One lucky survivor never told

Son surprised by WWII honor

Slaves Dream.” As the crew of nine young men walked toward their assigned B-17 bomber on Sept. 9, 1944, a damp and chilly morning, they saw to their delight that their assigned bomber for the mission that day was Slaves Dream. There was no fancy nose art, just the name stenciled in block letters by some previous crew. Named for a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow on anti-slavery, what it represented to the crew was luck. They had flown nine previous missions with her before and had come home safe. This was going to be the crew’s 30th and final mission, so they would need all the luck they could get.

The mission that day was bombing rail yards in the German city of Gustavsburg. The squadron of 36 bombers hit the target at 10:30 that morning, but fortunately only encountered moderate flak. Slaves Dream had worked its magic again. The joyous crew received permission once they reached English airspace to have the honor of landing first, but not before they buzzed the airfield at 200 feet, setting off flares as they passed by.

During World War II, more than 6,000 American bombers were shot down, killing more than 30,000 airmen. To survive your missions meant you now would be formally inducted into the Lucky Bastards Club. “It meant you had survived,” said one veteran. That night there was a big celebration. At the officers’ combat mess hall, a special table with a white tablecloth was set out for the entire crew, who wore their dress uniforms. Steak was served along with a bottle of wine, toasts were made, and each member received his inscribed certificate. Then the entire crew was given a standing ovation by all the officers present. The flight engineer, Richard Upham, later remembered: “I don’t know where they found steak in England, but it was delicious!” His certificate read:

“The fickle finger of fate has traced on the rolls of the Lucky Bastards Club the name Richard Upham, who on this date achieved the remarkable record of having sallied forth and returned no fewer than 25 times bearing high explosives, good will to the Fuhrer and would-be Fuhrers through the courtesy of the Eighth Bomber Command, who sponsor these programs in the interest of government of the people, by the people and for the people.”

It was signed by the base commander, and a personal copy was given to each crew member.

The certificate was framed by Richard Upham and occupied a proud place of honor in his home until his death. It was not until last year that I learned my late father, who was the bombardier on Slaves Dream, had also received his certificate that night. My dad kept his old jacket, his helmet, even his canteen, but not the certificate. Never mentioned it either. Why, I wondered.

Perhaps the writer Jules Renard put it best: “I desire nothing from the past. I do not count on the future. The present is enough for me.” My dad was very much that way. But there is also one other possibility — that being a proper Southern Baptist, he did not want his impressionable sons and daughter seeing the name of the certificate. Lucky me.