Beerbower’s “Bonnie ‘B’s”
Don Beerbower and his crew chief, Staff Sgt. Leon Panter, had two P-51Bs assigned to them. Both were manufactured at the North American Aviation plant in Inglewood, California, at a cost to the government of $38,893. The first Mustang no.43-12457 was received by the USAAF on August 24, 1943, shipped via Newark, New Jersey, to Britain, and then on to the Ninth Air Force. Don named the ship “Bonnie ‘B’” after his seven-month-old daughter Bonita Lea. This Mustang served Don well until mid-January 1944, when it was replaced by no.4312375. The new ship had been retrofitted with an 85-gallon internal auxiliary fuselage tank thereby extending its range. “Bonnie ‘B’ II” had been accepted by the USAAF on August 6, 1943, but then sent through Newark on loan to the British. It was returned to the control of the Americans on December 31, 1943. Don began flying “Bonnie ‘B’ II” in combat in late January 1944. He later had this aircraft modified by adding a British Malcolm sliding hood as a replacement for the P-51B’s standard greenhouse canopy. In addition, a dorsal fin extension was added to the forward section of the tail’s vertical stabilizer. Leon Panter also found a way to soup up “Bonnie ‘B’ II’s” Packard-Merlin V-1650-7 engine to maximize its speed. Don considered his old ship “faster than most, if not all” in the squadron. Its last mission was on August 9, 1944. Ironically, no.43-12457 “Bonnie ‘B’” survived the war only to be salvaged on January 28, 1946.
of the ship came away. I flew through pieces of the plane. E/a seemed to stop in midair and flipped over on its back. I saw a black object fall free, and I pulled up and saw two chutes open. I was joined at this time by a P-51 ... and continued home.” By 1450 hours, remnants of the group cleared the continent over northern Holland.
A long, but good day
The trip back to England proved uneventful except for a light dusting of rime ice as the fighters eased through a layer of cumulous clouds. The touchdown at Boxted was officially listed as 1600 hours. Don had put four hours and fifty minutes on his Mustang, “Bonnie ‘B’ II”. It had been quite a day. His first victory tied him with the only P-51 aces in the European theater, James Howard and Richard Turner from the 356th Fighter Squadron. His second moved him ahead of them and the 353rd’s CO Jack Bradley, who had also achieved his fifth victory on February 20.
The other pilots in Blue Flight, Edward Hunt and Wally Emmer, each destroyed a 109. In addition to Jack Bradley, his second element leader John Mattie picked off a Messerschmitt and shared another with his wingman Robert Silva. With Don’s two kills, the squadron ended up with seven enemy aircraft destroyed against no loses. The rest of the group claimed an additional eight victories.
Don expressed his satisfaction with the mission in his diary entry that evening.
“We had a layoff due to weather till today, and this was our longest raid yet ... 560 miles to the target. And I got my double. An Me 109 and an Me 110. And damaged another 109. It was a good mission except that I lost Emmer and Hunt on the first attack and was alone for an hour way over the target. More fun! That makes ace for sure.”
Between January and August 1944, Don received credit for 15½ aerial and three ground victories. His best day occurred on April 8 with the destruction of two FockeWulf 190s and an Me 109 and damage to two 190s. Wingman Bud Deeds was beside Don when he shot down his last enemy fighter on July 7 and as he exploded a Junkers Ju 88 on his final mission on August 9, 1944.
The whole package
By themselves, firing accuracy and courage do not make a great ace. The additional ingredient needed is the ability to bring out the best in other fighter pilots in combat. Don’s influence within the squadron began on January 19, 1943, at Tonopah, Nevada, when he was selected as one of the 353rd’s first four flight commanders. By January 26, 1944, at Boxted, he had moved up to senior flight commander, operations officer and assistant squadron commander. Then, on June 30, 1944, he replaced Jack Bradley as squadron commander when Bradley went back to the States on leave. After Don’s death six weeks later, one of his protégés, Felix Michael Rogers, moved into the squadron’s top position. Rogers had joined the 353rd at Portland, Oregon, in the spring of 1943. He spent the next five months in
Don’s flight experiencing what he called “disciplined leadership.” As Rogers prepared to head overseas that fall, he considered his flight ready to face the Luftwaffe with “confidence and élan.” He summed up his high regard for Don with these remarks in a letter provided to this writer in 1999:
“In a great unit, we were the best flight. We were that great because of the natural leadership skills of Lt. Beerbower in the air and on the ground. All of us respected him and learned to obey him instinctively … After 37 years of service and three wars and having arisen to four-star rank, I attribute a large measure of my success to my initial service under Maj. Beerbower.
Rogers, an ace in his own right, ended the war with seven confirmed victories.
Don Beerbower’s example as a fighter pilot and a leader inspired the men around him to exceptional levels of achievement. Not only did the 353rd Fighter Squadron lead all others in confirmed kills, but 12 of the top 20 aces in the Ninth Air Force came from this outstanding unit. Although Don died 10 months before the end of the war, only Glenn Eagleston surpassed him in aerial victories. Squadron historian and intelligence officer Albert Feigen, writing to Don’s father in 1945, said this about his friend and colleague: “As long as any one of us remains, the name and the character and the heroism of Don Beerbower will be remembered.” With the passing of his squadron mates, the burden of remembering will fall on us.
Author’s note: I appreciate the opportunity to introduce readers to the story of Major Don M. Beerbower and his significant contribution to the success of our top fighter squadron in WW II. As a member of the military family of pilots who followed in Major Beerbower’s wake, I am honored to keep his story and his sacrifice alive for future generations of Americans. For more about Major Beerbower, read my book, “The Oranges are Sweet.”
You ask, how much could a slug-like trainer possibly contribute to victory? It never fired a shot in anger. But we stand by our choice: the Texan contributed more to victory than any other single-engine airplane.
It is a fact that before strapping on a high-horsepower bird, every single U.S. fighter pilot received his final training in the AT-6 in the USAAF and the SNJ in the USN. From there, it was an easy step to their first fighter, generally the P-40 because Training Command had lots of them available stateside.
The Texan was the perfect trainer for the mission because, by the time it was seriously needed in 1942, when training ramped up and a new generation of fighters was coming on line, the AT-6/SNJ was harder to fly than it needed to be for a trainer. The challenges it presented overtrained every fledgling fighter pilot.
The Texan was designed and first flew in 1935, when every fighter worthy of the name had narrow, sometimes knock-kneed, landing gear and high center of gravity. The landing gear geometry of that generation of pre-war fighters was such that they were unforgiving of bad touchdowns and sleepy feet on the runway. And that’s exactly how the Texan handles: as long as you put it on the runway straight with no drift (the real key to Texan survivability), it’ll roll more or less straight, but put it on crooked or drifting, or you let it get just a little ahead of you and start a good swerve, it’ll bite you in the butt. In those situations you’ll likely wind up off the edge of the runway either standing on your nose, laying on your belly with a folded gear, or on your back looking up at grass pressed hard against the top of the canopy. It was then, and still is, very unforgiving of inattentiveness.
In the air, it was/is a joy to fly. It handles exactly like a much higher-performance airplane like the Mustang, only slower, which includes some of its more demanding characteristics, e.g. put a little too much G on it for the speed available and it’ll high-speed stall and try to snap out every time. In most areas, it behaves just like its bigger brothers. And that’s a very good thing. It was a benign trainer, but it had teeth in all the right places.
By the time kids from small towns in Kansas and city suburbs became comfortable in the AT-6, they understood energy management and had developed a high degree of airmanship. From that point on, every fighter they’d fly would be a piece of cake. The 10 hours they’d get in a P-40 at the end of their advanced training (another pre-war, narrow gear, high CG airplane) would be the last time they would sweat a takeoff or landing. Big birds like the Mustang, Hellcat and Thunderbolt were almost boring by comparison.
By the time a kid got into the P-40, and the hotter combat birds that followed, he had maybe 150 hours total flight time. That sounds dreadfully inadequate, but he was more than ready. If the Texan had been easier to fly, say like the BT-13 before it, our transition success rate wouldn’t have been nearly as high. Nor our young pilots as good.
An estimated 250,000 wannabee pilots honed their aviation basics in the Texan/Harvard. Those basics then became the terrifically solid foundation upon which their combat skills would be built. So, although the Texan/Harvard may be far removed from the glamour of the combat spotlight, the old aluminum school marm can be proud of what she accomplished. She saved countless lives in combat and was a major stepping stone on the path to victory. The Texan was the real behind-the-scenes ace maker.
BY THE TIME KIDS FROM SMALL TOWNS IN KANSAS AND CITY SUBURBS BECAME COMFORTABLE IN THE AT-6 ... EVERY FIGHTER THEY’D FLY WOULD BE A PIECE OF CAKE