Monthly Archives: July 2007

Transfers in the military can be a pain the behind sometimes. As I wrote earlier, I was supposed to be taking a First Sergeant position at Redstone Arsenal in Huntsville, AL. My wife and I had found a realtor and were actively looking at homes to buy. I would say were just a number of days from starting the paperwork to purchase one.

Then came yesterday. I went to Walter Reed to take some donated books, letters, cards, and other items to the wounded Soldiers. A friend and reader from my other blog came down as well to spread some happiness. She brought some homemade cookies, short bread, and banana bread. She also brought some “Insulting Parrots”, little parrots that say about four or five rude phrases (phrases I can’t repeat or even censor here).

We first went to the Mologne House where Soldier who are recuperating stay. It’s comparable to a hotel in design and function. If it weren’t at Walter Reed, it WOULD be a hotel, I’m sure. In the lobby of the House, there is a table where people can place donated items. I spread out the books and Leslie left some of her baked goods. Almost immediately a few wounded warriors were checking out the bounty on their way in or out. They’re very shy about taking anything, but love to see what people are so gracious to donate. I told Leslie not to leave it all there since we’d be going to a few more places on the hospital grounds.

After Mologne House, we went to Fisher House. We met two families that lived in Fisher House 2 not far from the Mologne House. We sat and met with the wives, Sarah and Susan, of two Soldiers who had been injured in Iraq. For about an hour we just sat and talked with them about whatever came to mind. Both were younger than 25 years old – mere kids themselves. But these two young ladies were in high spirits and thankful to still have their husbands. Before leaving, I made appointments to come back and have a Guitar Hero II bash at the house with all the families.

After leaving Fisher House, I decided to take Leslie and her son to Ward 57 to give out the remainder of the goodies we brought. We arranged to meet with any of the Soldiers willing to see us (none declined). We slowly entered each room and explained who we were and why we were there. For those that don’t know, Ward 57 of Walter Reed is home to the Orthopedics wing. Almost every Soldier in there has lost or may lose at least one limb. Even though some were obviously sedated to deal with the extreme pain they’ve been put in, each made a concerted effort to acknowledge our efforts. We handed out the goodies and our hearts were warmed by the smiles that lightened their faces. They were humble too, afraid of openly accepting anything. Soldiers don’t ask for much. A little food. A place to sleep at night. And money to raise a family. When we’re injured, we just want to be kept alive. Anything beyond that is excessive and unnecessary.

Oddly enough, the point of this post wasn’t to highlight what we did or solicit a pat on the back. Here comes the point…

I was told point blank that my next assignment would be a First Sergeant position in Alabama. We looked at homes in the area. We researched the best schools. I even called the individual I’d be replacing and my new commander. After I left Walter Reed for the day, I got a phone call on the way home. I didn’t get the job after all!! Something got messed up and they thought I had the position, but they were wrong. I needed to pick my next follow on assignment.

“What are my options?” I asked. “Korea, Alaska, and Germany.” Great! My wife has been pretty clear that she doesn’t want to go overseas. I’ve been pretty clear that in the Army, it’s unavoidable at some point. I’ve been lucky that my only overseas assignments have been deployments. Thankfully, the assignment in Korea is also a First Sergeant position so I had them slot me with that one.

I’m not going to get all excited again. I knew better before and went against my better judgment. Experience has taught me never to count on anything until you have it writing. Then, only give it 50% of a chance. When I graduated from AIT, I was on orders to San Antonio as my first duty assignment. Literally as I was outprocessing, I was told that I’d been “diverted” to Fort Irwin, CA – the middle of nowhere. We had an apartment laid on and everything in San Antonio. We had to jump through hoops to plan for the news. I thought I had learned my lesson, but I guess I was wrong.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not angry, depressed, or demotivated about this.  Just using the forum to express some slight discomfort and frustration – something you get used to in the Army.

Another downside is that I was actually going to use VAMC to get the loan to pay for my home. I was going to blog about the process so that others would understand how the “other side” the site works. Depending on where my family stays while I’m deployed, there may still be a chance. You’ll just have to keep checking back to find out what’s next for us.

The dictionary definition of courage is “the quality of mind or spirit that enables a person to face difficulty, danger, pain, etc., without fear.” Is it? Do courageous people really do those things that define them as heroes “without fear”? I think courage is best defined as “the quality of mind or spirit that enables a person to face difficulty, danger, pain, etc., IN SPITE OF FEAR.” Not many combat veterans will admit it, but fear is an ever-present companion on the battlefield. We wake up in the mornings afraid we’ve laid our head down in comfort for the last time. We go to sleep thankful for the opportunity to do so, but fearful of the day that follows.

If you look up the words “courage” or “hero” in an illustrated encyclopedia, you’ll see a picture of my grandfather, James A. Stuthers, Sr. He only served in the Army Air Corps for about two years, but he accomplished so much. He served as a togglier and ball gunner in the B-24 and B-17 bombers over Germany in 1945. At just 20 years old, he was thrust into a World War with on-the-go training and a will to survive. This is his story as told through his meticulous records and journals left behind after a life almost 82 years long.

Top row, left to right – Roy Reynolds, Jim Stuthers, Dick Scully;Middle row, left to right: Roy Reynolds and Dick Scully, Bill Swords, Dick Scully and Bob Butler; Bottom row, left to right: Dick Scully, Martin Kallinen, Bob Butler and Roy Reynolds. Photos taken at Mendelshem, England.

We left off with a mission over Frankfurt, Germany on February 17, 1945. Five days later, the Bums bombed the PFF (basically the Nazi Party) in Ansbach with no problems. Two days later, on February 24th, things wouldn’t be so easy. Bremen, Germany was a tough target. Bremen is the site of many historical conflicts dating from the 8th century when the troops of Charlemagne went in to christianise the tribes settling there. The city was also conquered by Swedish Viking Rurik in 859, Heinrich the Lion in the 12th century, and ending with the US occupation during WWII. Bremen was a key port city that American forces could use to resupply forces in the region. The Germans weren’t going without a fight.

“Heavy intense flak” carpeted the air the Bums were flying through. My grandfather’s plane suffered two holes during the run over the target. The prop wash from the close formation flyers made it a rough ride. Life in a B-17 is one of the most frightening experiences a man can ever face. It’s not like being a Soldier on the ground. If something is shooting at you on the ground, you just shoot back. When flak is exploding in the air above you, below you, beside you, in front of you, and behind you, you have no choice but to clinch your fists and pray that today isn’t your day.

This constant feeling of intense anxiety wears a man out and works on the very core of his being. In other words, you’re afraid. You fear for your life. You wonder if you’ll ever meet that special woman God has set aside for you. You ask yourself if your family knows how much they really mean to you. Through it all you tell yourself that if you live through this one event, you’ll never step foot back on that plane. The fear grips you and causes you to tremble. Your thoughts stammer; sweat seems to evaporate the moment it leaves your pores. It’s a fear you NEVER forget, even after 47 years when the sights and sounds of a B-17 landing at a nearby field during a demonstration invoke that shaking and nervousness. My grandfather was a proud man. He never spoke of this fear, even when confronted with it head on. There’s no need to look in a dictionary or study an encyclopedia to get the true meaning of courage or courageous people. I’m going to tell you what it is.

No matter how scared Tech Sergeant James A. Stuthers was, he forced himself back on that plane for mission after mission. He bullied himself through all the flak the Germans could throw at him. He didn’t run to Canada and he didn’t hide out in the sick bays seeking encouragement and excuses while the rest of the Bums sacrificed themselves at the alter of freedom. He climbed onto the plane, manned his gun, and bombed the town of Bremen into submission. The town was filled with smoke and fire. German fighters swarmed the airspace firing their guns at the planes as they unleashed their aerial hell. One B-17 didn’t make it back from that mission. Somehow, the Bums successfully navigated the 88mm flak, rockets, bullets and prop wash that presented a wall of steel 20,000 feet in the air. And the next day, he would have to do it again.

February 25, 1945 – Munich, Germany. The Bums switched from 500lb bombs to the increasingly popular M17 incendiary bomb. The M17 had better ballistics and a primecord release that could be set to give correct disbursement. This became the most favored and effective incendiary bomb among the Bomber Groups. It was a favorite of the 8th Air Force and the Bums carried six that day along with six 500 lb bombs, instead of the usual 10-12 500 pounders. My grandfather faithfully manned his nose gun scanning the skies for any sign of the Luftwaffe. As they approached their target, the skies lit up with “heavy intense flak”. Again, their aircraft only suffered one hole – a piece of shrapnel that penetrated the plexiglass of the nose gun and found its way high up into my grandpa’s leg. He only complained that there was a two-inch cut in his flak suit. This is probably due to the extremely cold nature of B-17 flight. That gash created a draft!

In Part III, I’ll close up his journal and relate my recent experiences and memories of my grandfather. I hope to also have an interview with the only surviving member of the Butler’s Bums, Richard Scully. He was a good friend to my grandfather and became like a brother. It’s a bond that death cannot break.

In the military, especially nowadays, we are forced to learn how to deal with death. It’s not uncommon for a Soldier to know someone who was killed in battle or at least have a close friend who knew someone killed in battle. War is an ugly thing, but we find ways to cope. Somehow it gets easy and death almost becomes acceptable and expected. It numbs us.

What it doesn’t teach us to deal with is the death of a loved one. For the first time in memory, I lost someone that I really cared about who meant a lot to me – my Grandfather. He had a huge impact on me growing up and I wasn’t even his biological grandson. My mother married my stepfather when I was about two years old and he raised me. I grew up around his family and they quickly became mine. I wasn’t a step-anything to my new family.

My grandfather was a WWII veteran, one of the estimated 1500 this country is losing every day. He fought in the European campaign with a flight crew affectionately named “Butler’s Bums”. This is their story – and that of the hero I call Grandpa. Everyone else called him Jim (James A. Stuthers, Sr.)

Patch of the 18th Bomber Squadron

The Butler’s Bums were named after the pilot of the B-17 aircrew, 1st LT Bob Butler. The Bums were part of the 18th Bomber Squadron, 34th Bomber Group, of the mighty 8th Air Force. My grandfather served from September 13, 1943 to November 2, 1945. He flew 25 missions over Germany with varying degrees of success and danger. The story of the Butler’s Bums has never been told so there is no research available to tell this story. I can only tell it through the perspective of my grandpa’s journal and photos.

He was trained to crew a B-24 Liberator bomber, a four engined American heavy bomber that was produced in greater numbers than any other American combat aircraft during World War II and still holds the record as the most produced US aircraft. More than 18,000 bombers were built during WWII, but only 15 are known to exist today, only half of those air worthy. He was assigned as a Togglier and Armorer Gunner on the ship. The road to Germany was a long one.

On November 9, 1944 at 2030 the crew of Butler’s Bums left Chatham Field on Fort Stewart outside of Savannah, GA where the 34th Bomber Group was based and headed north to Mitchel Field, New York. Six days later they loaded onto their brand new B-24J and headed north to Grenier Field, New Hampshire. On November 18, they left their point of embarkation and traveled to Goose Bay, Labrador in northeastern Canada. The next day they were in Iceland. On the 20th, Tech Sergeant Stuthers gazed at the northern lights of Iceland before departing for what he called the “large iceberg” of Greenland.

Two days later, they’d be in Wales. In Wales, they downloaded their personal equipment and loaded onto a train for a “beautiful ride down the coast” en route to Stone AAF near Stokes, Wales. I’m not sure where Stokes is since I can’t find it on any Wales map. For that matter, I can’t find Stone AAF. Both may have been renamed. What I do know is that he had his first “limey beer” in the town and left by train three days later. At 1500 on November 27, 1944, their train pulled into the station where they had to take a truck about 14 miles to their new base, Mendlesham, commanded by Colonel Creer (other noted high ranking officers included Lt.Col. Le Bailley, Maj. Duke, Maj. Gay, and Maj. Crabtree).

It was at this point that my grandpa noticed the new B-17 Flying Fortresses. Even though they had been trained to crew the B-24, everyone was happy to see that they’d be flying on the B-17. My grandpa noted in his journal that it was “plenty O.K.” by him to switch planes.

For the next two weeks, the crew trained on the new aircraft. My grandpa was trained to be the plane’s togglier and nose, chin turret gunner. The crew was given training and attended classes in weather, theory of bombing, bomb racks, bomb patterns, fuzing, auto-pilot functions, P.O.I. centering of stabilizer with two bombardiers. The training was intense and at times dry and technical, but the crew worked hard knowing that every bit of their knowledge was going to tested over enemy terrain. On January 13, 1945, the Butler’s Bums went operational. The crew consisted of Robert H. Butler-pilot (died 10/26/1987), Delbert “Roy” L. Reynolds-Co-pilot (died 09/1980), Richard “Dick” F. Scully, Dante Schifani (died 06/1983), Martin Kallinen (died 1978), James “Jim” A. Stuthers (died 07/09/2007 – he would have been 82 tomorrow), William “Bill” E. Swords (died 03/28/1999), Joseph “Joe” P. Remy (died 01/06/2004) and Edward “Ed” J. Renowden (died 09/13/2003).

Their first mission was executed the following day, January 14, 1945. Payload: 12x 500 lb bombs. Target: Derben, Germany, near Berlin. It wasn’t a first impression anyone would hope for. During the mission, 2 B-17s were shot ahead of the Bums. The two planes from 7th Squadron lost 2-3 feet off their right wing tips from direct hits. No chutes indicated that both crews were killed. The flak from Cukhaven below was heavy and accurate, but seemed to ease up over the target. Amazingly, the Butler’s Bums sustained no hole or damage during the mission. However, the bomb bay doors froze tightly shut and the crew returned with a full compliment of bombs.

The next mission took place the following day. Payload: 12x 500lb bombs. Target: Augsburg, Germany. It was a long mission with no activity, no damage and only meager flak in the sky. The next few missions were also uneventful: a small town on the Rhein River, Duisberg, Koblenz, Kassel, Dulmen, and Berlin.

On Valentine’s Day, 1945, the crew performed a mission over Chemnitz, Germany. During the flight, the plane blew the No. 4 cylinder and was required to abort. Nuts, bolts and scrap metal fell to the ground as the crew opened up the cowling back at base. Grandpa helped to navigate the crew from known flack over Amsterdam. Three days later the plane was fixed and the crew was briefed to expect heavy flak. The target was Frankfurt. As is typical with most intelligence, the brief ended up being false. No flak whatsoever was observed, the crew dropped their payload of ten 500 lb bombs on Frankfurt and observed the smoke from their actions spew thousands of feet into the air. It was a “good hit”.

Part II will come later. What a lot of people don’t realize is that these flights were extremely uncomfortable. The B-17 flew between 20,000 and 30,000 feet. At that altitude, the temperatures were easily -30s. Crews wore multiple layers to keep warm as the planes were not pressurized. To ensure that everyone was alert, the crews were constantly chatting with each other. Oxygen was practically nonexistent and it was imperative that constant communication was maintained in case someone’s oxygen mask clogged up or became inoperable. When someone began to speak incoherently, it was a safe bet that the oxygen mask had frozen up somewhere and was restricting the flow of oxygen.

Crewmembers were required to wear gloves to prevent frost bite when handling the heavy waste guns. Often times, the crew would be surprised by German fighters and grab the guns without taking the time to put their heavy gloves on. The results were akin to licking a flagpole in the winter on a snowy day. Add to all of that the constant turbulence created by the close formations the squadrons flew in on missions. The ride was bumpy and uncomfortable. There were no seats in the back of the plane for most crewmembers during the flight while they manned their guns. They huddled together on the cold floors to keep warm. Yet, through all of this adversity, the Mighty Eighth never once abandoned a mission. The crews flew on courageously knowing that they may never come home. Many did not.

My grandfather was a good man and kept meticulous records. Without his journal, I’d never know of the bravery and sacrifices he made as a young man. I never would have known about Butler’s Bums. On the way home from his funeral, I stopped at the 8th Air Force museum in Savannah, GA (just off I-95). The 18th Bomber Squadron had one small display case with no mention of their missions or the Bums themselves. If you’re ever in Savannah, however, the exhibits can’t be beat. There’s a cool simulator that puts you in the shoes of a waste gunner as you attempt to shoot down German fighter planes menacing your formation and threatening to shoot you down.