkey to settle, anticipating when Uncle Earl would weave his latest great adventure. Typically he would start with “In my day...” and the story would develop from there. This time, however was different. He began with “Did I ever tell any of you that I was a fighter pilot with the Flying Tigers?” 

That was news to me, exciting news! As an adult I had obtained my pilot’s license a few years before, but had never known that Uncle Earl had flown with the Flying Tigers. I had read much about them and they were a favorite of mine.

“It was in April, 1941, when I arrived with the guys in Burma. I was a lieutenant under Captain Claire Chennault, who was in charge of the AVG (Airman's Volunteer Group) pilots, assigned to the Chinese Air Force. Burma is right next to China”  Uncle earl was just getting started. I had long been intrigued with the Flying Tigers, and knew about Captain Chennault, but now I know someone who had actually been there.  All his previous stories were about the South Pacific, when he was a Marine. Iwo Jima was one that he told over and over at countless Thanksgivings, and each year he saved more lives more and got more metals than the year before. 

My mom, his niece, got up from the room to help with the kitchen duties. Several of us remained to hear the next thrilling episode of Uncle Earl’s Flying Tigers. As he continued to weave his story magic, I was all ears! He started, “I remember one morning, right about sun-up, when the air raid sirens went off. We all scrambled for our P-40’s, mine was called “Mary Girl” after your aunt. She was sleek and fast just like your aunt, and took me places I’d never been to.” I thought excitedly how it really did sound like my Aunt Mary. It had been 10 years since she died, but I still had vivid memories of my favorite aunt.. 

“The sun was just peeking over the horizon, and there were spotty clouds. We didn’t have radar, as it hadn’t been invented yet, but we had spotters that were between us and the Japs.” Not politically correct, I thought, but it was appropriate for the time. He continued, “When they spotted the planes, they would radio ahead and give us warning. That’s when the C.O. (Commanding Officer) would awaken the sirens. We knew we had a better chance of surviving if we met them in the air, rather than getting caught on the ground.” I was setting on the edge of my chair. In my minds eye I imagined the scene, just like the 1942 movie “Flying Tigers,” starring John Wayne. I had seen this movie so many times I almost knew the dialogue by heart. Now that I think about it, my Uncle Earl kinda reminded me of John Wayne, complete with a swagger in his walk.

The story continued; “I was the first in the sky. My eyes were sharp as an eagle. I could always see them first, long before they saw me.” Now that sounded familiar, I thought for a moment, having remembered this quote from a book written by Chuck Yeager titled Yeager. He was the first to break the sound barrier in 1947. Oh well, it seemed to fit. Uncle Earl was just picking up steam. “I told the rest to climb above them, so they were under us, and we would be just to their rear. That was we would be in the morning sun, hard for them to see.” Uncle Earl stood up for dramatic effect. His hands were in the air, mimicking the airplanes to show us how they dove in for the kill. This was a good story. I was right there with him in that cockpit.

My mom was in the kitchen, talking with her sister, my Aunt Janice. They were looking toward the living room, whispering between themselves, snickering and shaking their heads. “Jealous” I said quietly, “that Uncle Earl was stealing the show.” That’s ok though, because it was Thanksgiving and this was a tradition. My attention turned back to my uncle, who had stopped for a few bites of cherry pie and homemade ice cream, my mom’s specialties. It was like a commercial break or intermission at the movies. Wiping his mouth with his open big hand, he jumped back into his story. 

“So there we were, the whole squadron, watching the Zeros (Japanese Fighter Planes) trying to sneak a surprise attack. They thought they were gonna surprise us, but we had the surprise for them. We dove, one after another, each taking a different plane. I hit first, strafing the Zero until black, oily smoke poured from it and it began to dive. Each of us took his turn, even though the Japs now knew we were there. That made everyone else's hits harder, but we were the better pilots, and took out six zeros, without any losses to our guys.” He sat up proud, and I gasped a “Wow” before he continued. “When we landed, my C.O. let me know that the Zero I shot down; a “confirmed Kill,” had taken out our barracks. We were homeless.” A laugh rose from the kitchen.

What a great story! We were all in awe for the rest of the day. I couldn’t wait to read more about the Flying Tigers. After my Uncle Earl went home, my mom and aunt wanted to let me in on a secret. “We know you enjoy your Uncle Earl’s stories, but the only thing he ever flew during the war was a desk in Topeka.”  

I really miss my Great Uncle Earl, who died on the following Christmas day.