From Hugh D. Dow Anthony Taylor's computer rendition of my old flying machine, "Screaming Red bellybutton Commander", is outstanding. However, looking back at it from a distance of almost sixty years now, it seems like the ultimate, customized, ego trip, war machine. But as time has revealed it apparently is a one of a kind paint job on a combat aircraft. At that time, December 44, I had just turned 22 and in one of my youthful excesses I either initiated or concurred in having both my enemy air (2 Me-109s) and my (3) ground strafing aircraft scores depicted together on the side of the Jug at the time we deciding on the paint scheme. In a tightly knit group of men totally consumed with the same mission, where everyone knew what the scores represented, it seemed quite appropriate at the time. But, today, in the context of the larger world, (one that we all had yet to experience) this co-mingling of the two categories seems quite out of place to this same old warrior. Thus, while I do not mind sharing a rendition of this unique war bird on the Internet, in the interest of accuracy, I request that the depiction of my old Thunderbolt fighter be accompanied by this explanation when ever it is displayed on a Web page. Hugh D. Dow recants his story... "I was not flying my aircraft on the day I was shot down. However, the following day it was in-commission and was fully loaded with bombs, ammunition and a belly tank for operations. Unfortunately, it got no further than the runway, that day. Lt. Larry Wells, who I flew several missions with, blew a tire on SCRAC during take-off and when it ran off the runway it shed its landing gear and ended up on its belly. Fortunately, it did not burn and of course the bombs still had the arming wires inserted so they did not explode. Recently, I learned that the old machine did survive and was rebuilt to fly another day. An extract from his message reports: 1st Lt. Wayne H. Smith (347 Sq.) went down with 42-28961 (re- named Betty Jean at the time) on 3 Apr 45 following a dive bombing mission to Colorno. Statements in the report by the pilots Joseph Pickerel and Delbert Wylder indicate that Smith's parachute got caught on the tail when he tried to bail out. That was one of several 'double losses' suffered during strafing or dive bombing attacks. Shortly before his death, Smith had been overheard calling for his Flight Leader, Lt Norman K. Hubbard, to bail out! Hubbard was KIA, with Smith being the only eye witness-his call to Hubbard constituting the only information we have on what happened to him. Others on the ground who observed the crash could still be alive, of course. But, returning to 42-28961, like dozens of other 350th Jugs, the odds finally caught up with my old bird, unfortunately, taking young Smith down with it. I don't know the particulars on Marguerite, the bird I was photographed with after returning from a mission. It was just another 'pick up' substitute for a mission I flew when my SRAC was out of commission. "Lillian" was the bird I was flying the day I was shot down. ...I was leading a formation of P-47's against targets of opportunity on Thiene Airdrome, on 22 Jan '45. I ordered my flight to maintain to cover as I dived down to recce the area. When closer to the ground, I sighted a number of ground targets and completed 2 strafing passes against these objectives. While thus engaged, the enemy opened up with 40 or 50 mm incendiary shells. The tail of my plane caught fire, the elevator controls burned in two and smoke and flames filled the cockpit. I bailed out at 2.000 ft, landing amidst a light explosion of flak and spraining my knee slipping on the powdery snow. About 30 minutes passed between the time my feet touched the snow and my capture. I was, of course, afraid of capture and other than stopping for a moment to pick up a fragment of my aircraft's skin from the smoking hole in the ground, I did not stop again for anything frivolous. I could hear the Krauts from the airfield yelling to each other, within a very few minutes, as they ran towards the area where I had descended to the ground. Naturally, I ran in the opposite direction. It was shortly afterward that I ran up to the fence that separated the path from a farmhouse. It was 25 to 50 meters from the fence. I called out something to the effect : "Can you help me"? at which point the door opened and a man stepped out on the porch. He looked at me for a few moments--gave no indication of his intention--and then went back into the house for a moment. It was at this point that both he and his son appeared in the doorway and he sent the boy out to the lane where I was standing. I believe the young boy motioned for me to follow him and we then both began running down the path, with him in the lead. After two or three minutes of this the young lad suddenly stopped and turned around, obviously afraid. I don't recall that either of us said anything, but he then began running back from where we had come. I don't know whether it was at this point, or a few meters further down the path, (a wide walk way with fences on each side, obviously used by all the locals) that I saw what I took to be a small village maybe half a kilometer ahead. I had to make a decision. Continue into the village or look for some other place to hide. From the shouts in the background I knew that I did not have much time. Naturally, I have always wondered whether I might have found a 'savior' had I proceeded on down that path to the village. But I was afraid that I would run into either an Italian police officer or a fascist sympathizer. But that's the whole story; the man and his son were the only two humans I encountered between my arrival on the ground and my capture by German troops some 30 to 45 minutes later. I had hidden under some corn stalks for at least half of that time and had heard soldiers walk by and saw a German Officer on horseback ride by. He was up high enough to see my steps in the snow across the field and soon afterward I was surrounded and ordered-- 'OUST'..." Dow was captured, brought to Verona and then, through the Brenner Pass by train reached Frankfurt-am-Main and then Nuremberg: There he was brought in a place known to most Allied pilots, and called "the Old Home Week". He was together with many other Allied pilots and crew and he met several other members of his unit previously shot down and captured. He was freed on 27 April, and hitch-hiked for 4 days and three nights to reach Central France. From there he managed to reach Pisa and his unit on 8 May 1945.
Hugh Dow is a great one to talk to. He was the historian for the 350th FG as well as a war time pilot. Those pics are from the website of the son of a 345th FS, 350th FG pilot who has taken over the job of maintaining their history.
Good site. http://web.me.com/vizcarraguitars/350th_Fighter_Group_Blog/350th_FG_Blog/350th_FG_Blog.html
