B-17G #43-39188 'Gravel Gertie'.





Al Rasof served in the 487th BG, 839th BS. He was a Radio/Gunner.









Al Rasof Memories Written and contributed by Al Rasof


487th Bomb Group (Heavy) WWII



Repeated the 23 Psalms Before Missions





I read once that it is impossible to complete all of the items in the "Bucket list." True, but sometimes one can lean back with a "I've had a great run."





At 92+, I can lean back. Maybe not the greatest run, but I've lived through seeing Civil War Veterans march in Decoration Day Parades, to the happy transition of the slide rule to the hand-held calculator, AND afterwards; and, yes, another "Great" War. Just like the Life Guard who couldn't swim, I could wade like Hell.





Born in 1924, in Chicago, the fourth of five children, to immigrant parents, I was blessed with a caring home and a "memorable" poverty during the Great Depression (I am always confounded by the "Great," appended to that vile term).





EVERYONE was poor. We got food stamps for particular foods. No choice. My Ma wouldn't use the meat. My younger brother's baby teeth grew in black from lack of Calcium. I had to buy a combination lock upon entering high school: it took ten weeks to pay off the fifty cent lock at a hard-to-get nickel a week. My oldest sister worked in a grocery store after school to support a family of seven.





"GREAT," indeed.





High School, "von Steuben High School," was an excellent school. When I finally returned to get an education in 1958, I was able to still draw upon their classes. I graduated in January, 1942, a mid-term class. I was able to work nights at a downtown hotel.







In 1942, after graduating from high school- still 17 - I went for one semester to a nearby junior college. That summer I volunteered to work on a farm. I ended up in Wisconsin, pitching peas. Now, peas by themselves are not heavy, but with the morning's dew, on a scrawny, underfed boy, they weigh a ton. Within a week I ended up with the local doctor who taped up my back. Sweat and dirt and all. When I got home and saw our family doctor ($5.00 a home visit - remember?). The ignorance of the farm doctor showed up in a back full of pustulates. My doctor suggested sitting out in the sun. This is 1942. Times are better. MUCH better. My mother, my younger brother, age 8, and I, go off to South Haven over the 4th of July. So does Betty.






Betty





Betty, born and living in Michigan, is the youngest of 12 children born to a Widow and a Widower who have each entered marriage with their own and then "theirs." Over the 4th weekend she, her mother, her sister Rose, and Rose's son, also age 8, come to South Haven. The boys, my brother and Betty's nephew, meet and play together on the beach. Betty is baby sitting. I take a picture of her and need a mailing address. In 1943, I enter the Service. We write to each other. In early 1945, she comes to visit me before we leave for England. In July, 1945, while on a 33 day pass between the ETO and being part of Operation Downfall, we marry. THIS IS THE THIRD time I've seen her. Our bliss lasts a short 64 years.





I was drafted. I DID "pre-enlist" in the Air Corps (you could at the time). In March, '43, I got the call. Went to Biloxi for Basic. From there we went to Montana State College for a kind of pre-warm- up Cadet schooling. For me it was a snap, I was the First Sergeant. The smartest kid, helping nearly everyone with their math. Three months of this and off to Santa Ana for testing, etc. I scored tops in everything. THEN, suddenly, "see the review board." Something wrong with my blood. Even had a spinal tap. WHATEVER, unfit to be an officer but fit to fly. SOMETHING never explained to me. In fact, once back as a civilian I gave blood regularly, earning a Gold Pin and certificate for my donations of blood. Well, that's three months of combat down the drain. Sent to Radio School. Once there, my Pa wanted to see me. I did KP for three straight days in order to get a weekend pass. By that time I was so rundown, I slept through most of his visit. Poor Pa. Six weeks in hospital with pneumonia. More lost combat time.







The Radio-Gunner, screened as to IQ, was a trained crew member, going through months of Radio School where he learned the rudiments of radio, building and repairing, plus The Beast: Morse Code. These two phases were done separately, the time for each depending on the availability of space. Yes, you are right, Morse Code at night. In my case, from 11 PM to 3 AM, with a break about halfway where Bunny Berrigan's, "I can't get started," was always played. The course's demand earned the respect of most schools, including universities, in granting credit for a Science Course. Gunnery focused on the Caliber 50 machine gun. Shooting to kill, and mechanics. The Final exam was to go through a series of malfunctioning guns and repair them. Oh, yes, in a sub-zero room, with oxygen mask.





The Radio Room was located behind the bomb bay, and in front of the waist. At one time there was a gun, but it proved ineffective. The Radio-Gunner fulfilled his part of his title by tending a waist gun. He also was responsible, over the target, of tossing out through a chute, "tinsel" (like that used on Christmas trees), called "Window," or "Chaff," as this had proven useful in confusing the flak targets. He had a bolted-down chair and small desk, the desk large enough to hold the Morse Key and papers. The one treat was a small window over the left shoulder. Much of the equipment was devoted to the tuners, large box-like devices for the main radio. There was also a radio that required an antenna, called a "Trailing Wire Antenna: A lead ball attach to an antenna that was sent out or pulled in by the operator. Many a lead weight was lost on landing.












Al Rasof's Best Seat in the House



Al was awakened at 3 or 4 am on mission days by someone tugging at his ankles. Radio operators received their own briefing information on codes and frequencies.





Al Rasof radio gunner on a Heavy bomber, B-17 nicknamed "Gravel Gertie", during WWII, had the best seat in the house! His small radio area furnished a small metal bucket seat with padded seat and back. The B-17 provided a lap seat belt for the sometimes bumpy motions of the ship and possible sprilling of the plane, but no flax armor plate.

A small desk attached to the bomb bay compartment was before Mr. Rasof, a little wider than the width of the seat with enough room for the radio against the wall, and writing and chart space, and room for the Morse Code Key. The small space between the desk and chair did not provide enough room to wear the chest parachute. Beneath him, the wooden floor was reinforced with a metal plate.





Over his left shoulder a small window allowed natural light of day to illuminate his space and overhead a light bulb complete with manual switch was provided for early morning missions and cloudy days.

Headsets were retro fitted on site so that one ear could hear the plane intercom and the other ear could hear the radio.





A stack of "tuners" for different wave lengths was across the mid-section of the fuselage. They were large box-like things that one could pop in and out.



"One night Gil, the Flight Engineer and I stayed all night tuning the radio, he running the putt putt generator and me pre-tuning. I remember vividly for we broke into some food rations, the chocolate candy bars inside stuck to the roof of our mouths."





Two doors were beyond the tuners. One door led to the waist gunners section and the other to the Bomb Bay.

Overhead were metal rafters. Once Sgt. Rasof put an orange in the rafters knowing it would freeze. After the mission and at lower altitude and off ozygen, he enjoyed the orange, "Chomping away", as he says.

When not facing enemy fire, life was good there with calming music coming from the radio and occasionly the moon looking over his shoulder!





McDonagh Crew - 839th Squadron - Crew of Gravel Gertie
Back row (L to R): John Kelly (Bombardier), Lawrence Spellman (Navigator), James Greene (Co-pilot), John McDonagh (Pilot)
Front row (L to R): Glen Barlow (Ball Turret Gunner), Charles Campbell (Tail Gunner), Ashley Gilbert (Flight Engineer), Al Rasof (Radio Gunner)







We were part of the 487th Bomb Group (Heavy). Before the combat missions, on one of the practice missions, sitting in the Radio Operator's room, hearing those engines roar, preparing for take off, aware that the kid at the control of this flying bomb was not much older, and I had missed a fearful part of the 8th's slaughter, I felt that should say something to my private G-d. So I said The 23d Psalm, and continued with every take off. (Interestingly, the time between the fire up and lift off is just enough time to recite The Psalm.) We flew 7 of the last 8 combat missions of the group in "Gravel Gertie," a B-17G.



MSgt Harold Reed, Crew Chief, Gravel Gertie"



Our first mission had an experienced Pilot with our regular Pilot as CoPilot. Turned out to be a schoolmate and as we flew over the target, me tossing out the chaff like crazy, he called over the intercom, "Far cry from von Steuben, eh?" We did have some rough times, but not from enemy action. The worst was, when checking the bomb bay doors over the North Sea, Gil, the Flight Engineer, noticed a bomb had come loose from one shackle and was hung up. To drop our load would be an abort and so Gil laid on the narrow catwalk, me on top to steady him, no room for parachutes, while he bent over to release that bomb. And, it is difficult to describe the time we lost the group and flew back alone from the target - me, standing by the waist gun, each spot on the plexiglass looking like a German fighter (the day, it turned out to be, that "Black Cat," from the 466th BG, was shot down and became the last 8th AAF heavy to be lost in the ETO) - or when Mac, our pilot had vertigo and we spun out of control down 3000 feet before Baer, flying as a sub co-pilot, pulled us out. But we never had engine trouble, thanks to a ground crew and M/Sgt Harold Reed, the Crew Chief, who was rightfully awarded a Bronze Star at war's end as a reward for his planes' never needing an engine-abort.







After the war ended, I did not serve in the occupational Forces.



Gen. Doolittle wanted his presence (8thAAF) in the Japanese invasion. Crews without tour completion flew home to be trained and prepped. We took advantage, Death and Injury be Damned I wed during the 33 days R&R between the ETO and reporting to Drew Field. As it turned out, we lucked out, missing the trip home by boat, thanks to The Bomb.







We left the ETO in July to fly home and be part of the Pacific Theater Invasions. As luck would have it, the war ended during the 33 R&R before reporting to Drew Field, where I was discharged January 6, 1946. (AND, here I was, up for Tech. Think I could get the promo now?)











The war's end with The Bomb ("We were going to live"), our "Wedding Gift," offered all I would have wished, a college education. But, alas, after so many year of want, I was intent on finding my fortune. But that turned to be myth. And so I wasted 12 years before returning to school. I finally earned my degrees, thanks to a very helpful Advisor. I was "on staff" for four years, continuing for 20 years of night school classes, while I worked for the school system administrating federally funded, youth work programs.





We had an uneventful life. No children. (As my Ma would ask, "What do you do for aggravation?") I was able to retire in late 1983, and from that day on we were inseperable. Always hand-in-hand. Betty died next to me, in our bed. I put out my hand to touch her and she was cold. She was a brave and courageous person. She knew she was dying but never backed down. Among her last words were, "I'll jump into your arms when you get here." She also asked me to care for her sister Rose, which I did, and not to forget the casserole in the freezer. She was that Special. On loan to me, but only for 64 years…





Lucky me. Lucky in Love and in War.






     




Thank you Mr. Rasof for your candidness and your service to our country.