More information on the jacket and pilot.
Sorry it's so long folks, but I thought it would be some great information to post. Come to find out, this man participated in D-day! A long read, but well worth it. It was sent to me this morning by a friend of Red's who flew with him as well. This was obtained firsthand from Red. Simply amazing if you ask me.
Sorry it's so long folks, but I thought it would be some great information to post. Come to find out, this man participated in D-day! A long read, but well worth it. It was sent to me this morning by a friend of Red's who flew with him as well. This was obtained firsthand from Red. Simply amazing if you ask me.
A Blue D-Day for the Bluenosers
By Marc Hamel
We have all experienced or heard about the sacrifices made by Allied forces in the crusade to free Europe. However, D-Day has a significant meaning to the men who served with the 352nd Fighter Group. An incident occurred that pre-dawn morning which lives deep in the memory of all of those witnessing it.
The 352nd FG (under 8th Fighter Command) arrived in England approximately 11 months prior to D-Day and became operational September 9, 1943. In the ensuing months, the Group made quite a name for itself under the leadership of such officers as Col. Joe Mason, Lt. Col. Ev Stewart, Lt. Col. Luther Richmond, and Lt. Col. J.C. Meyer.
First flying escort missions in the rugged and well-armed P-47 Thunderbolt, the Group began transitioning to the P-51B/C Mustang when the 486th received the first seven on March 1, 1944. Properly exploiting the ship's strong suits, the 352nd began tallying big scores over the Continent. By early June, names such as Stephen 'Andy' Andrew, Don Bryan, Frank Cutler, Ed Heller, Carl Luksic, J.C. Meyer, Virgil Meroney, Glenn Moran, George Preddy, and Jack Thornell were on the list of 8th FC 'aces'. Against this background, frantic preparations for D-Day operations began the night of June 5, 1944.
486th Squadron pilot Carleton 'Bud' Fuhrman recalls, "We all knew it was coming, but just when we were not sure. The first indication we had was when we returned from our last mission prior to June 6th. As soon as we had parked our planes, the crews were busily painting the black and white stripes that would identify Allied aircraft. These were later to become known as 'Invasion Stripes'. The crew chiefs were quick to inform us that the next time we flew these planes, it would be D-Day.
“About 7:00 in the evening of June 5th, some of the pilots were standing around the bar in the Officer's Club. Colonel Joe Mason came in and said, “Boys, you had better get to bed, because you will need your sleep before the night is over”' We left immediately, went to our quarters, and then to bed. I had barely dropped off to sleep when an orderly came around and announced that all pilots were to report for breakfast at 2200 hours, with briefing at midnight.
“At the briefing we found out that the long awaited invasion of the Continent was beginning, and that we would be taking off at 0230 in the morning. I went to my airplane to make sure everything was as I wanted. The instrument panel lights were adjusted to the proper level, the altimeter was set, and all switches were placed in the proper position. After that there was little to do but stand around in the dark so our eyes would have maximum night vision. When we first went to our planes, the moon was trying to shine, but by takeoff time it had clouded over completely. It was very dark. Even a drop or two of rain fell to add to the gloom.
“At the prescribed time we all started our engines and the Mustangs started to move out to takeoff position. It was your job to know which airplane your Flight Leader would be flying, and join in on the rest of the flight as they came taxiing by. This could only be accomplished by knowing the exact place your Flight Leader's set of navigation lights would be coming from, as in the dark nothing else could be distinguished.
“As our airfield was a sod field and had no runways, a string of lights had been laid across the field to guide our takeoff path. We were taking off in our normal formation of four airplanes abreast, were scheduled to be the second flight off, and were using the Southwest to Northeast takeoff direction.
“The first flight taking off hit the string of bulbs and put them out. Now it was our turn. I was flying Number Four position, which is the far right of our four plane formation. The next plane over to the left was piloted by Lt. Robert 'Bob' Frascotti, who was my element leader and flew the Number Three position. Donald 'Red' Whinnem was to Frascotti's left, with our Flight Leader Corcoran on the far left."
Unknown to the rest of the Corcoran's flight that morning, Charles 'Griff' Griffiths in his Mustang ‘MARJ’ had inadvertently lined up to Fuhrman's right in the blackness. 'Griff' relates, "The fighter planes resembled fire flies of varying colors and size as I taxied in to my assigned takeoff position. The field was quite inadequately lighted for takeoffs at night on a sod surface."
Fuhrman continues, "As the string of lights were out, my Flight Leader, Captain Martin 'Corky' Corcoran lined up on what he thought was the correct heading. Almost as one, we all advanced our throttles to full power and began our takeoff run. As we were approaching flying speed, my plane hit a bump and bounced into the air. At first I was going to let it back down on the ground a little longer to gain more speed. Then I heard a voice in my mind that almost shouted, 'Keep it up! Don't let it down! Keep it up!' For some reason I responded to this voice, and was flying along watching the lights of Frascotti's airplane just to my lower left. Suddenly this enormous fireball appeared almost in front of me. I saw two streaks of fire spread out and I thought someone had dropped his wing tanks and they had exploded (one hundred and fifty gallons of high-octane would make a big explosion). There was no time to dodge or do anything but fly through the flames. Thank Heaven, that good old Rolls-Royce Merlin engine never missed a beat. When I came out from the other side of the blaze, I could see nothing but darkness, momentarily blinded. I pulled back on the control stick as hard as I dared to gain altitude. The plane shuddered to warn of a stall, and I hoped I could see my instruments before I got too far out of control. It seemed like a long time, but in fact it could only have been 5 or 6 seconds, and I started to make out my instruments and gained control of my flight path.”
'Red' Whinnem (best friends with Bob Frascotti since Flight School) adds, "I lined up and began my takeoff with Corky. My friend Bob was off to my right, but was a little behind me as we lifted off. I saw a blur go by to my right but didn't know what it was. I didn't actually see the fireball that Bud did as I was beyond it at the time, but thought that maybe the Germans were bombing us. As it turns out, that blur I saw was the tower that I just barely slipped over with my wing. I continued on with the mission not really knowing what had happened. I didn't know the full story until I returned."
'Griff' on the far right had a similar experience. "I advanced my throttle and propeller settings to their full-power position while at the same time jockeying to maintain an acceptable position in the flight. The plane was heavy with fuel and ammunition, and seemed to want to cling to the earth. One more second passed, and then the sky, earth, and my tiny position amongst them was illuminated as though it were midday. I applied war-emergency boost to the throttle, and the fighter shuddered while still on the ground. I felt the fighter leave the ground, settle back and quiver again before finally staggering into the air just as it struck the posts of the volley ball court."
Fuhrman continues, "By the time I spotted the lights of the rest of my flight they were just disappearing into the low clouds and I could not join them. I turned off course a few degrees and climbed through the overcast. I was quickly on top of the clouds and the sight I saw was almost overwhelming; it was as if I had come on a vast highway in the sky, all the lights of airplanes headed for the invasion area. I turned and headed off to our patrol area and did not see any more of our airplanes. Later another set of lights appeared and we chased each other around in circles like a couple of fireflies. A voice said over the R/T, “Is that you Fuhrman?” I recognized it as Lt. Gremaux, and said ‘yes’ to his question. I don’t know how he guessed it was me in the dark. We stayed together in our patrol area as long as we had fuel and then returned to our base at about 08:00 in the morning."
In the gloom and pre-dawn darkness, Robert 'Bob' Frascotti had collided with Bodney's ‘new’ control tower, then under construction. The first flight off had lined up correctly as the string of lights still shone across the grass turf. Having no reference point, the second flight had erred to the right, directly into obstructions. As Griffiths recalls, "I did not realize that the leader of my flight was aligning the fighters thirty degrees to the right of the assigned takeoff direction." In visiting the field at Bodney today, it is easy to realize how a pilot could make this mistake while turning through some 130 degrees in the dark.”
The flames from Frascotti's collision served as a beacon to guide the remaining 352nd FG aircraft into the air safely that morning.
Leonard “Jim” Gremaux took off in the first flight that morning, and saw this beacon from an aerial perspective. “We were to fly top cover over the Cherbourg Peninsula. We were the first flight away from the field, and it was dark and overcast. When Frascotti hit the tower, the flash from the field blinded me momentarily. I continued circling left like we were taught, and here comes this other group circling right, which scared the hell out of me. So I put the nose into the clouds, and ended up separated from my flight. I went on to the area we were supposed to patrol. After a while I see this plane come in and he breaks into me, so I broke into him. It turned out to be Fuhrman, so we joined up as a two-man team. We flew out over that huge fleet that day, and I never saw so many boats in my life. Later, on the way North towards home we flew under the overcast over London between several wires. Back at base when I told somebody this, they laughed and said the barrage balloons were up in the clouds. We had flown between the wires, but didn’t hit any.”
Fuhrman elaborates, “Our return flight took us up along the west side of the Cherbourg peninsula, and we could see the immense fleet of the invasion force now that it was daylight. It was sight to see. After we got to England we started to descend but there were layers of clouds down there. We went through this layer and came out over the edge of London. There were barrage balloons everywhere with their cables hanging down . We spent a few minutes doing some fancy dodging to miss everything. We got through it okay, and found our way back to Bodney. It sure was a wild morning.”
"Punchy" Powell relates his experience over in the 328th Squadron, "As the 486th Squadron lined up to takeoff, the 328th pilots were preparing for our own first mission in our Ready Room, located on the rise just a few hundred feet behind the new tower. The atmosphere was deadly serious as we were being briefed for our takeoff scheduled a short time later. Our Flight Surgeon, Dr. Kenneth Lemon, had just finished saying, 'I have orders to keep you flying until the invasion beaches are secure even if it means giving you stimulants to keep you going.' It promised to be a long day, and it was. .
Suddenly there was a tremendous explosion and a lightning-like flash quickly followed by the sounds of machine-gun fire. Our immediate reaction went from panic to realization. Horrible questions pierced our minds along with the sounds. Several pilots hit the floor as they recognized the sound of machine-gun fire. Some few ran out the door. Some went through the windows to get outside. Momentarily, not knowing what was happening, near panic resulted. One of the young pilots foolishly grabbed a fire extinguisher and ran out the door to fight the blaze which could now be seen through the open doorway. With the .50 caliber ammo from the burning fighter exploding, he only put himself in greater harm's way. There was nothing he could do to quench the roaring fire."
Ground officer Richard 'Dick' DeBruin writes, "We went to the 328th FS operations area about midnight to observe preparations on the flight line. As the first takeoff time approached, we stood on top of an air raid shelter embankment. We were close to the new tower (which was nearing completion) and the volley ball net. Soon we heard the first flight of four aircraft roaring down the field. The second flight of four then followed. To our surprise we could see a plane coming towards us. Sensing danger, we dove off the embankment and hugged the ground, as a P-51 flew directly into the control tower and exploded. Another Mustang passed right over us and flew through the volley ball net. With ammunition exploding from the destroyed plane, we ran for shelter behind the 328th FS Operations building."
'Red' Whinnem recently allowed, "When I returned to Bodney and they told me what had happened to Bob, I went over to the Parachute Room in one of our Nissens and had a cry for myself. Willie O. (Major Willie Otto Jackson, 486th FS C.O.) came and found me and told me that he understood what I was going through. He said that I was posted for the next mission that day, but that he would scratch me so I would not have to fly. I told him no, that I wanted to get back and fly and keep going or I probably wouldn't again. I think I flew three missions that day, and there were lots of missions for that whole week. Everyone was really good to me."
On return to Bodney after his mission, Fuhrman continues, "It was then that I learned that the fireball was caused when Bob Frascotti had flown into the new control tower being built and had exploded. We were almost 30 degrees too far to the right of the desired takeoff course. We also found out that in the confusion of getting into takeoff position, five airplanes instead of four had taken off in one formation. The fifth airplane was piloted by Lt. Griffiths.
There was a volleyball court near and to one side of the control tower, and one of the volleyball court posts had been knocked down by the passage of one of our airplanes. On examination of our airplanes we discovered it had been Lt. Griffiths' airplane which had hit the post as there were fragments of wood in the rim of one of the wheels of his airplane. My airplane showed scorch marks from my passage through the flames. The closeness of the volleyball court to the control tower meant that I too had been very close to hitting the tower along with Frascotti. I still believe to this day that the voice saved my life, and that I passed just above the tower."
Griffiths adds, "The field was clearly lit after Frascotti's collision, as the fire maintained a brilliant glow. The remaining fighters took off with ample lighting and rendezvoused before proceeding to Normandy."
Powell sums up Frascotti's sacrifice with, "Sometime after the crash, as the 328th pilots took to the air and their pre-assigned positions in the wall of aircraft screening the invasion beaches from the Luftwaffe, their P-51s roared into the night by the still-burning flames of Frascotti's 'Umbriago.' It was D-Day, and thousands of brave, young foot-soldiers were wading ashore on the beaches. Our mission was to insure that the Luftwaffe would not reach the invaders. The virtual wall of fighters south of the beachheads indeed provided an impossible barrier for the German planes. Many of the 352nd FG pilots flew three missions totaling some sixteen hours. Dr. Lemon was right. It was a long day!"
‘Punchy’ Powell, then a young Lieutenant, adds, "On my way to escape through a window in the panic after Frascotti’s plane exploded, I stepped on the neck of Major Harold “Hal” Lund who had wisely sought the safety of the floor. Gingerly rubbing his neck the following day, Major Lund asked who that S.O.B. was that stepped on him. No one spoke up. Some forty years later however, when I was searching for 352nd veterans and found the retired Major Lund living in California, I finally admitted that it was I who had bruised the Major's neck in the panic of that fateful night that Bob Frascotti became our first D-Day casualty and we were extremely fortunate the other planes avoided crashing.
Charles Frascotti remembers his brother, "Bob was a very outgoing person who loved people and life. He was fun, and enjoyed clowning around and joking with everyone. He grew up in our very close knit and patriotic family (Dad served in France in WW I where he was gassed). Bob was also very popular with his peers, having been elected to President of his high school class for four years running, and was a superior athlete. I would say that he was he probably was the typical fighter pilot."
'Red' Whinnem recalls, "Bob was the nicest guy you would ever want to know, and a great athlete as well. He could stir up laughter anywhere he went, and was great fun to be with. Bob would sing a song or tell a story and cheer everyone up. You couldn't ask for a better friend, and he was closer than a brother to me."
Every year since the war, and until his death, "Red" traveled on Memorial Day to Bob's grave in Milford, Massachusetts to pay his respects and remember.
