With an enchanting azure sky above and the daunting and seemingly endless Pacific Ocean below, Wally Humphreys and the men aboard his B-25J contemplated their impending mission. On a spring day in 1945-in the midst of World War II-shortly after commencing their orders, the plane was targeted in a counter attempt, sustaining damage between the right engine nacelle and the fuselage.
"The right engine caught fire," Wally recalled. "There were fumes in the cockpit, and sparks from the electrical system."
He feathered the engine-one of four on the plane-and pulled on the external fire extinguisher. Then his navigator panicked, jettisoning the lower escape hatch into the ocean. "Had we had to ditch, water would have come up through that hatch," Wally says. Fortunately, the worst was averted.
More than 80 years later, Wally celebrated his 100th birthday with friends and family in St. George. I met Wally when he was a young man of 91 during a Utah Honor Flight trip in 2015. In the intervening years, he related his amazing story of nearly three decades in the military. One that has always stayed with me was a close call he had piloting his B-25 in the Pacific. Daunting? No doubt. But by that point in his life, he knew how to face hard times.
One of nine children raised on a pioneer homestead farm in the tiny Cache Valley town of Paradise, Wally decided he had had enough of that hard-scrabble life. Frustrated with his family’s situation, he hopped on his bicycle, pedaled to Ogden and found work at Hill Air Base. He had the clothes on his back, a few dollars in his wallet and newfound inspiration for a brighter future. The planes that took off and landed each day mesmerized him.
He entered military service in 1943, and trained to become a pilot. A year later he was assigned to fly the B-25J in the South Pacific. Among his 35 missions in the Philippines, South China Sea, Okinawa and Japan, this one might have been the most hair-raising. While a water landing with a missing hatch was out of the question, keeping his bomber airborne was foremost on his mind. The alternative was certain demise.
These were the types of moments Wally referred to as “pucker time.” As they limped along in the sky, well behind the others in the squadron, suddenly there was hope. Hope was on the horizon; an airfield visible. On fumes, the plane landed amid a choking influx of dirt that shot up through the bomb bay. They survived. No one thought they would.
During WWII, similar situations played out across the Pacific and European Theaters. The recent Apple TV + miniseries “Masters of the Air” brought those experiences to life, conveying the perpetual anxiety, felt by bomber crews. As losses piled up, the men became fatalistic. Getting shot out of the air and succumbing—or getting captured and possibly tortured—seemed inevitable. Sadly, bomber crews grew accustomed to planes not returning, which seemed to be the case when Wally’s return was delayed.
“When I didn’t get back for four or five hours, they had my bed all straightened out for somebody else to sleep in,” he told me. “They had all my goods rationed out. I probably would have done the same thing if I found out one of my bunkmates wasn’t coming back. It didn’t bother you. You got used to it.”
Following WWII, Wally became a flight instructor during the Korean War. In the late 1960s, he flew the HH-53 B Super Jolly Green Giant in Rescue and Recovery in Vietnam. During his career, he accumulated 22 medals, including the Distinguished Flying Cross, the Bronze Star and 6 air medals. He retired as a Colonel after 28 years of service.
David Cordero serves as communications and marketing director at City of St. George.
During his career he accumulated 22 medals, including the Distinguished Flying Cross... (as told to David Cordero)
