In 1955 I wrote to him for advice on a writing career, mentioning my recollection of his loss and recovery. His answer was cordial and helpful. My guess is that his feelings were more disappointment than guilt. As an evadee he could not return to combat over Europe, so he could never become Frank Savage.

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William E. Colburn
Atlanta, Ga.

Another Perspective

I was 12 years old when Mortsel, Belgium, was bombed. On Monday, April 5, 1943, around noon, six American heavy bomber groups took off from different bases in England. Led by the 306th Bomb Group, they set a course to Mortsel, a densely populated suburb of Antwerp in Belgium occupied by the Germans. Brigadier General Frank Armstrong was in the leading B-17 of the 306th Bomb Group, which guided the bomber force of 104 Flying Fortresses and Liberators to the Erla Works, used by the Luftwaffe for overhauling their Me-109s. Only four bombs hit the target. The others dispersed in residential quarters, hitting three schools as well. If the attack had been planned for one day earlier, a Sunday, many schoolchildren would have survived the massacre. In addition to the 936 deaths, 1,342 civilians were wounded.

For Armstrong, it was his last mission in Europe. From A History of Strategic Bombing, by Lee Kennett, I quote: "The (Allied) attacks were haphazard and those who ordered them and carried them out were indifferent to the fate of the population." In view of the part Armstrong played in an attack that caused the death of many Allied civilians–of whom 209 were children under the age of 15–it would only be human should the general have suffered from collapse. According to Mr. Dunning, the general did not. That’s a pity, because it would have shown that he was not indifferent to the fate of the innocent population of occupied Belgium.

Even today, 56 years later, the events of April 5, 1943, are very rarely mentioned in history books. This past April a memorial was inaugurated in the heart of Mortsel to commemorate the blackest day in its history.

A. Rely
Mortsel, Belgium

Seattle Museum Mistakes

In M.L. Williams’ very interesting article about Tom Cathcart and the Seattle Museum of Flight ("Enduring Heritage," November 1999) there are two errors. The A-12 in the museum is not the only A-12 in existence. There is one in the Air Force Museum at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base. In addition, the picture of the airplane under restoration is misidentifed as a 1947 Stinson 108. It is actually a Howard DGA-15.

Calvin G. Bass
Tulsa, Okla.

The author responds: As my young daughter would say, "My bad." You are correct. The aircraft in question is actually a Howard DGA-15 (1941), and the mistake was mine. The same hangar holds the two aircraft, and they are both red and orange. I will never again verify my facts by pointing and asking about the "red one." As for the A-12 and drone, I certainly could have been more clear. It is a fact that the A-12 and its drone displayed together in Seattle are unique and "world’s only."

Refueling Revisions

I found the September "People & Planes" by Robert Hucker quite interesting–until I got to the reference to the Jackson/O’Brine flight on page 64. The sentence "The two men remained aloft for 420 hours, 17 minutes, a total of 171Ž2 days in the air, a figure that would not be exceeded until space capsules began orbiting the earth four decades later" really irritates me. Their official record of 420 hours, 17 minutes and their unofficial record of 647 hours, 28 minutes was broken by Fred and Al Key of Meridian, Miss., flying a Curtiss Robin named Ole Miss. They landed at what is now Key Field in Meridian at 6:06 p.m. on July 1, 1935, after being airborne for 653 hours, 34 minutes. This was a new world record that was not broken until June 1973 by Skylab II. Ole Miss is now in the National Air and Space Museum in gallery 105.

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