Measured chronologically, the period was a blip in the life of Frank LaBlotier, now 84, but the five years he served in World War II forever changed his life.
World War II souvenirs fill his west Denver home. He still keeps one of the first-aid kits he carried when he filled in for sick gunners on bombing runs.
On one wall is a disabled machine gun from a B-17’s turret. He has another one in his garage, along with a belt of ammunition.
Of the 16.1 million U.S. troops who served from Dec. 1, 1941, to Dec. 31, 1946, an estimated 1,200 to 1,500 are dying daily, leaving war buddies to recollect their stories. LaBlotier is among their most conscientious representatives on this Memorial Day.
He keeps a thick, meticulous scrapbook filled with ration stamps, military letters, an unconsciously campy flier for an R&R weekend, newspaper and magazine articles, and photographs of the planes flying for the 91st Bombardment Group of the 8th U.S. Air Force.
He attends monthly meetings for the group’s veterans and their fans. He can still wear the uniform that fit him snugly when he was in his 20s.
“Most of us are going,” he said, his boyhood New York accent muscling past his reedy vocal cords as he reflected on his dying comrades in arms.
LaBlotier was 17 in 1940 when he joined the New York National Guard and trained in an artillery unit at Camp Stewart, Ga., before re-enlisting in the regular Army.
Eighteen months later, he was assigned to the 401 Bomb Squadron of the 91st Bombardment Group. He loaded bombs and other munitions, maintained the gun turrets, set gun sights and took on other tasks.
As a member of the ground crew at Bassingbourn, a base near Cambridge, England, LaBlotier felt a kinship with the planes as well as the men who flew in them.
An eyesight problem, diagnosed well after his original enlistment, prevented him from flying regularly, but his prewar experience training on the B-18 bombers at Denver’s Lowry Air Force Base put him on the short list of substitutes.
In late 1942, the 91st Bomb Group’s half-dozen bombers began making daylight runs, inherently risky operations.
“When we first got there, we had 13 bombers and lost six on our first day,” LaBlotier said. “We couldn’t go on any more bombing raids till we got more planes.”
In early 1943, replacement crews, aircraft and others arrived at Bassingbourn. Morale increased along with the new blood and the new machines, and with the institution of a wry, facetious medal called the Rigid Digit. It was awarded to servicemen and officers who magnificently screwed up – for example, the brigadier general who landed 100 yards short of the runway.
The 91st Bombardment Group secured its place in military history as the outfit designed for strategic bombing. The fighter pilots and bomber crews were so precise that they famously annihilated a Fock-Wulf factory at Anklem in northeast Germany.
Ultimately, the 91st group’s damage tally included 420 enemy planes, 18,478 deployed bombs and 300 missions – numbers LaBlotier can quote the way baseball fans recite batting averages.
Among LaBlotier’s fondest memories are the notes tucked in by female factory workers building and repairing the planes back in the U.S.
“You know who really won this war?” LaBlotier asked. “The American women, that’s who. They built those planes and used to put notes in ’em. Ask, ‘How you doing,’ put their name and address, ‘Please write.’ Women’d fly planes over, ’cause the military couldn’t spare the men, and used to get us corned- beef sandwiches from New York, when it was available.”
Staff writer Claire Martin can be reached at 303-820-1477 or cmartin@denverpost.com.
