All the Best, George Bush: My Life in Letters and Other Writings

Book by Bush George HW

All the Best, George Bush

UNITED STATES NAVY CHAPTER 1

Love and War

When Japan bombed Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, I was a seventeen-year-old high school senior at Phillips Academy, Andover. I could hardly wait to get out of school and enlist. Six months later, Secretary of War Henry Stimson delivered our commencement address and advised my class to go to college. He predicted it would be a long war, and there would be plenty of time for us to serve. My dad, Prescott Bush, with whom it was not easy to disagree, hoped I would listen to Secretary Stimson and go on to Yale. After the ceremony, Dad asked me if I had changed my mind. I told him no, I was “joining up.” Dad simply nodded his okay. On my eighteenth birthday, June 12, 1942, I enlisted in the Navy’s flight training program as a seaman second class.

My mother kept all the letters I wrote to her and Dad during World War II, so most of these come from her collection. You will find only one letter to a Barbara Pierce of Rye, New York. Barbara lost her “love” letters during one of our many moves after we got married.

This first group of letters was written from Chapel Hill, North Carolina, where I was enrolled in Naval Aviation Pre-Flight School. For some reason I did not date these letters, but I was stationed there from August to October of 1942.



Dear Mum and Dad,

. . . Today I felt better than I have since I’ve been here. It was hot but not unbearable. One fellow fainted at drill just to remind us that it was still hot. It is amazing how our moods change here. So many little things affect us. A cold Coke after drill can do more for one than you can imagine. I have never appreciated little things before. Ice cream, movies, a 15 minute rest, a letter, a compliment to our platoon. All these little things amount to so much in your mind and it is fun. Spirits go way up and way down, but when they’re up you feel so wonderful . . .

I have gotten to know most of the fellows in the platoon. They are a darn good-hearted bunch . . . There are so many different types here. We have a pretty friendly platoon—also good spirit . . .

On our 5 hr. hike tomorrow my heart’ll be with you in the “docks.”1 So drink a sip of water for me. It is our greatest luxury—a swallow of cold water. I think I’m really going to get a lot out of this place. Already we have learned a lot about people & discipline and tired muscles.

Much love,

Pop2



This is a letter to my sister, Nancy, who was two years my junior. I was one of five children: Prescott (whom we called Pres or Pressy), myself, Nancy, Jonathan, and William (nicknamed Bucky), who was only four years old when I joined the Navy.

Dear Nance,

. . . There is not much “news” here. We live by the day—a wholesome life, at times seemingly futile, but looking at it philosophically I wouldn’t change positions with any fellow in civilian life. The Navy itself is great, but what we are here for is even greater, and if at all times I can keep my objective in view I am hopeful of a successful conclusion to this one year course. After having been here just one month my desire to win my wings and become an officer is tremendous. I’m afraid if I fail for any reason my disappointment will be very deep. I am proud to be here, Nance, and as I said before wouldn’t change for the world.

. . . I have to write Bobsie3 now. I miss her more than she knows, Nance. I don’t know why but she seems so perfect a girl—beautiful, gentle, a wonderful sense of humor, so much fun etc. I think of her all the time and would love to see her.

Give her my love especially—

Much love to you and write if you get another minute—so long,

Pop



Dear Mum and Dad,

. . . The only thing wrong with this place is, they don’t realize the average intelligence. They hand out so much crude propaganda here. It is really sickening—Many of the men here realize it—also the intelligent officers. Stuff like “Kill the Japs—hate—murder” and a lot of stuff like “you are the cream of American youth.” Some fellows swallow it all. These are the fellows many whom are below average intelligence, 2 of my roommates, for example, get a big kick out of hearing it. Maybe it is good. All the well educated fellows know what they are fighting for—why they are here and don’t need to be “brainwashed” into anything . . .

Much love,

Pop



Dear Mum,

Well the war strikes home, as it were, doesn’t it—c.c. with the very sad news of George Mead.4 I didn’t know him very well, but from all sides all you could hear was praise. He died the way all of us would like to die when our time comes—Mum, it’s a very funny thing. I have no fear of death now. Maybe it’s because I am here safely on the ground that I say this. I do not think I will change. All heroics aside, I feel, and every fellow here I’m sure feels, that the only part of the whole thing of any worry would be the sorrow it might cause to our families. I cannot express myself as clearly as I see it in my own mind. Once in the air death may strike at any time, but I shall not fear it. Perhaps with this fleet it will be different—God grant it won’t! . . .

Much, much love,

Pop



Dear Mum,

Well today sure was wonderful.

. . . I met Barbara at the Inn at 12. She took a cab over from Raleigh. She looked too cute for words—really beautiful. We had a sandwich in town and then walked. I showed her the plant and then we walked over to Keenan Stadium. When we started it was clear, but once there it poured—just buckets. We got some protection from the canvas covered press box, but couldn’t leave there. . . . Not thrilling but such fun just seeing her. We laughed at everything. I had formation at six so we went back to the Inn. She took a bus for Raleigh where she is staying overnight with a girl from school. She was so swell to come way over here. I sure am glad you said “grand idea” to Mrs. Pierce.5 . . .

Much love to all,

Pop



This next group of letters was written from Wold-Chamberlain Naval Air Station, Minneapolis, where I was based from November 1942 to February 1943. It was here that I finally began to learn how to fly.

Dear Mum,

Well today was the big day—in fact one of the biggest thrills of my life, I imagine. We marched down to the #1 hanger and they read out the names for the first hop. I was in. I went down, got my gear, and then consulted the board. Plane P-18 1st hop—2nd hop Plane P-18 check pilot Boyle. I immediately went around trying to find out what kind of a check Boyle is. All I got was “pretty tough”. This was quite disheartening. I then went out and warmed up the ship waiting for Ens. Crume (CRUME pronounced croom)6 to arrive. . . . The fog was pretty thick but they let us go up. Crume came and we were off. I did it all myself and everything went O.K. However, I was so nervous, that in the beginning my legs were shivering around. Once in the air I was completely cool much to my surprise. We did some emergencies and landings and then came in. I gave him one poor landing so I wasn’t sure about my “up”, but when we got out he told me “O.K.” Then for the real check. Ens. Boyle came out. Once in the plane we didn’t say a word. I taxied out, revved up the engine, locked the tailwheel, adjusted my goggles & seat, checked the instruments & the tower, swung into the wind and we were off. For about one turn of the field I was pretty nervous. First he signaled (wouldn’t talk) to make 2 landings (When I speak of landings I mean “touch and go” except for this final one before the plane stops rolling, gun her and take off again.) The first landing was swell—the 2nd rather rough. We then dove into the fog and went off and did 2 1,000-foot emergencies. (That is he cuts the gas, and I have to establish a glide, get going into the wind to land on a field which I select—we don’t actually land, just go down to about 75 feet) Once I picked out a good field but the other time I’m afraid it’d have been a pretty rough procedure if I had had to land. He then indicated to head back to the field—For a minute I was lost—couldn’t see the field through the mist, but luckily I located it. I did 2 more landings and taxied in. My nervousness, which had subsided after the first takeoff, came on again. As he climbed out I looked for the verdict. “Did you get an up from your instructor,” he said. “O.K.—then take it up yourself,” and off he walked. There I was alone in the plane: I gave the “thumbs up” to the plane captain, he removed the chocks and I was off. I wasn’t shaky on the controls, and was completely confident for some reason. I had to taxi way down between rows of army bombers to get to my take off point. My solo was just “2 landings”—that’s your first solo assignment. Off I zoomed—climbed to 300 ft at 65 knots; level off—pass under the traffic circle. Nobody was there saying all this, this time yet I did it—The needle seemed to stay right at 500—whereas with the instructors I’d drop or gain. Everything seemed so free and easy and really wonderful. My landings weren’t good—I bounced and didn’t cut quite soon enough, but I didn’t worry as I have before. This was the thing that made it so much fun. I turned back in and it was over—just as quickly as it had come. I felt good though—Mum, It was the first time I have climbed out of the plane without worrying or having a touch of discouragement. Yes, tonight I am very happy.

When we leave here we want to specify the type of flying we want to do. I have been considering the Marines (I’d be commissioned 2nd Lt. instead of Ensign) The reason is they fly a lot in attack bombers—fly low and strafe as well as bomb. They clear the way for advancing troops. This or long range bombing appeals to me more than anything else, and from all I can gather, the Marines do more of it than the Navy. I have 2 months before I choose anyway, and besides you don’t always get your choice. I’ll let you know what I decide as soon as I know more about flying and find out what I’d be best in . . .

Well, Mum, I better go back and get some sleep—Much love to all,

Pop



Dear Mum,

. . . Thanksgiving comes tomorrow. I guess that I will hardly notice it here—that is outwardly as we can’t leave the base and just get 1 hr. off, but it won’t just be a regular day Mum. We all do have something to be thankful for, even though the days are darker than when we could all be together. I guess I’m the most thanks-giving fellow here, because even though I’m a couple of thousand miles off I’m lucky, Mum—Lucky for you and Dad and all the family and so many other things. I thought when I was away at school I understood it all, but being away in the Navy for this long and with so many different types of fellows has made me see more clearly still how much I do have to be thankful for. . . .

Much love, Mum dear

Pop



Dear Mum,

Gosh it was wonderful hearing your voice today—It was swell of you to call. I got the message just after I came back from church. . . .

It was interesting to see a lot of these fellows, today. Some tough ones, some common, other grand fellows. We all are up to our beds for a few minutes after church, and most of the fellows were quiet—thinking of other Thanksgiving days. For many it was the first time away and it was a bit strange. It will always be strange to me, to be away on a day like this, at least until I have my own home. It’s days like this that makes me anxious to be out fighting—though I know I can never become a killer, I will never feel right until I have actually fought. Being physically able and young enough I belong out at the front and the sooner there, the better. The job seems so tremendous, yet it must end and when it does and we have won perhaps days like this will once again be symbolic of happiness and freedom and the ironic note added by a brutal war will be far removed. . . .

Much love,

Pop



Dear Dad and Mum,

. . . Yesterday a friend of mine cracked up. His motor cut on him and all landing sites were poor. He managed to get it fairly well down but then he nosed over, flipped onto his back, and was hanging by his safety belt—about 1 ft. from the ground (his head). The tail was wiped right off the plane. Luckily he unhooked his belt and could slip out O.K. Poor Ed. He hasn’t been doing too well anyway and this may be just what he doesn’t need. The motors are apt to cut on cold days—Once I started looking for a field but the thing got going O.K. again . . .

Barbara knitted me a pair of socks which she claims don’t look at all like socks but she’s sending them anyway. Maybe I can make a neck protector out of ’em if they are too big. . . .

Much love,

Pop



Dear Mum and Dad,

Well my first Xmas away is over and gone, but I don’t believe I’ll ever forget it. I missed you all very much, yet I wasn’t homesick. Your lovely presents are wonderful. I’ve got the bracelet on and it’ll never be taken off permanently until I’m back for good.7 It’s beautiful, Mum, and it means an awful lot to me. The goggles I wore today and they are wonderful. I’m surprised you could get such grand ones. They are just what I needed—good protection by that rubber and it holds my face mask firmly in place and also they don’t hurt across the nose. The bathrobe is swell, too. Thank you so much—oh yes, the stocking too—I only hope that we’ll never think we’re too old for them . . .

. . . My Xmas take was good. $25 from Gampy, and numerous socks and the like. Got a big box of food from the Pierces and Barbara is sending me soon what I asked for; namely a decent picture of her . . .

As always, 

Pop



Occasionally in my letters home I would include diagrams to illustrate what I was learning. This is a typical example:

Dear Mum,

Well the sky is clear today and it looks like I’ll get my hop in . . .

My inverted spins were really pretty good fun. You are really thrown outward with terrific force and if it weren’t for the belt you’d fly through space. I also had immelman’s and falling leaf.8 An immelman’s starts off like a loop. Dive to pick up your 125 knots, pull back to upside down—now here’s the difference—instead of coming on around you do a slow roll from the upside down position and fly on out:



They are about the hardest but are also good fun. . . .

Pop



Please keep in mind as you read this letter that I was a very innocent eighteen-year-old, and it was 1942. Things were very different way back then. Having said that, I do not think it would be a bad thing if more e...