S.B. resident shares stories as WWII bombardier

Dan Stern, a South Brunswick resident, recently discussed his service as a former bombardier during World War II at the South Brunswick Senior Center. SAM SLAUGHTER Seated in the nose of a B-17 — a Boeing “Flying Fortress” — South Brunswick resident and former bombardier Dan Stern saw it all during his service in World War II.

From flying with the Tuskegee airmen — the first African American aviators in the war — to being constantly shot at with German flak to being awarded a Special Medal for War Service by Greece for his work in liberating that country, Stern has collected hundreds of stories.

It wasn’t until 1987, decades after the war’s end, when Stern retired from his position as a state architect, that he decided to do something about all those stories: he decided to write. After gathering the hundred of photographs, his diaries and the documents he has been given, Stern did just that.

Dan Stern, thanks to purchases made by his son, has a collection of memorabilia that helps him retell his stories as a World War II bombardier. SAM SLAUGHTER about his time  as part of the  483rd Bombardment Group.

The photos, slightly faded in their age, show many facets of Stern’s life as a bombardier: the tents he slept in, pictures of planes that had just been shot down, aerial surveillance pictures, and photos of a younger Stern with his crew.

Anative of Bayside, N.Y., Stern voluntarily enlisted in 1942 when he was 19 years old and a student at Queens College.

“Rather than being drafted as a foot soldier in the infantry, I decided to volunteer, hoping to become a flying officer, and that’s how it worked out,” he said.

After enlisting, Stern spent the next year and a half in training.

First he went through basic training. From there, he took classes at Syracuse University on a variety of topics including physics and the theory of flight, he said. While at Syracuse, the aspiring aviator also took flight lessons.

“I decided I didn’t want to be a pilot then,” he laughed.

Stern’s next stop was the San Antonio Aviation Cadet School, located at Lackland Air Force Base, where, after testing, students were divided into pilots, navigators and bombardiers. Recalling his testing, Stern said he’d had a choice.

“I was a QUAT— qualified for all three,” he said. On a scale on 1 to 9, Stern said, he remembers earning eights in all three categories. “I didn’t want to be a pilot. I chose bombardier,” he said. Following cadet school, he attended preflight school, aerial gunnery school and finally advanced bombardier school.

Stern began active service in January 1944 and continued through October 1945. During that time, he flew 32 missions, the first on Jan. 19, 1945, sometimes without a break between days. Pulling out a card with his schedule, there were times when Stern flew five days in a row. Then, if lucky, he would have one day off before he was back in the sky.

When the war ended in Europe, Stern was the second-oldest member of his 10-man flight crew, having just turned 22 years old. The pilot was only a few months older.

After having flown on so many dangerous missions, many times through areas with heavy flak, Stern has only one word to describe his experiences: lucky. “Our losses were 39.8 percent. I was one of the lucky ones,” he said. Lucky seems like an understatement when the bombardier recounts the time that flak tore through the bottom of his plane, exploding near the top of the radio room.

“When that explosion occurred, I ripped off my flak suit, I strapped on my parachute, and I dove for the escape hatch. Our plane leveled out just before I was able to jump,” he said.

Stern continued, “Everybody called in immediately, and the radio operator did not respond. Itwas the bombardier’s job to go back and report on the condition of the plane and the condition of the crewmembers.

“I go back and get into the bomb bays. The bombs are gone, but the bomb bays are still open, and we always closed the bomb bay doors after bombs are released because [the open doors] hinder the flight of the plane. I hit the control to close the bomb bay doors.

“As I was on the catwalk, into the catwalk comes the radio operator, and I really didn’t think I would find him alive. I gave him a thumbs-up and waved him back. He was injured, but he said he was OK. Forty years later [at a reunion], he turns to his wife and says, ‘There’s Don Stern; he saved my life,’ ” Stern said.

Stern found out at the reunion that the radio operator had been ready to jump from the bomb bays. Stern saved his life because the flak that had ripped through the radio room had also ripped through the radio operator’s parachute, rendering it useless.

Stern also recounted one of the secret missions he flew. “Lone wolf” missions, as they were called, were considered extra hazardous and were completely voluntary. While they were dangerous, there was a logical reason behind volunteering for the secret missions: although they never showed up in an aviator’s record, they counted toward his total missions flown, and the aviators just wanted to get home.

“The reason we volunteered is that we had to fly 35 missions and then the war is over for you— you go home and get a nice, easy job,” he said.

“We knew the war would end in Germany before it ended in Japan. If we did not have enough missions to our credit when the war ended in Germany, we’d be sent to Japan,” Stern explained.

The pull of home was stronger than the dangers of the missions.

“Toward the end of the war, I wanted to fly [more missions]. I didn’t want to go to Japan,” Stern said. Other members in his camp, though, complained that he was flying toomuch, and toward the end, his mission totals slowed.

“Inmy diary I wrote, ‘My crew flew without me … I haven’t felt this low in a long time,’ ” he said.

By the conclusion of the war in Europe, Stern’s 32 flights were considered a full tour of service. He did not need to go to Japan.

Thinking back over all of his experiences, one of the scariest, Stern said, happened when they weren’t even in the air.

“There was one day, we were racing down that runway and we got a flat tire,” he said. Planes, on takeoff, would launch 30 seconds apart. There was little room for error.

“There was another plane bearing down on us, going to smash into us. Fortunately, we had enough speed that the pilot was able to raise the tail and take off. That would’ve been the end of us,” he said.

Back then, though, he couldn’t dwell on this incident or his other experiences.

“It was horrible. You think about it for a moment, but then you have something else to do.”

These shared experiences are often brought up at the veterans’ reunions that Stern attends.

“In the beginning we’d just talk about it, and talk about our experiences and the funny events that took place. My son got a big charge out of just listening to us talk,” he said.

Stern’s son then became more involved in his father’s war career. Using different sources, he purchased a wide variety of memorabilia for his father, including a 100-pound shell of a test bomb, articles of flight clothing, and two Norden bombsights — the main tool Stern used when he flew. These items, along with his books, help Stern when he retells his war stories.

The reunions, however, which used to be much larger affairs, are slowly shrinking.

“We used to have over 300, 350 guys that would show up at a reunion. There were only about 36 of us that showed up at the last reunion,” he said.

Stern also has the chance to tell his story in places other than veterans’ gatherings. He speaks to school groups and recently gave a talk at the South Brunswick Senior Center.

Stern’s stories have also attracted some famous listeners. He recalled that after one of the reunions, he was approached by someone who worked with historian and author Stephen Ambrose, whose many books span a wide range of American history topics. Ambrose was interested in Stern’s work and incorporated it into his book “The Wild Blue,” even mentioning Stern in the early pages.

With so many stories about the war years and his experiences, Stern worries about only one thing now when he recalls them.

“I just hope I have my facts straight,” he joked. “Fortunately, I have my diary.”

Contact Sam Slaughter at sslaughter@gmnews.com.