Born to Sam and Bertha Sampson of Buffalo Center, Iowa on a small family farm of about 60 acres. He was the seventh child of ten, born on February 5th, 1921. Like many American farm-families he was birthed in the house, as were his brothers and sisters before and after him.
That same year, Adolf Hitler became the leader of the NSDAP. Sixteen years prior, the Empire of Japan had defeated the Russians in the Russo-Japanese War...............
By autumn of 1932 the family had moved to a bigger farm and were doing as well as a Depression era farm family could expect. Then his mother Bertha (Brita) died of diphtheria. He was 11 years old and motherless.
Meanwhile, Hitler's NSDAP was a political force that Germany could no longer ignore.
In 1936 his father, Sam (Sven) passed away from blood poisoning. The result of an unfortunate adventure with barbed wire on the family farm. (yes, our national healthcare system was broken then as well) The boy of 15 had to quit school and go to work on the family farm. He finished 9th grade, rolled up his sleeves and pitched in with his brothers and sisters.
The Great Depression was in full rage, Hitler was in complete control of Germany and the Japanese Imperial Military was on the march in China.
By 1940 the bank foreclosed on the family farm and they were on their own to eek out a living working on various neighbor's farms and finding work where they could get it. Yet they still remained a family.
Two years earlier the Third Reich had already annexed Austria, created the Sudeten Crisis and was planning the invasion of Poland.
With the farm gone, work scarce, and war on the horizon, the boy that was born in 1921 just rolled with it all. He had to.
And when America entered WWII in December of 1941, Hitler was deeply transfixed in a sort of euphoric hubris, after successfully invading and occupying France. Adolf had no idea that a military, chock full of boys born in 1921, were coming. And they were coming hard.
This is a story about one of those boys that had become a man.
That man was my Dad.
He passed away on Tuesday, September 14th 2010, after his long battle with prostate cancer.
Join me for a pictured and linked tribute to my father. A Hero Hidden in Plain Sight.
His name was Norman. Like many of his generation, the poverty he was born to was unknown to him. To him, it was just the way life felt. I guess a person can't be bitter about missing something they never had.
Here he is with his best brother and friend Tillman. My best guess is that they were age two and three. Dad's on the right:
As the family grew so did the number of pets. Here's three of the boys with their dogs. From left to right, it's Tillman, Don and Dad. Dad's dog was named Buster:
As you can see, the boys that went to war were just that: Boys.
Like many of the boys shipped off to war, before they went, they found themselves a girl. In Norm's case he found Anita and that's why you're reading this diary now. Meet my Mom:
Nice swimwear, huh? Apparently Dad thought so.
Inducted into the Army in August of 1942, here's a picture of my Dad the day he boarded the train. He told me that everything he owned, all of his worldly possessions, were in that one bag. In his right hand? His travel orders.
I've often thought about the look on his face in this picture. It appears to some as a look of uncertainty. It could have just been that the sun was in his eyes. I like to imagine that someone asked him how he felt about entering the service as the photo was taken. This was a look I knew well. One that said "what are ya gonna do?" He was like that. He just rolled with what life sent his way.
Now, with a 9th grade education and the U.S. military knowing that it was getting a crop of men just like this, it was found necessary that aptitude tests be given. After a battery of tests, to his surprise, my father was called out and shipped to Radio School. 18 weeks of training in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. With that completed it was off to gunnery training in Las Vegas, Nevada.
Radio School and gunnery training? What could he possibly be training for? Regardless, it was a safe bet that there would be combat involved. And sure enough, there was combat. Man, was there combat!
Once 9th Grade Graduate, now Staff Sergeant Norman Sampson, was headed for the Army Air Corps. The 8th Army Air Corps, 303rd Bomber Group to be specific.
Staff SGT. Norman Sampson:
After training was completed his group was deployed. What lay ahead were 25 missions over Nazi Germany in the ball turret of a B-17. The Flying Fortress.
Do you see that little glass ball on the belly of the aircraft? That was my father's battle station. Bad place to be in an air battle. 25 missions lay ahead. Many of which were unescorted after a few hundred miles and completely unescorted over the target and on the return flight to base.
On or about Norm's 5th mission, the crew of ten ran into bad weather. Their target was obscured by cloud cover and they were forced to circle until they were cleared to drop their payload. As anyone knows, this circling? Well, it takes fuel. And sure enough, on the way back, they were desperately low. They had a choice: Fly to Switzerland and spend the duration of the war skiing and chasing girls or try to make it back to England. The navigator suggested the practical solution of Switzerland. The captain and pilot of the crew decided it would be England. Well........ almost. They made it to the English Channel and with engines sputtering, into the drink they went. My Dad and his crew were pulled out by local fisherman that had been commissioned by the English government to assist in rescues. His crew went on to complete their 25 missions over Germany. Missions that included the infamous "Black Thursday" run.
From the Wikipedia link:
Factories in and around Schweinfurt accounted for a significant amount of German ball-bearing production. The Kugelfischer plant produced 22 percent, and the Vereinigte Kugellagerfabriken I & II produced 20 percent, and another one percent came from the Fichtel & Sachs factory.
After the German ball bearing "bottleneck" had been identified in 1942 and ball bearings had been named the second-most-vital Pointblank industry for the Combined Bomber Offensive in March 1943, Schweinfurt's ball bearing plants were selected for a second air raid after being bombed during the August Schweinfurt–Regensburg mission.
Although each of the three bomber divisions was to be escorted by a one Group with multiple squadrons of P-47 Thunderbolt fighter planes, one P-47 group was sidetracked to escort a squadron of 29 B-24s that switched to a diversion mission to Emden because of the bad weather forecast. In addition, the bomber formations were spread out and vulnerable because of bad weather. The Luftwaffe military intelligence officers had suspected a deep penetration air raid because of the substantial raid traffic. Jagdgeschwader 3 intercepted the bombers as they crossed the coast, but P-47s succeeded in shooting down just seven Bf 109s while losing the one P-47. Over the Netherlands JG 1 and 26 made repeated attacks. The 305th Bomb Group lost 13 of its 16 B-17s in minutes. The B-17s were attacked after bombing by fighters that had refueled and rearmed (JG 11 downed 18 B-17s).
The 77 B-17s shot down were mostly brought down by 88 mm cannon flak, and only 33 B-17s returned to their bases undamaged. Of 2,900 crewmen, about 650 men did not return (65 survived as prisoners-of-war), while five killed-in-action and 43 wounded were in the damaged aircraft that returned (594 were listed as missing-in-action).
With his missions completed, Dad was shipped back stateside to finish his hitch in the service. He was sent to Florida where he trained new inductees in Radio Operation. My father was called by his country in what I consider to be America's last war of necessity. He answered that call with valor and courage as did three of his brothers. All of which emerged without a scratch. Absolutely astounding!
During his service he was awarded the following medals and citations:
Bronze Star, Good Conduct Medal, Air Medal w/ 3 Bronze Clusters, Distinguished Flying Cross, and a Goldfish Club Patch for his little dip in the English Channel.
A service well rendered, in my opinion.
After the war my Dad did what most returning veterans did, he got married and started a family. By 1951 Norm and Anita had two daughters, Connie and Norma Jean. Nine years later, along came a son. Me. Joseph. After I came along, my Dad worked at two jobs that I am aware of, both of which I have fond memories. The first was a a local foundry. To this day the smell of iron-ore makes me think of my Pop. His second and final job was that of a custodian for our city's school district.
He never spoke much about his service until his later years. After he and Mom had move to Missouri, a gentleman by the name of Brian D. O'Neill was writing a book documenting the B-17 in the European Theater. He contacted my father and all of the surviving members of his crew and put together a fascinating book about the 8th Army Air Corps and the 303rd Bomber Group, specifically my Dad's crew. The book, Half a Wing, Three Engines and a Prayer (B-17s Over Germany) really opened a whole new world for my Dad.
It also gained him quite a little fan-base down in Springfield. Here's a couple of photos of my Dad at the local air show taken by his good friend and dare I say it, fan, Richard Freehoffer:
I have two very distinct memories of my father. The first being that of standing next to my father as he sat on the front step of our little two bedroom, one bath home in the heat and humidity of a summer day.- I couldn't have been more than 3 or 4 at the time - and we lived on a street that wasn't paved, but was tarred and sanded every year. Well, the city had just tarred the street and the pungent aroma of the oil lingered. My father was giving me a lesson in street crossing. He said: "you have to remember to look both ways before you cross, otherwise a car could hit you. And then I would lose the best little friend I have." To this day and every day forward, when I smell oil or tar I think of that most intimate moment and smile.
The second memory is that of his being a custodian. It didn't matter to his son one bit. I had the best seats in the house for all the local basketball games and I was allowed to play basketball with all the other custodian's kids after the Friday night games. Wow! On the big wooden gym floor, with real game balls and glass backboards. It was quite the treat for any 10 year old.
One particular game, my father was walking shoulder to shoulder with the other janitors on duty, sweeping the gym floor during halftime. There was my father in front of all those people. Man, was I proud. I didn't know anything about his military service, it was just that he was my Dad. I jumped out of the stands, ran to his side and walked beside him in front of nearly 1500 people. My Dad looked at me, smiling that smile that could light a room when conjured, and continued his job. I remember the crowd laughing in a "isn't that sweet?" kind of way and my father tossing the hair of his toe-headed boy. With all those tall basketball players looking on, to me, my Dad was the tallest man in the room.
He still is.
He lived out the rest of his life in his quiet, humble way. He was the guy you see at the grocery store or at your local hardware store. He was the guy you walk past in a restaurant, or in a shopping mall. He was a hero hidden in plain sight. A hero to me for being "Dad". A hero to many for being Norm. He should be a hero to us all for being an American.
I will forever miss him terribly. I know the world is better because of him. I'm sure glad he got thru the war. He finally got thru his last battle and is resting peacefully.
Norman A. Sampson. February 5th, 1921-September 14th, 2010
R.I.P
On a final note, this song hasn't got much in common with my family's structure, but since this will be the first Christmas coming that I will spend without the company of my father, it speaks personally to me.
From Mom, Norma, Connie and me, keep the wine cold, Daddy. We'll see you again, one day. we love you.
Your son,
Joey.
One last thought. I neglected to acknowledge my sister Norma Jean. She devoted her entire summer to personally seeing our father thru to the very end. She was a dedicated child who acted with love and compassion for a father that endured a very long, painful death. She did this not out of a desire for recognition nor to garner favor. She did it because she is the model of a Human Being. Seeing Daddy out of a very tough spot with patience and care, she showed great courage and unyielding love. To you, Norma Jean, I salute you and my love and respect for you increased with every passing day of Dad's ordeal. Once again, you have shown the world that heroes hide in plain sight. People like you are all around us. I consider myself fortunate to have you as a sister and friend.
I remain your little brother, now and always.
Joey.