Charley Wilson, fairm guy, loved getting his dirty back in Iowa, doesn't remember how he got to Tucson, but here he landed, so to speak.
They built B-17s here for a while, he got so fascinated with what became the largest airplane he ever saw, he wanted to fly in one, so, he dropped his wrench, got to know one of the test pilots, bought a few drinks at the local airport bar and hitched a test ride. He was a short five feet, 2 inches tell, ideal for a ball turret gunner position.
The rest as he puts it was history. Wilson enlisted in 41, asked the Army Air Corps if they had a spot on one of the 17's for him and they asked why he was so hot for a seat.
" Cause I built them," he replied. They figured since he was that close to the rivets, it would be a good fit for the plane, him, the pilot and crew, let alone the country.
12 weeks of training later, Texas, Wichita and back east, he found his crew and airplane, Sassy Lady, headed out over the pond towards Ireland, first stop. None of the ten man crew had ever been on that side of the Atlantic, so Ireland and their base in England was a hell of an adjustment.
Refueled in Ireland, land in East Anglia, England, settle in with the bomb squadron, in a week, they began their European raids Wilson had to survive 30 missions to earn the right to go home. He survived being shot down twice and escaped capture. Wounded twice by flak and aircraft gunfire, and once, the only crew to survive other than the pilot who landed his airplane with only one engine working out of 4.
Charley Wilson was lucky. He had one chance in three of completing the required 30 missions and he did it. Lucky for a ball turret gunner.
He died at the age of 91 in a car crash last weekend. Killed by a drunk driver. One of our heroes, killed by Bourbon.
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