In October 1945, I received word that my mother was seriously ill. I was in the Army Air Corps, stationed at New Castle Army Air Base near Wilmington, Del. I immediately applied for an emergency furlough. In October 1945, I received word that my mother was seriously ill. I was in the Army Air Corps, stationed at New Castle Army Air Base near Wilmington, Del. I immediately applied for an emergency furlough.
The journey home was to be a long one, since I lived in Fairbanks, Alaska, nearly 5,000 miles away. Everything went well until I reached Kansas City, Mo. Traveling in an Air Corps C-47 (a Douglas DC-3, civilian designation), we landed at night in a thick fog. The fog increased, until the passengers received word that there would be no more flying that night.
There was no place for GIs to stay, so the military taxied us to Kansas City, not many miles off, where, in the downtown area, there were what were known as casual barracks, shelter for traveling military personnel.
The next morning, I learned that I’d been bumped from the airplane. A box with an “A” priority had taken my place. I had a “B,” and even though I was on emergency leave due to serious family illness, war was war, leaving no room for sentimentality.
So I was stuck. No military aircraft on which I could hitch a ride would arrive for several days. So, there I was, thousands of miles from home. I had very little money, so it was impossible to buy a commercial ticket on any mode of travel – air, bus or rail. The prospect of getting home did not look good.
Then somebody at the barracks told me about Traveler’s Aid at the railroad depot, and I decided to try it. A middle-aged woman in a booth listened to my story with sympathy, then told me to wait. It was a Sunday, which compounded the situation, but I waited while she made several phone calls. It wasn’t easy, but this woman apparently knew everybody in town. After an hour, the final call was to the Red Cross, who contacted my home base to see if my story was legitimate. When it was confirmed that I’d been telling the truth, they set to work. By 5 that evening, I had enough cash in hand to complete the trip to Seattle by train, and from there, I could thumb a ride with the military again.
Regretfully, I didn’t get the woman’s name. Although she might be nameless, her act of kindness is something I’ve never forgotten. After nearly 60 years, I still consider her my Kansas City angel.
My mother survived her illness, and we had a great reunion.