Ralph R Miller

Military
media-34912.jpeg UPL 34912 B-17 42-29807 crew members. 305th Bomb Group..
Back row, left to right :
Lt. John Meade, Co-pilot;
Lt. Ralph Miller, Pilot;
Lt. Donald McGowan, Navigator;
Lt. Joseph McGinley, Bombardier.
Front Row Left to right:
S/Sgt. Al Miller, Ball turret gunner;
T/Sgt. Bynum Crabtree, Engineer / Gunner;
S/Sgt. Edgar Lott, Waist Gunner;
S/Sgt. Emil Radosevich, Tail Gunner;
S/Sgt. Fulton Horn, Radio Operator.

Information provided by Jim Ward and Steve Crabtree, relatives of T/Sgt. Bynum Crabtree, 305th Bomb Group.

Object Number - UPL 34912 - B-17 42-29807 crew members. 305th Bomb Group.. Back row, left to right : Lt. John Meade, Co-pilot; Lt. Ralph Miller, Pilot; Lt. Donald McGowan,...

Captured after his B-17, #42-29807, was hit by flak en-route to his target at Flushing, Holland. The aircraft split in two and crashed into the Scheldt River, about four miles east of Flushing. Only Ralph Miller and his tail gunner Emil Radosevich survived the crash, and were taken prisoner.



The following is an edited extract from letters that Ralph received from "his cousins" whilst held as a POW, and his reply to "his cousins", which were subsequently published in his company's (Cumberland's of North Carolina) newsletter as an article called "Dear Cousin".



"Allentown, Pa. November 14, 1943



Dear Cousin Ralph:



We were all so happy to learn that you were alive and well, God has certainly been with you. We are hoping and praying that this terrible war will not go on much longer.

Everything is pretty much the same at home. By the way, did you know that the old Crabapple tree is dead? It's a shame. However, the New Mexico peach is alive and hearty. I know you remember little Donald McGowan, he was drowned last August 19, while playing with his toy airplane. His body washed ashore.



Ralph, you will recall that I had a collection of ten silver coins which 1 treasured very much. These coins were misplaced and we can account for only four of them. I thought you might know something of the missing ones, if so, please try to write me of them. We are most anxious.



May God bless you and keep you.



Your loving cousins,

Mary and Mary Ellen "

________________________________________________________________________

"I received this letter in March 1944, a letter that I answered immediately, as there were anxious people awaiting my reply. But before you can understand it or the reply, I must tell you a true story. This story in some respects is similar to a few other wartime stories of miracle and tragedy that were never publicly told as the reporters, foreign correspondents and public relations officers were not there to know of them.



It began at Boise, Idaho, in January 1943, when my bomber crew was assigned to me, three officers (all 2nd lieutenants), and six enlisted men (all sergeants). From this starting point we were to go through three months of intensive combat phase training, then on to combat

against Germany.



My officers were lieutenants-John Meade (co-pilot), Donald J. McGowan (navigator, only married officer), and Joseph McGinley (bombardier). Each officer was fresh from training school, having graduated just the previous month. I also was pretty fresh myself as it had been less than 10 months since I had first stepped. into an airplane of any kind. Now I was 1st pilot and plane commander of a 4-engine B-17, with a crew of my own.



Meade, McGinley, McGowan and Miller it is easy to see that there wasn't much time in those days to analyze personalities before placing them together on a crew. They just threw the dart at the alphabetical roster, but after all, these were critical times and the Luftwaffe was

going strong.

Sergeants Bynum Crabtree (mechanic gunner), Fulton Horn (radioman-gunner), Edgar G. Lott (waist gunner), B. Johnson, later replaced by Bill Crough (waist gunner), Al Miller (belly turret gunner), and Emil Radosevisch, Rudy or Jones for short tail gunner) were the enlisted

portion of the crew. Two were married, Crabtree and Lott.

I was never hard with my officers and men. From the beginning, I had repeatedly made only one little lecture to them: "I don't want to be an iron pants; let's do what is right. Do what we are told; let's be friends; we cannot be that if I have to be iron pants. We will do our 25 missions without any unnecessary heroism, then come home." I know this has the markings of a bad commander and many times it will not work, but these were truly good men who respected and appreciated friendship and tolerance towards each other. I never had to ask for each to respect the other's position.



We adapted ourselves very quickly to each other, flying day and night in bitter cold, blackest black and rough turbulent Rocky Mountain air. Together we had ground school, gunnery practice, skeet, lectures and physical train­ing. We were also together to eat and sleep and to spend many wonderful off-duty hours in town. Our adaptations to each other soon turned into solid friendships and from friendships to one of the strongest bonds that I have seen between men.



After Boise there was Casper, Wyoming, and more of the same, 20 below zero, 1O-foot snowdrifts and 45 m.p.h, winds; but there were also warm hotels, beautiful night clubs and bars for our pleasure when we were on pass. Days and nights of this work and play made the weeks, and as spring was barely sticking her head over the peaks of the Rockies, off we went to wind-blown, sand-blasted Smoky Hill, Kansas. Here we were to take final proficiency

tests, get our new B-17, and then wing our merry selves across the North Atlantic to England - and combat. "Combat", this was a word that had been on our lips for months - we had laughed and joked about it, now at this initial jumping-off place it hardly seemed a reality. It

certainly did not stop our fun.



Each new experience opened a door to a wealth of adventure for this little group that seemed to have a re­markable zest for living, gaiety and comradeship, a zest that made these adventures more adventurous. There was the first leg to Presque Isle, Maine, then briefings and preparations for the second, third and fourth to Labrador, Greenland, Iceland and Scotland. These gave us the normal fears of the things that we would soon be doing, but we never failed to enjoy the moment, whether in Greenland, Scotland or Labrador. Our eagerness might compare with that enjoyed by a group of friends on a long vacation together, and we reached the pinnacle of these experiences on our first trip into London.



On we went, a few weeks just outside London attending lectures on the newest combat tactics and then to our permanent group in the midlands of England. In May we were assigned to the 364th squadron, 305th bomb group at Chelveston Many are familiar with the type of missions that we flew; high, cold and fearsome missions-fearsome for everyone involved-with the flak, fighters, roaring machine guns and innumerable fighters and bombers going down in flames and pieces.



We were getting better as each mission passed; all crew members were shooting straighter and I was flying better formation. Seven, eight, nine, ten; Paris, Norway, Kiel and Hanover. and we returned only twice with holes of battle in our ship. We were approaching a point from

'where we could see that promised land of 25 completed, then finis and they would all be past and only memories.



August 19, 1943, all crew members were' at their places in the ship waiting for the tower's instructions to taxi out for take-off - the target was Brussels, Belgium. All morning we had waited and it was now early afternoon. Weather ships had been reporting Brussels covered with clouds, We might have to take our secondary target, an airfield on the coast of Flushing Island, Holland. Meade and I were chatting in the pilot seats when the order came

to taxi. "John, I certainly was happy to have this milk-run for the 13th mission," I said, "it's so soothing to the nerves to have our fighters all the way, I don't mind the flak if we don't have to look at those fighters." John agreed but expressed his non-belief in superstition. Just two days before we had returned safely from one of the greatest air battles ever fought; the first twin raids on Schweinfurt and Regensburg. All set, down the runway and throttling up

to join the squadron in formation now seemed like old stuff, a new confidence had been born in us. Squadron joined with group, group with wing, and as wing joined with other wings we were high over· England, 21,000 feet, heading straight for Brussels. What a rosy feeling it was to look out and see our own fighters dancing all around us and knowing that they would be there all the way. We did not expect to fire a single shot; they even sent a photographer along in the ship next to ours to get a picture of our bombs coming out. Many ground officers of the group that had been able to talk operations into a ride, had crowded into the planes - five of these and they would receive an Air Medal.



Brussels was covered by clouds, we saw the wings in front turning left toward Flushing Island. Boy, what a milk run, not an enemy fighter in sight! Then only a few minutes passed before we saw the bombs dropping from the wings far in front. In hardly any time McGinley on

intercom, "bomb bay doors open," moments later, "I.P. two minutes to target," then Rudy in the tail, "flak, two burst, six o'clock level," then McGinley again, "30 seconds to target."



At this moment, over the roar of the engines and in spite of the fact that my steel helmet pressed hard against my earphones, I heard a thunderous explosion, I did not think of it for at the same moment the plane lurched upward, and as automatic as formation flying can be I threw the wheel and stick forward; they were as limp as anybody's dish rag. As I realized that I had no control, the ship flopped into a vertical dive. All engines sounded as if they were running away, the screams of the dive sounded like a mess of wild-cats. I jerked the throttles back, nothing happened; I tried to hit the alarm bell, I couldn't move; the wheel and stick were pushing against me and the speed on the dive had me pasted to the seat like the paper on the wall. Five, six, seven seconds sitting there, helplessly watching the ground come up. What a shock to realize that you had just "had it," not just watching someone else as it had been before. What a ghastly, sickening feeling to have time to realize that you would be dead in a few seconds. Then all thoughts stopped.



I opened my eyes with the sudden realization that I was alive, I couldn't believe it, I had a vivid picture on those last frightening seconds. I took time for the peaceful quiet to impress me and I realized that I was in a car with two Luftwaffe guards, an officer and a driver. My wet clothes, open parachute and half inflated life preserver were under my feet. I was dressed in a strange type fatigue suit and had heavy bandages on my head, I began to feel the severe cuts there. My left ankle was sprained and there were wounds on my legs "What happened, how am I alive. where are the rest of the crew?" It was to be a long time

before I had the answers to all of these questions.



I asked for a cigarette, and the officer obliged. "Are you English?" he asked. "No, American," I said. "Are you a pilot?" "Yes," I answered. "Are you a fighter or a bomber pilot?" he enquired. "I am not allowed to answer that," I said. He inquired farther, "What happened to

your airplane?" "I would like to ask you the same thing, how did I get here?" He smiled as if I was well aware of what had happened, and said, "Some people took you from the sea, you came in your parachute but you have been unconscious for a long time." I can only estimate

that it had been about six hours since I had known any­ thing, as the long twilight of central Europe was now becoming dusky.



That night I was placed in a small clean jail cell. and I could think of nothing but "what happened, how am I alive, and what is the fate of the others?" The next morning as I was being led from my cell there was Rado­sevich; he had been in the same jail. "Rudy," I yelled,

as I grabbed his hand and shook it, "what happened to us?" Mastering the understatement Rudy said, "I was at my tail gun and heard the explosion of flak, I looked toward the front of the ship and there was no front of the ship there, so I opened the escape door and bailed out." I knew then what had happened. The third burst of flak that came up had exploded directly in our ship, cutting it in half. Ironically, chances were one out of many thousands, that such a direct hit would happen.



Later in prison camp, where I was to spend nearly two years, I began to solve the second mystery. "How am I alive?" As other unfortunate crews arrived from my group, they told me of watching us "get it," and of the exceptional pictures of the ship going down in two pieces. The photog­rapher did not catch our bombs dropping that day but he photographed our Lady Liberty in pieces. Many Amer­icans have seen these pictures; they were published nation­

ally in 1944. In talking with eye witnesses and studying these pictures, I am sure now that the speed of the dive caused the ship to disintegrate, throwing me through part of it. Miraculously something caught to my chute, opening it, as also is the case of my half inflated life preserver.



The third mystery, "What happened to the others" stood for a long time. I had learned early that Sgt. Crab­tree's body had been recovered, and at the war's end, Rudy and I knew that we were the only two survivors.



This is my reply to Cousin Mary and Mary Ellen (they were really sisters of Lt. McGinley). The coins were the crew members. The Crabapple tree was Sgt. Crabtree. Little Donald was Lt. McGowan and the New Mexico peach was Rudy.



Stalag Luft III

Sagan, Germany

March 20, 1944 "

_________________________________________________________________________

"Dear Cousin Mary and Mary Ellen:



Your letter arrived this week, the significance was clearly understood. I have had several letters from my Mother asking of the coin collection. The reason I don't know anything of the missing coins, is, if you remember, the last time I handled them I was in sort of a stupor, you

might say I was unconscious all the time. It seemed as if I was just blown through the top of the house and didn't know anything for several hours, but I really don't have any coins here. I was sorry to hear about little Don, I thought" very highly of him. We are still doing about the same, reading, studying, cooking. Life gets pretty dull Sometimes. The trees will be getting green again soon. By the way I knew of the old Crabapple Tree all along, also of the New Mexico peach. Mary don't give up com­pletely on the lost coins, they were the finest of any collection in the world. I hope and pray that spring will bring some sunshine to you and others.



Sincerely my love,

Ralph



THE END "

Ralph died on 29th January 1975



Connections

See how this entry relates to other items in the archive by exploring the connections below.

Units served with

Unofficial emblem, 305th Bomb Group.
  • Unit Hierarchy: Group
  • Air Force: Eighth Air Force
  • Type Category: Bombardment

Aircraft

A B-17 Flying Fortress (WF-O, serial number 42-29807) nicknamed "Lady Liberty" of the 364th Bomb Squadron, 305th Bomb Group. Printed caption on reverse: 'A25722 AC made just a few seconds before the plane was hit by Nazi flak, this photo shows the Fortress "Lady Liberty," flying in formation over occupied Europe. The faces of the bomabrdier and navigator are plainly visible. A waist gunner can also be seen at his post. U.S Air Force Photo.'
  • Aircraft Type: B-17 Flying Fortress
  • Nicknames: Lady liberty; Patsy Ann I
  • Unit: 305th Bomb Group 364th Bomb Squadron

Places

  • Site type: Prisoner of war camp
  • Known as: Stalag Luft III, Sagan, Germany

Events

Event Location Date Description

Other

Prisoner of war

19 August 1943

Born

Revisions

Date
Contributorjmoore43
Changes
Sources

Added punctuation to the "Summary biography" to aid clarity.

Date
ContributorHelen
Changes
Sources

Vol 85 No 3 'Can Do' Notes

Date
ContributorAAM
Changes
Sources

305th Bomb Group Roster / Drawn from the records of the National Museum of the Mighty Eighth Air Force, Savannah, Georgia

Ralph R Miller: Gallery (1 items)