This is Our American Stories, and we tell stories about everything here on this show, from the arts to sports and business to history. And today we bring you the story of Colonel Harry Stewart.
Harry is one of the last surviving Tuskegee Airmen and fought in the skies over Europe to bring an end to the war and a victory to the United States. Harry, I'd like to start out by asking you about your early life. Okay, I was born in Newport News, Virginia on July 4th of 1924.
I was born to Florence Bright, who was a native of Gloucester County, Virginia, and Harry T. Stewart, Sr., which was a native of Newport News, Virginia. We moved after I was two years old to New York City, but before that, let me mention about living in Virginia. We lived not too far from Langley Field, which was a big military airfield at the time there, and my parents would put me out in my crib and the plane was flying over.
Evidently, they attracted me very much because my parents would tell me how I would coo at the airplanes. But anyway, that was followed up by a move to the borough of Queens in New York City. We lived about a mile or a mile and a half from an airport by the name of North Beach Airport.
In 1939, they changed the name of that airport to LaGuardia Airport, which everyone knows pretty well. That's about where I started. I guess my yen for aviation was those two fields there being near Langley Field, Virginia, and LaGuardia Airport in New York. So it was almost in your blood and in your bones. Yeah, in my blood and bones, and I guess you would use the word, the 25-cent word, incultated, you know, in me, you know? Yep, and I love that 25-cent word. Let's talk about your childhood and your high school library experience in New York City, because it turns out it's in your bones, but something happens in New York City that puts it in your mind.
Talk about that. It was in the 30s there, I'm thinking, about where aviation was quite a new thing as far as the attraction and the adventure was concerned there. A lot was happening at that time with aviation, and of course I saw things like people don't see today the great giant dirigibles flying over New York like the Akron and the Shenandoah, and of course the von Hindenburg.
I saw that when it flew over New York on a couple of occasions, and of course I lived in New York when it had its tragic end in Lakehurst by bursting into flames. But anyway, that was my attraction to aviation at the time there, and with World War coming along, World War II, the clouds in the sky of World War II, there was the draft that was taking place, and of course they were drafting all able-bodied men between the ages of 18 and 25. Of course I was still a teenager, maybe 15 or 16 or 17, but I thought of the draft as I got to be about 17 years old and I was thinking about volunteering for the Air Corps when I found out that African Americans were not accepted for training as pilots. While I was in high school at the time, I was in the library period and I picked up a copy of Popular Science magazine and there was an article mentioned in there that the Air Corps had decided that it would permit Negroes to take training as aircraft pilots and that they were going to form a field or a squadron of these pilots down in Tuskegee, Alabama. So I immediately went, I was 17 I guess at the time, I immediately went to the draft board and took the examination to become a cadet there, and I passed the examination and of course after I reached 18 I was called into the service and sent down to Tuskegee, Alabama to begin my training.
And that was the 99th Pursuit Squadron that we're talking about. Now you take this train ride down to the south and it's not like all things race were perfect in New York, because they weren't, but the train ride down south was eye-opening for a teenager. Talk about that crossing of the Mason-Dixon line and what you experienced. Well that's true because in New York, even though there was prejudice, there was not the mandated segregation that you found in the south. So I was completely raised in an integrated neighborhood, I went to integrated schools, I went to integrated social affairs, I went to integrated movies, all that type of thing, and the transportation system was all integrated. When I got to the Mason-Dixon line when I was going into the service and that was that imaginary line that crossed Washington DC, that was where segregation was enforced by law at that time there, where I was sitting with some friends of mine, these were white friends who were living in the neighborhood with me who were going in the service the same time I was, and was headed south the same way I was, and the conductor came back when we got to Washington DC and he pointed to me and he said, you'll have to go up to the front car, that's the Jim Crow car. So the fellows I was with, you know, they weren't familiar with this and says, well that's okay Harry, we'll go up with you.
So he says, oh no, he says you have to stay back here, that car up front there is for the colored people and that was my first experience with Jim Crow and enforced segregation and of course I lived under those forced segregation rules all the time that I was in the service. And when we come back we'll continue with this remarkable life story, the story of Colonel Harry Stewart here on Our American Story. Folks, if you love the stories we tell about this great country and especially the stories of America's rich past, know that all of our stories about American history from war to innovation, culture and faith are brought to us by the great folks at Hillsdale College, a place where students study all the things that are beautiful in life and all the things that are good in life. And if you can't get to Hillsdale, Hillsdale will come to you with their free and terrific online courses.
Go to hillsdale.edu to learn more. Geico asks, how would you love a chance to save some money on insurance? Of course you would. And when it comes to great rates on insurance, Geico can help. Like with insurance for your car, truck, motorcycle, boat and RV. Even help with homeowners or renters coverage. Plus add an easy to use mobile app, available 24-hour roadside assistance and more and Geico is an easy choice. Switch today and see all the ways you could save. It's easy.
Simply go to Geico.com or contact your local agent today. And we continue with our American stories and the story of Colonel Harry Stewart in his own words, one of the last surviving Tuskegee Airmen. Let's talk about your time in the service down at Tuskegee Army Airfield. Because you described in your piece in the Wall Street Journal that the sky was filled with silvery planes emblazoned with the Army Air Force's star encircle insignia. Now this gave you great pride and yet you were living in a country that at least in a good part of the country, most of the country there was prejudice, but in a good part of the country, the South, there was such deep racial prejudice that you were pushed into a separate car.
How does one hold together the idea of being prideful about seeing that that American flag and fighting for your country at the same time that the country isn't recognizing that you're you're fully human, at least in good parts of the country? Well, two things. First is that was that is my country or my country.
There's no question about it. I had no other country. The other thing is that I was very well steeped in patriotism. I remember class at the first class in the morning that we'd had, we'd have to stand by the side of our desk there.
And there were the blacks in the class and the whites in the class and the Chinese in the class. We were all together with our right hand placed over our hearts reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. Patriotism was inculcated with me.
This was the only country that I knew. And number three, of course, the Bill of Rights and the Constitution of the United States, which read a very beautiful document, even though it may have not have been lived up to at the time there. But it was something that I felt as though was coming that I could aspire towards and sometimes see in the future. You wrote in the Wall Street Journal, you felt you were part of something big, something magnificent. You weren't just learning to fly, you were serving your country and you were going to fight. And let's talk about that P-51 Mustang because my goodness, what fun it must have been for a young man to have gear and equipment, an engine and power under the hood that few men in America got to experience, let alone enjoy. Talk about that first experience, seeing those P-51s and getting to fly one. It was quite a thing for a 19 year old because I didn't even know how to drive yet. You know, in New York City, you didn't have to. But yes, yes, it was something big because, you know, these big things were, it was in the propaganda that was being espoused throughout the world.
You know, this is the war to either bring about the regiment of the Nazi powers or the freedom and the fact we live in the United States here. So it was a big thing. And, you know, there were something like 11 million men and women under arms at that time.
So you were part of a big thing and, you know, bigger than anything that has come up, you know, since then. I started with a very low powered aircraft, which was similar for all beginning cadets in the Air Corps, no matter where they were. But it started with the PT-17 bi-wing plane. And after you successfully finished training in that one, you went to a higher powered train, which was the BT-13, which was one of those that I talk about emblazoned all metal barrel ship planes there. It wasn't until I got overseas that I was introduced to the aircraft that I would fly throughout combat. And that was the P-51 Mustang, which was just an absolute delight.
And one picture that I saw one time movie the Cadillac of the Air, it was quite an aircraft. Now you flew 43 combat missions with a 332nd fighter group known as the Red Tails. Talk about your commander because he's a legend. And we're talking about Benjamin O. Davis Jr. Talk about what it was like to serve under him. Yes, he was a West Pointer. And he was the second or third black that ever went to West Point. But when he went to West Point in 1932, there was still the mandatory segregation that they had in the service. So even though he was in a class of something like close to 400 cadets there, he lived alone because they mandated that there would be no integration as far as concerned. So he had a room to himself and he ate alone for all four years that he was in West Point.
However, with that onus on him, he managed to graduate 35th in a class of something like 375. It's spectacular. It's a remarkable thing.
And what a how far we've come still how far we have to come. But it's so unimaginable to so many of us living today that we would be sequestered like this at our nation's finest military institution because of the mere color of one's skin. He said to you all at your briefings, gentlemen, stay with your bombers. What did that mean?
And why did he say that to you? I think it had hidden meanings there, for instance, that the mission of the fighter groups was to protect the bombers, that was their sole mission to protect the bombers. But however, we had hot dog pilots who were leaving the bombers, trying to get some victories as far as shooting down enemy aircraft to concern. A lot of pilots could get away with that. And but can you can imagine what would have happened if this happened to one of the Tuskegee Airmen, and as a result of them hot dogging it and going after the enemy fighters there to get the glory of the kills in there that a number of bombers got shot down, because they lacked the protection of those people that left them. So as a result, the war came to a conclusion and the 332nd, which are now is known as the Tuskegee Airmen, had the best record as far as the safety or loss of the bombers that they escorted were concerned.
We lost the fewest bombers of any of the fighter groups that were over in the 15th Air Force in Italy at the time there, which was quite a feather in our cap. Indeed. And he also said this, and it goes to his convictions. And despite how he got treated at West Point, quote, the privileges of being an American belong to those brave enough to fight for them. That's really something to say given the treatment he'd suffered at West Point, but tells you a lot about his character. Well, you know, and I think that's what made him and made me and made a lot of other black Americans a fully certified citizen of the country here with all of the rights and prerogatives and that type of thing there. So in other words, we earned our keep.
Indeed. Let's talk about Easter Sunday, 1945. And you shooting down three German fighters.
Talk about that day. We were on a bomber escort mission up into Austria. And the command mentioned to us that at the end of the mission, there might be a segment of us fighters that are released to leave the bombers and go on what's known as a fighter sweep.
A fighter sweep being is looking for targets of opportunity. Well, there were seven of us who were designated to leave the bombers. We were looking for trouble and we found it. We ran into a horde of Focke-Wulf 190s. But three of us got shot down. One of the fellows who got shot down, he actually, his plane was damaged pretty badly, but he managed to make it back to friendly portion of Yugoslavia. The second pilot I'm thinking of, his name was William Armstrong.
He was killed instantly. And the third pilot was a fellow by the name of Walter Manning from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. He had to bail out. And when he landed, he was picked up by a mob of Austrians that took him and put him in the local jailhouse of the nearest town.
A couple of nights later, a mob formed again, and they broke into the jail and dragged Walter out and they lynched him from a local lamppost out in the street there. And you've been listening to Colonel Harry Stewart, and he's one of the last surviving Tuskegee Airmen to talk about some storytelling folks. We're lucky to hear voices like this.
It's why we do this show. So you can hear stories like this and stories like this can be honored and remembered. When we come back, we're going to continue with remarkable American life, Colonel Harry Stewart's life, his story, here on Our American Stories. And we continue with Our American Stories, and we return to the story of Colonel Harry Stewart and his own words. When we last left off, Harry was in a dogfight over the skies of Europe, and three of his fellow pilots had been shot down. Just returning now to the three planes, the German fighters you shot down, you received the Distinguished Flying Cross for that.
Talk about that in terms of this fighter sweep that you did. This was happening at the same time that these other three fellows got shot down. But what is happening is that I had got in a good position. I don't think that the two of these Focke-Wulf aircraft, German aircraft, saw me. And I pulled up behind them and I hit both of them with the 50 calibers that I had. And pieces came off of the plane there and that type of thing. But the same time, just after that, I saw these tracers coming by me and I looked back and there was this German aircraft on my tail.
And I was sure that I had it because he was in a position where you would say he just can't miss. So I went into a very steep dive with the aircraft and I pulled all sorts of maneuvers to try to get away or out of the gun sight of this German aircraft there. And I pulled a steep turn very, very close to the ground there. And evidently, the pilot who was behind me there, the German pilot, lost control of this plane and hit what they would call a high-speed stall.
But he went into the ground. When I got back to the base there, the intelligence officer said, well, you get credit for that aircraft, just as you shot them down. So that's where I got the three from and that's how I got the DFC. And actually, as far as shooting down is concerned, I shot down two planes, but I got credit for a third one, which they said would not have happened had not I been in combat with the plane there. So they gave me credit for it.
That's a great story. And you called winning the war a double V. What did you mean by winning the double V? We had that victory overseas there. But we also had a victory of proving ourselves that we also were combatants who did a lot to win the war there and that we paid our dues there. So it was a victory on both sides as far as our investment in this country is concerned and in regards to the racial discrimination that we had there.
But we proved ourselves and that was the part that we meant by the double victory. And that proving ourselves has even turned out to be greater as time has gone on and as we've gone into this new century here and more recognition has been given to the Tuskegee Airmen because, well, before getting out of the service, and it was in 1949, General Vandenberg, who is the chief general of the Air Force at the time, he decided he would resurrect a game that was in the Air Corps before World War II. And that was a game similar to what we call today Top Gun. And he dictated that three pilots be sent from each of the fighter groups that they were in the continental United States here out to the environs of Las Vegas, Nevada, Las Vegas, Nevada, that's out in the desert there, and compete in an aerial gunnery competition. And this aerial gunnery competition would take place in 1949. It would be the first Top Gun contest. And there would be these 12 fighter groups that would compete, three men representing each of these fighter groups. And at the end of the tournament, it turned out that the three from the Tuskegee Airmen fighter group turned out to be the winners.
And that had to make you proud. Talk about life after the war and your service in the military and beyond. It was the same old same old as far as the racial attitudes of concerned in the country. I thought that with my flying time that I had, and with the record that I had, I could go ahead and get a job, probably flying on the airlines. And I did apply with two airlines and I was rejected because of my race. And they admitted that they weren't prepared to go ahead and take colored or Negro or African American on as a pilot in a plane. One just dismissed me outright. The other, the personnel officer tried to explain that it wasn't the policy of the company. But if I were to get on the plane and walked into the cockpit, it would disturb the passengers.
Probably they would probably lose faith in the airline and not fly the airline any longer. So it was a business thing. And that was it. But I decided to go back to school. I had to go back to high school because I never had my high school diploma. I had quit high school in order to go into the service there. And I did make up my credits that I needed for the academic course there. And I was qualified then to go ahead and enter engineering school, which I did. New York University College of Engineering, I got my engineering degree. And after I got my degree, everything fell in line very well for me.
I was hired with no problem by a number of very prestigious companies and ended up as vice president of an oil and gas consortium in the United States here. And that was about it. I did continue a little bit of flying after that. I belonged to a Tuskegee organization out here, the Tuskegee Airmen Museum, who were given some aircraft by the Air Force. And I dusted off my license and requalified myself in these aircraft.
They're called motor gliders. And I used to take local kids up in the local neighborhood here and give them an orientation in the area aircraft. They're hoping that someday, it might lead them on to getting a good job in the field of aviation, which some of them did. And some of them are pilots on major airlines today. Well, it's a heck of a story and the story of you volunteering for...
This is very dangerous duty, by the way. I'm not sure that most Americans understand that people who volunteered to fly were really taking some of the greatest risks of anybody. My mother's brother didn't qualify to fly, but he qualified to jump out of those planes.
And the only son of her father was killed jumping out of those planes a few days after D-Day. But he knew what he was getting into and wanted to do it like so many of the young men did at the time. But talk about the knowledge of the danger of what you were getting into, because you all knew how dangerous flying planes in combat was, didn't you? Yes, but you know what we were? We were teenagers. And it's an attitude we have as teenagers or something like that. We're sort of invincible and bad things happen to other people, you know, that type of thing.
So that's why they take these people so young. And then there's that feeling of camaraderie and group belonging and that type of thing. When I used to see the movies that we went to and the heroes in the movies, those guys like John Wayne and Pat O'Brien and James Cagney and people like that, they made you feel really good in seeing them as heroes and protecting the country. And you felt the same thing when you went in the service, that you would like to emulate those guys, even though they were in the movies there.
You would like to emulate them in real life, you know. I'm heading for 96 now. I'll be 96 on the 4th of July and I feel just fine. All I can say is that I've had a blessed life. I wouldn't change it for anything.
And I feel as though I've really left nothing behind. A blessed life indeed. You've been listening to Colonel Harry Stewart and we're blessed to hear his voice.
He's not a character from a movie, folks. This is what a real life hero sounds like and the humility with which he told his own story. Well, need we say more? Colonel Harry Stewart's story here on Our American Story. And we continue with Our American Stories. And not long ago, we spent some time at our great flagship station WHO in Des Moines, Iowa, a giant stick in the middle of this great country, an I heart station. And we've been on that station for years and telling stories. We decided to have a storytelling contest and asked folks to send in their stories.
We drove up to Des Moines and well, we did it in a beautiful restaurant with a few hundred people. And we feature right now one of the women who submitted her story to that event about her father, Thistle Wax, who had a surreal encounter during World War II. Here is Marilyn Jensen. My dad, Thistle Wax, was the family storyteller. He had an endless supply of stories about scratching life from the muddy hills of Southwest Iowa. He passed on to my brother, Bill, and me the wisdom and laughter that can improve almost any situation. He sprinkled humor like salt throughout his tales. Dad rummaged through his memory for any scrap of wit from his months of service in World War II. He tagged that bleak era as Uncle Sam's all expense paid trip to Europe. His blue eyes would twinkle and his dimples dance as he shared memories of times when he and his war brothers laughed together. Like the night a delayed fuse bomb went off. His buddy Hastings jumped into a ditch for protection and later discovered it was a trench left over from World War I, which the Germans had been using as a latrine. Dad would grin and say, talk about odor. We asked him to sleep alone in the truck cab for the rest of the night.
But this story lacks that dash of comedy. This is the account of how a scared, far-right farmer turned soldier conquered a dangerous mountain road at the height of one of the most decisive battles on the European continent. He referred to this as the night I found out there as a god. Clouds of dark memories would cover Dad's sparkling eyes.
He'd clear his throat, stare deeply into the past, and then begin. It was December of 1944. General George Patton's Third Army included a group of over 800 men called the 818th Tank Destroyer Battalion.
The 818th was engaged in the bloody siege called the Battle of the Bulge. Dad would shiver at the very mention of those chilling words. The scene of that epic bloodletting of the winter of 44 and 45 when temperatures plummeted as low as six below zero. That nightmare battle, which splattered pristine white snowdrifts with the blood of over 19,000 American men.
He'd shake off darkness like a layer of snow from his shoulders and continue. All the tanks, trucks, and soldiers of the 818th were concealed in some mountain foothills in the dense forest of the Ardennes in Luxembourg. Cecil's job was to drive one of the many supply trucks, providing rations for the hungry soldiers, gasoline for the thirsty tanks, and shells for their begging gun turrets. An officer approached Cecil late one afternoon. He said, an officer approached Cecil late one afternoon. It was hard to tell what time it was.
The forest was thick and light, seldom broke through the trees, umbrellaed with snow. Cecil recalled, he ordered me to drive down the mountain with supplies for Company A. They needed gasoline and ammunition. I asked, when do we leave, sir? The commander looked me straight in the eye.
Immediately, soldier, you're going alone. Just your truck and a lieutenant. As the truck's cold engine ground to a start, Cecil set out. The word alone was still blowing through his ears like the bitter wind swirling around the half-ton truck. No tanks rumbling ahead, breaking the path and chewing up the ice. Just one solitary truck feeling its way along, clinging to the side of the mountain. The heaterless cab was frigid.
Cecil drove down that winding mountain trail with the windows down, giving him at least a little visibility. The truck's cat-eyed black-out lights blinked helplessly against the swirling whiteness. The surface was so slick that if he even touched the brakes, the front wheels would slide. The truck groaned under the load of 90 cans of gasoline and many rounds of three-inch shells. It lost its footing a couple of times and skidded sideways, but saplings on either side of the road waved him back to the center. Cecil knew that the men were depending on him, his army buddies. Suddenly, loud, shrill howling, ripped open the deathly quiet of the forest.
Another German assault. Cecil believed he was going to die. He was praying every slippery inch of the way, but as he said, nothing was happening.
On one dangerous hairpin curve, it happened. The heavily-loaded truck skidded on a patch of black ice and slid out of control toward the void. Cecil believed then that he was about to die.
The supply truck bearing two American soldiers was about to crash into oblivion. Time seemed to flow in slow motion. He saw a vision of his mother Nora in the middle of the night, in slow motion. He saw a vision of his mother Nora on her knees with her elbows sunk deeply into her patchwork quilt. Tears were flowing down her cheeks and her lips were moving in fervent prayer. As he struggled to bring the truck out of its skid, Cecil realized that his mother was praying for him. In terror, Cecil prayed too.
Please help me. The boys need ammunition. The second he said that, something like a cool wind blew on the back of his neck. Through the blackness, he heard a voice, just like someone said it aloud.
Shut the switch off. Cecil didn't hesitate. He switched off the motor. The sudden change of momentum allowed him to guide the toboggan-like vehicle safely back onto the path. When he regained speech, he asked the young lieutenant, did you hear that?
The scared officer just stared blankly ahead. Cecil continued with assurance. It was God. And suddenly there was the landmark. He'd been told Company A was concealed near a bomb hole on the road, just before a bridge. All 90 gas cans rattled as Cecil tiptoed the truck across that gaping hole.
An incoming flash revealed an arched stone bridge. They rolled across the bridge and pulled over. The expectant silence was shattered by the rumble of approaching vehicles. Cecil would say, I didn't know if they were Germans or what. He and the lieutenant breathed again, only when they could make out that it was American equipment carriers approaching.
Cecil heaved a sigh of relief when the precious cargo was safely unloaded. He overheard one grateful tank driver state that they had been down to nine shells. The Lieutenant of Company A barked out, get the hell out of here, the Germans are everywhere, and bring some more ammunition. A trip back to the security of the base camp began. The tire tracks marking his recent arrival were quickly filling in with snow, but the truck gradually retraced the snake-like curves. Soon, weak lights from the rays of the dawning sun lit the rest of the journey.
In amazement, Cecil could see that what he thought were young saplings marking the edges of the trail were in actuality the tops of tall pine trees rooted in deep valleys below. He thought to himself, there was somebody who drove that truck besides me. There's no way any human could drive a truck down this narrow icy road in the dark. Cecil's life changed forever when the voice urged him to shut the switch off. He knew that God cared enough to guide him, one 28-year-old farmer from Iowa, down a frozen mountain road. He was just one of over 16 million Americans fighting for freedom, but God loved him and saved his life that night.
Cecil Wax lived the remainder of his 94 years, depending on the knowledge that no matter how impossible the path, he never traveled alone. And just a terrific piece of production by Robby, and a beautiful piece of writing by Marilyn Jensen. And this is why we love doing this show, folks, to let you tell the stories. And that night in Iowa, there were six remarkable storytellers, and your stories make Our American Stories the show it is. The story of Cecil Wax, the story of courage, and the story of God, here on Our American Stories.
Whisper: medium.en / 2023-02-17 00:42:57 / 2023-02-17 00:55:56 / 13
