Teaching History Matters

I’m doing okay up here on my hill in northern New York State. I was planning on stepping on an airplane in a few weeks to Germany, to record the monument being unveiled in honor of American soldier liberators in front of dozens of Holocaust survivors and 2nd Generation survivors and liberators, but we will get to that in due time… I miss my wife of 30 years right now, who is looking after her dad in Texas at the moment, but two of my college age children are at home with me riding it out… I write, work in my woodshop, take care of the 64 acres and animals we have.

I think a key for all of us is to take things day-by-day, to keep the mind and body active, and to look after others. But also remember to take time for yourself if you find yourself overwhelmed or getting anxious.
Turn off the TV and social media feeds.
Go for a walk.
Be open to new sights and sounds, ones that perhaps were always there.
Make a list of your blessings.
Call a loved one.
Write a letter.
Create some art.
Try to notice the simpler things and how they keep keeping on.
Listen to the birds.
Appreciate the quiet.
Talk to a neighbor.
Open a new book.

I’m offering my second book in The Things Our Fathers Saw series for FREE from March 25 thru March 29. Be uplifted by a generation of Americans whose young lives were forged in the skies over war-torn Europe, and truly saved the world. Maybe they can inspire you, or someone you know.

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Martin ‘Hap’ Bezon was from Port Henry, New York on Lake Champlain in northern New York. Near here is a statue to Samuel De Champlain, who navigated down the lake from New France (Canada) in 1609, literally in uncharted waters. Martin himself became a navigator, a radar man, in a B-24 Liberator. Martin’s grandparents emigrated from Poland; little did he know that he would find himself unexpectedly there during the war, trying to convince advancing Red Army soldiers not to shoot him after he bailed out of his crippled bomber 75 YEARS AGO THIS WEEK. This interview was given at his home in 2012 when he was ninety years old.

We were assigned to the 466th Bomb Group in the 8th Air Force. I went up to headquarters the next day after I got settled down and asked if I could get on a plane and start flying my missions as quick as possible. I said that I’m a qualified navigator and qualified bombardier. I’m a qualified air-to-air gunner and I said that I would sure like to start ’em up. They said that they can’t do it, that there was ‘too much money spent on you radar guys’—that there was a lot of expense to train one of us. Then the officer said, ‘Are you that anxious to start your missions?’
I said, ‘Yes, I am.’
He said, ‘The next group to us—the 467th—has a crew that is waiting for a radar man. Do you want to transfer?’
I said, ‘Yes, I do.’
That was the first time Broadway and I split. I went over to the 467th and got on with [pilot] Bill Chapman and his crew and flew my missions with Chapman. We flew together until our 18th or 19th mission, when we got shot down.

Our last mission was on March 18, 1945. It seems like our worst mission was on a Sunday. They gave fresh eggs, so we knew it was going to be a rough one. If it wasn’t going to be a rough mission, you usually get powdered eggs for breakfast.
We went outside after the briefing. There was a Catholic priest there. He’s there at every briefing—not at the briefing but outside waiting. We would come out, and a lot of us Catholic boys would kneel down and some received communion. He gave us the blessing, then we all jumped in the wagons and went out to our planes. The target was Berlin. By the looks on their faces, a couple of guys kind of almost knew it was going to be a bad one.
Going over was good; navigation was super—we were leading the squadron at that time. We were coming up on the bomb run. We had a little plane that attacked us for a while and then the flak started greeting us; up ahead we could see it. The sky was black with flak. You can’t swerve [or take evasive action]. You’ve got to go right through it.
We got right into it. I had my bomb bay doors open. I was ready to turn it over and get the bombs off. We got an explosion; I thought it was inside the plane, it was so loud. Directly underneath the plane we had taken a direct hit. We had fires in the bomb bays. Up where the pilot was, there was some kind of white-hot metal that landed. The co-pilot stamped on it. It burned right down through the ship, and a hole was left behind.
The pilot and co-pilot had bucket seats made out of heavy steel. The rest of us had safety vests that sometimes stop the flak. There was fire where I was, around my legs. I turned around and grabbed the extinguisher; the plane went into a dive, and of course, it was hard to maneuver. It forced me down on the deck. I finally got the fire extinguisher and stood up and started to put the fire out. I got the fire pretty well out and looked around; my navigator wasn’t helping me. I noticed he was lying down and his eyes were very grey. His brains were hanging down the side of his head. All I could think of is that they looked like frog eggs. I went over and picked up the brains with my hands. They were warm yet. I didn’t know what to do. Hell, he’s dead. So, I spread some sulfa on it and went up to the pilot. [The engineer was supposed to be] in the bomb bay just below me where I could [normally] tap him on the head. I looked down. He was gone. I could see a piece of his clothes and stuff on the side of the plane; he was shot off when it hit. He just dropped out of the plane without a parachute.
The nose was burning pretty good. They got that fire out with the wind that was coming through the nose; it put that fire out. The waist wasn’t hurt too much. Nobody got hurt back there. The steel seat the pilot was sitting in was hit so hard that [he had a minor injury on] his backside, but nothing serious at all.

We were blown into a dive, and to this day, I don’t know how we could have managed to pull out of that dive, because the number one and number two engines were shot out altogether. The number three engine was only pulling half power and was running at around twenty; number four was the only good engine, and he was pushing it to the limit, about sixty-two, sixty-three. If we had flown another hour, that engine would have blown up. There must have been terrific pressure. They pulled it out of the dive.
We were also still carrying a full load of bombs in to the target. Because the explosion tangled up the releases and everything so bad, they asked me to go back in the waist into the bomb bays. I took my parachute off. It was only a six-inch walkway; there was nothing underneath me but a six-inch catwalk. I had a big screwdriver and I put all the weight that I dared to put on it to try to open the releases and drop the bombs.
I unhooked the arming wire. The arming wire goes from the nose of the plane up to the little place you hook on, and down to the point where it’s going to the arming pin. When the bombs hit with the nose, the arming pin drives it in and makes the explosion. I unhooked that wire so they wouldn’t go off when they dropped. I fixed the ignition and all of that so they wouldn’t explode, and shut a cotter key in it so there’s no way they could slip forward. So if the plane did land, [hopefully] none of the bombs would explode.
We were over the middle of Berlin. I remember when we pulled out of the dive, I put my parachute on. Of course, the navigator [who had been killed], his parachute was okay. Mine had a hole in it; it was just burnt a little bit but I knew I couldn’t use it. So, I took his and remember saying, ‘Thanks, pal. Thanks, Van.’
I’m up talking to the other navigator and the bombardier. I was kneeling right between them. I tell the pilot that Van [DR navigator] is gone and George Fuller [engineer] is gone. I contacted the waist. The waist was okay. I said, ‘The waists are all okay.’ So I said that we had two killed in action. I told him where we were, and I gave him a heading to pull and said, ‘Take it 90 degrees for the time being.’

I went and set up and used my drift meter and all of that, and I gave him a corrected heading more south because that’s the closest the Russians were to us, to the German boundary line, or rather the frontlines. As we were heading there, the plane stayed level but she kept losing altitude. So, it was only a matter of time before we would have to bail out, and there was no way we could land it because everything was shot up on the flight deck—the controls and everything. How he kept it level, I don’t know.
We got over the lines and we started getting strafed by a German plane; he had one landing gear down, I remember, the other one was up. He made a pass and turned around to get another pass at us. Then, three Russian Yaks came in. The German flew away and they circled us a couple of times, and then they came in and started strafing us to knock us down!
The emblem was American on the plane, but I don’t think they could tell [from the angle]. After years went by, I think they must have seen the bomb bay doors open and saw the bombs in it, so probably figured maybe we were on a bombing mission. However, that day we were bombing Berlin, three American ships were knocked down by Russians. So, the Russians did it every once in a while. Of course, a couple of Americans knocked down a couple of theirs, too.
They started strafing us, and Chapman asked me to give the waist gunners the signal to bail because the radio system between the waist and the flight deck was out. So, I had some object there that I heaved at the doors, so they opened up the door going into the waist and I patted my parachute and said, ‘Go!’ He nodded okay.
We got ready. I went over and touched my dead navigator again and went out and sat down by the bomb bay. I climbed down the bomb bay and sat on the walkway there—that six-inch beam. I sat with my feet dangling out. I never jumped out of a plane before. I waited for the co-pilot to come close to me, that way we’d be close enough that when we landed, we’d find each other quick.
The waist gunner, Twyford, jumped first. I bailed out and put my head between my legs and rolled out and fell far enough to make sure that I wouldn’t be around the plane. I pulled the rip cord and nothing happened, and I started clawing at the thing and then finally it popped open—there’s an auxiliary parachute in there. It’s under spring tension and that popped a little parachute out; that auxiliary chute is fitted into your main chute, and it pops out first and drives the main chute out. All I remember was an awful jar.
As I was going down, I see the three Russian planes come down again. One picked on the pilot. One picked me, one was on the waist gunner. He started strafing me while I was falling, and I waved my hands at him and everything, and he’s coming right at me. I saw him and thought, ‘Lord, what am I going to do?’ What you should do if you are far enough from the ground, you pull the cord on one side and it collapses the chute right away, and you freefall and just let it go and you get away before you hit the ground.
I chose to play dead. I waited until he went around, and he came back around and he’s heading square at me. I see the guns going off. I slumped down, put my hands along my side, and hung my head down to my chest. He circled me two or three times then flew off.
Then I heard popping and looked on the ground, and I could see it looked like a hundred people on the ground shooting at us! I heard the bullets, maybe two or three went through the canopy. I [later] cut that piece out to take it home, but somebody on the ship coming home stole it from me. I was not hit.
We were dropping down, and as I looked down there was a sharp-peaked house coming up right in front of me. I moved over a little bit with the shroud line. Down along the side of the house, there’s a little cavity in the ground, like some kind of excavation, I would say maybe three feet deep. I landed right in there, and, of course, it cut the wind, so my chute collapsed there and didn’t have to be dragged along or anything.
I see the emblem on their hats and uniform that they’re Russians, so I started yelling. My mother and father came from Krakow, Poland, back in 1911, so as we were growing up we had to learn Polish, because that’s the only way we spoke. I knew enough of Polish to say, ‘I beg you, do not shoot, I am an American.’ I said, ‘I have some papers, easy, easy!’ [Speaks in Polish]
I reached in. We had these papers. They were small—you fold it, you take them out and open it, it’s a big poster. It had a picture of Stalin and a picture of Roosevelt on it, and underneath them it says ‘Komrades,’ then it had a lot of Russian writing underneath it saying that we’re American and all of that.
A couple of Russians started saying, ‘Americans, Americans!’ Then a big, black ‘Cadillac’ lookalike limo came along and had three officers in it. I could see that they were high-ranking officers, and they were told we’re Americans. One reached down, took my hand, and pulled me up out of there. That was the first time I had a sigh of relief.
They found Wallace almost immediately. I told the Russians that the guys falling out of the sky, they’re all Americans. So, they sent word around to make sure that they’re all right. They were able to find my navigator. His body was burned up but they found he was all in one piece.
Chapman collapsed his chute, then free-fell and opened it up again. When he hit the ground, they put him in a truck, and some Russian on a horse came up to him with a pistol and put it to his head and pulled the trigger three times, but the gun wouldn’t go off. Then the truck pulled away; he could see the guy working on his pistol. He finally fixed it, but the truck was too far away so he didn’t chase it.
So, Wallace and me and Twyford, they brought us to this building. They had some interrogators there. They asked me first; I told them I spoke some Polish. They brought a woman over to act as an interpreter, but I couldn’t understand her and she couldn’t understand me. They then brought in a fella by the name of Walter. He was a big, gangly guy and the type of guy that you see that you like him. We spoke to each other just like talking to my mother or father. He told the Russians that he knows what he is seeing.
They asked through the interpreter what were we bombing. Of course, generally you don’t give information to the enemies except the name and serial number. But in this case, the newspapers would be blasting that, I think it was, 2,000 planes would hit Berlin that day in an all-out effort.
I told him we were bombing Berlin. He said, ‘Good, good. How many planes?’
Again, I knew the newspapers would give the amount of planes. I said, ‘2,000.’
They were pleased with that. He said, ‘How come you didn’t shoot us down when the Russians were strafing you?’
I didn’t tell him all our guns were all knocked out and that we couldn’t shoot any of the guns. I said, ‘We knew you were Russians so we didn’t want to shoot back.’ I had to lie a little bit.
Then they brought out a bottle of some kind of white liquor. He said, ‘Have a drink.’
I said, ‘Yeah, I need one.’ So, they gave me a little shot. Then some woman there said to put some water in it.
The Russian said, ‘No, he can drink it.’ I drank it and, boy, was it strong! It went down and I felt better after I warmed up. The waist gunner [drank his] and almost went down to his knees. They put us up, and the next day got the rest of the crew together. There were two more missing but we were going to meet them at the end of the day. They said we were going to bury the navigator. They found him and they found my log. I was hoping that they’d give it to me. It was partially burnt but you could still read it.
They picked us up in two trucks. One of these flat-bottom trucks with green cloth or something over the bottom had a casket on the front. There were two Russians in the front and two in the back with rifles riding with them. The other truck had three seat benches. We sat on that and rode backwards.
We went up to a cemetery in Landsberg and they had a ceremony there. They said something in Russian. They asked me through my interpreter if one of us wanted to say something. I told Chapman they wanted to know if anyone wanted to say the last few words. Chapman said, ‘Yeah, I would.’ He gave a nice talk about Van Tress being a good navigator. He had been just married for one month; he married an English girl. He was a wonderful man, not only a great navigator.
He ended up having a great big tombstone there. They came to see me and asked me what I wanted on it. I put ‘Harold B. Van Tress, born 1923/Killed in action today March 18, 1945/bombing mission Berlin’—they had that all inscribed overnight, they had it on there. That was a big stone that stood up there at least four or five feet. I asked the girl taking the photograph of everything if she would send me or give me a photograph. She said she’d try, but I never got it.

Van Tress had a son born. He was married for a month. Chapman and I tried to talk him out of it, to wait until the war was over. He married this girl he was wild about. Then he died.
After we got shot down and then came back to base, there were a couple of guys who came over from some other base and wanted to talk to me about Van. His mother asked them to go see me because Van slept right next to me. I gave them a whole bunch of pictures of Van and his new wife and all of that. So, they took them with them. The last time I talked to Twyford, he said he heard from Mrs. Van Tress. Her son’s wife and his son are coming over. So, he would be her grandchild.
I could never find the co-pilot, Wallace. He sent me a letter in 1947. He was taking engineering up in college. He let me know that he and his wife Betty are good and he hoped that I go to college too. I wrote him a letter back and then we kind of let time slip by a little bit. One time heading out to Las Vegas I landed in St. Louis, where I last knew he lived. We had about a three-hour layover and I called up his home. The people who were living there then never remembered him. My son found around ten Wallaces around the area. I called three but none of them were there. The next night I called three more, so I gave it up. I even put an inquiry in American Legion Magazine and the VFW Magazine to see if anybody knew his whereabouts; called the 2nd Air Division Association, which I belonged to, and they tried to find him and they couldn’t.
All the rest of the men are gone. Chapman was the last one. I used to call Chapman several times. We talked to each other quite a bit. I know the first time I sent him a Christmas card, he sent one back. He wrote, ‘Please, if you ever come down and see me, don’t ever talk to my wife about what we did in the service.’ [Laughs] He lived in Alabama. He became quite wealthy. He had a crew of men out—carpentry work, anything. He worked the whole of Alabama and even part of Florida doing construction or anything he’d want or excavating or whatever. He owned a local Howard Johnson franchise and he owned a big share of the local bank. He had a loan company and a motel. He said, ‘If you ever come down, I don’t want you paying for any meals or rooms. You come here; I’ve got a place, and I am looking forward to seeing you.’ We tried a couple of times, but something happened. He wasn’t feeling good or I wasn’t feeling good or something.
I called him up. Every Christmas Day I’d call him up after twelve noon; I’d just call him up and have a talk. The last time I called just a few years ago—it can’t be over five years ago—his wife answered. Of course, down there they don’t use your first name. They just go by your last name.
She said, ‘Who is this?’
I said, ‘That Polish Yankee from upstate New York.’
She said, ‘Oh, Bezon! Just a minute. I’ll see if Bill can get on the phone.’ I said to myself, ‘Oh, sounds like he is not good.’
He got on and he said, ‘Martin, you don’t know what this means to me when you call.’ I think it bothered him what happened the time that I was [reprimanded] and got chewed out, and I think it might have bothered him quite a bit later in life.
I said, ‘What’s the matter with you, Bill?’
He said, ‘I just had open-heart surgery and I’m recuperating.’ And then he had something wrong with his leg.
I said, ‘Geez, Bill, we’ve got to get together at least once.’
He said, ‘Boy, we’ve got to!’
I got worried about him. A few days later I called up again.
I said, ‘I just want to know how Bill’s doing.’
His wife said, ‘I am sorry to tell you, he died last night.’
So then Twyford died, and that was the last of them.
Anderson was on the police force and died from a heart attack. Yarcusko was out in California laying rugs and he died. So they’re all gone, and I stay here.

Marty Bezon passed away at the age of 90 in April 2012, only three weeks after this interview took place.

Get the full book here.– it’s Vol. II. Don’t forget it is FREE Wed thru Sunday. AND FEEL FREE TO DROP ME A LINE at Matthew AT TeachingHistoryMatters.com or in the comments about anything you might want to talk about! We’ll get through this!