My mother’s maiden name was Betty Mitchell, or maybe I should give her equal billing and designate her Betty Mitchell I.  My loving, supportive, constantly-giving parents are both gone now but they left an indelible mark in this world.

I was born in Harvey, Illinois, where I attended Whittier Grade School and Thornton Township High School.  The Pearl Harbor attack (December 7, 1941) occurred during my senior year in high school.

WWII, COLLEGE, NAVY (1942-1947)
In March, 1943, while a freshman at DePauw University, I enlisted in the Navy Air Corp, received my “Greetings” letter on my eighteenth birthday (June 5, 1943) ordering me to report for active duty on July 1st.  And for the next 27 months I trained to be a fighter pilot: single engine, aerobatics, tail-first landings.  Stationed at Greencastle, IN, Wooster, OH, Iowa City, IA, Ottumwa, IA, and Pensacola, FL, flew N2S Stearmans and SNJ Texans.

I was two weeks from being a commissioned 2nd Lieutenant in the Marine Air Corp, scheduled to fly an F8F off a carrier, when World War II ended.  Given the choice of staying with the Navy permanently or getting out immediately, I opted for civilian life.  My memories of living through wartime are still stark and it saddens me that each generation has to learn for itself that there’s no glory in war, only horror.  For winners and losers alike.  There’s got to be a better way.

From Pensacola to Great Lakes, Illinois, I went—on a creaky old train—where I was officially separated from the United States Navy in October, 1945.  After five weeks of hitch-hiking around the MidWest to celebrate with my buddies who were also coming home, I returned to complete my Bachelor of Arts requirements at DePauw.  Got my degree in June, 1947, majoring in Music and English.

My older brother George left the Service at the same time.  He’d been an Army Air Corp pilot, flying B-29s in the Pacific Theatre.  And, by the time my younger brother Phil was old enough to enlist, the war against Germany and Japan was over.

I spent my last semester at DePauw living in quarters built specifically for married students, for on a snowy day in February, 1947, I had married a pretty young girl I’d known in high school, Mary Hobbs by name.  Mary and I cap-and-gowned together at DePauw and then started out into adult life together.  No money, no jobs, merely boundless youth and optimism for the future.