Source- Conversations with Joe Merton lda 3/22/16

Joseph L. Merton
Pilot, 332nd Fighter Group, 15th Air Force, Salerno, Italy

While Joe wasn’t in the 8th or a member of our local chapter, I did have the honor of working with him for several years. I first learned of Joe’s service history when I walked into his office one day while he was on the phone. He motioned for me to come in, and I spent a few minutes studying a large painting of a red-tailed P-51 mustang chasing a Me-109 at low altitude. When he hung up the phone he asked me if I liked his painting. I remarked that it was so realistic I had initially thought it was an enlarged photograph. He replied that it was obviously a painting, and proceeded to point out several errors the artist had made in his rendering of the P-51. I told Joe that I was clearly speaking with someone who had more than just an appreciation for aviation art. Joe smiled and said “Yes, I flew those”. I had read about the Tuskegee Airmen and watched documentaries about them on TV, now I was meeting one face to face. I knew this man had war stories that hadn’t been told, so I bought his lunch several times to hear a few. This is one of them.

The pilots of the 332nd Fighter Group were ecstatic when they traded in there P-47 Thunderbolts for P-51 Mustangs. Not that the P-47s weren’t good planes, but in the 15th AF they were relegated to close ground support, not dog fighting. With P-51s they would finally get their shot at German fighters on long range escort missions. The group needed to prove itself in this arena and it didn’t take long for them to do so. They quickly developed a reputation for zealously guarding their bombers and occasionally chasing German fighter to the maximum extent of their fuel range to score a kill.

On this mission Joe told of one of his buddies who was flying cover for B-24s headed to the oil fields in Romania. The mission went well, although they flew through flak several times coming into the target and when leaving it. Several other flak batteries took shots at them on their way back to the coast. After one of these the P-51 pilot suddenly notice the aircraft’s engine temperature rising. This meant that a small piece of flak had likely nicked a hose and the plane was slowly losing coolant.

He had plenty of altitude to play with so he throttled the engine back and started a gradual descent across the Mediterranean towards Italy in hopes of making land before the engine quit. Although the temperature continued to rise, it looked like he would indeed make land before it seized, but making it to his base seemed increasingly unlikely. The pilot passed over a bomber base near the coast of Italy where he could land, but he had been told that it was a court-martial offense for a black airman to go on a white base without specific orders to do so. With engine temperatures now in the red he pointed the Mustang back towards the Mediterranean intending to bail out when the engine stopped. They had waited a long time for their P-51s, and there was a long wait for replacements. The young pilot couldn’t bear to dump the near-new fighter in the sea when it could easily be repaired. He then decided to land at the bomber base and take whatever punishment was dealt him. At least he’d save the fighter for one of his buddies to fly.

Upon landing he taxied to an unused pad on the tarmac and shut the engine off. What he saw next terrified him. It looked like every man on the base was running his way. They were followed by jeeps, trucks and men on bicycles. His thoughts of being court-martialed now changed to a fear of being immediately lynched. The pilot took off his parachute, tossed his service sidearm on the ground beside the plane and held his hands up in surrender.

He was soon surrounded by a sea of white faces, but they weren’t angry ones. They were smiling and encouraging him to step down off the plane. Jumping off the wing a ground crewman wearing coveralls held out is hand and welcomed the fighter pilot in a familiar southern drawl. The pilot shook hands and returned the salutes of the men gathered around him.

In moments a young officer pushed his way through the crowd of ground crewmen, saluted and shook the pilot’s hand saying “you guys really saved our bacon today, thanks”! The 332nd pilot was driven to the base operations office where he met the Operations Officer and later the base CO. He apologized to the CO for violating service regulations by landing at a white base, but he wanted to save the plane regardless of the personal consequences.

The CO smiled and told him that he had acted in the best interest of the service and there would be no complaints from his office. The CO continued “Besides I don’t get many opportunities to say thanks to you guys for protecting my men out there”. The fighter pilot ate dinner with the rest of the officers that evening and bunked with Operations officers that night. After breakfast he was driven out to his repaired plane with an escort of bomber pilots in jeeps. Strapping on his parachute he found his cockpit so packed with bottles of liquor from the pilots of the 332nd Fighter group that he had a hard time flying the plane home.
Source- Conversations with Joe Merton

Joseph L. Merton
Pilot, 332nd Fighter Group, 15th Air Force, Salerno, Italy

While Joe wasn’t in the 8th or a member of our local chapter, I did have the honor of working with him for several years. I first learned of Joe’s service history when I walked into his office one day while he was on the phone. He motioned for me to come in, and I spent a few minutes studying a large painting of a red-tailed P-51 mustang chasing a Me-109 at low altitude. When he hung up the phone he asked me if I liked his painting. I remarked that it was so realistic I had initially thought it was an enlarged photograph. He replied that it was obviously a painting, and proceeded to point out several errors the artist had made in his rendering of the P-51. I told Joe that I was clearly speaking with someone who had more than just an appreciation for aviation art. Joe smiled and said “Yes, I flew those”. I had read about the Tuskegee Airmen and watched documentaries about them on TV, now I was meeting one face to face. I knew this man had war stories that hadn’t been told, so I bought his lunch several times to hear a few. This is one of them.

The pilots of the 332nd Fighter Group were ecstatic when they traded in there P-47 Thunderbolts for P-51 Mustangs. Not that the P-47s weren’t good planes, but in the 15th AF they were relegated to close ground support, not dog fighting. With P-51s they would finally get their shot at German fighters on long range escort missions. The group needed to prove itself in this arena and it didn’t take long for them to do so. They quickly developed a reputation for zealously guarding their bombers and occasionally chasing German fighter to the maximum extent of their fuel range to score a kill.

On this mission Joe told of one of his buddies who was flying cover for B-24s headed to the oil fields in Romania. The mission went well, although they flew through flak several times coming into the target and when leaving it. Several other flak batteries took shots at them on their way back to the coast. After one of these the P-51 pilot suddenly notice the aircraft’s engine temperature rising. This meant that a small piece of flak had likely nicked a hose and the plane was slowly losing coolant.

He had plenty of altitude to play with so he throttled the engine back and started a gradual descent across the Mediterranean towards Italy in hopes of making land before the engine quit. Although the temperature continued to rise, it looked like he would indeed make land before it seized, but making it to his base seemed increasingly unlikely. The pilot passed over a bomber base near the coast of Italy where he could land, but he had been told that it was a court-martial offense for a black airman to go on a white base without specific orders to do so. With engine temperatures now in the red he pointed the Mustang back towards the Mediterranean intending to bail out when the engine stopped. They had waited a long time for their P-51s, and there was a long wait for replacements. The young pilot couldn’t bear to dump the near-new fighter in the sea when it could easily be repaired. He then decided to land at the bomber base and take whatever punishment was dealt him. At least he’d save the fighter for one of his buddies to fly.

Upon landing he taxied to an unused pad on the tarmac and shut the engine off. What he saw next terrified him. It looked like every man on the base was running his way. They were followed by jeeps, trucks and men on bicycles. His thoughts of being court-martialed now changed to a fear of being immediately lynched. The pilot took off his parachute, tossed his service sidearm on the ground beside the plane and held his hands up in surrender.

He was soon surrounded by a sea of white faces, but they weren’t angry ones. They were smiling and encouraging him to step down off the plane. Jumping off the wing a ground crewman wearing coveralls held out is hand and welcomed the fighter pilot in a familiar southern drawl. The pilot shook hands and returned the salutes of the men gathered around him.

In moments a young officer pushed his way through the crowd of ground crewmen, saluted and shook the pilot’s hand saying “you guys really saved our bacon today, thanks”! The 332nd pilot was driven to the base operations office where he met the Operations Officer and later the base CO. He apologized to the CO for violating service regulations by landing at a white base, but he wanted to save the plane regardless of the personal consequences.

The CO smiled and told him that he had acted in the best interest of the service and there would be no complaints from his office. The CO continued “Besides I don’t get many opportunities to say thanks to you guys for protecting my men out there”. The fighter pilot ate dinner with the rest of the officers that evening and bunked with Operations officers that night. After breakfast he was driven out to his repaired plane with an escort of bomber pilots in jeeps. Strapping on his parachute he found his cockpit so packed with bottles of liquor from the pilots of the 332nd Fighter group that he had a hard time flying the plane home.
Source- Conversations with Joe Merton