(This article first appeared at lehighvalleylive.com)
June 20, 1943 was a gorgeous day in the short hills of South Dakota. It was a Sunday, Father’s Day.
The temperature would climb to 80 degrees with a low of 62.
“It was pretty nice, beautiful weather,” said Matt Bunker of the National Weather Service in Rapid City.
“That’s a beautiful June day around here.”
With a friendly climate and no cloud cover, nine military men were aboard their B-17 as it lifted from the airstrip at Rapid City Army Air Base at 11:40 a.m.
They were conducting a typical training maneuver, preparing to fire at targets below in a desolate area known as the Badlands about 25 miles south of Rapid City. This crew was nearing the end of its training in South Dakota, preparing to shove off for an unknown assignment in the European theater as World War II was nearing its peak.
The flight crew is officially listed as: 1Lt. Robert R. Owens, pilot; 2Lt. Frederick W. Buckley Jr., co-pilot; 2Lt. Yale Kweskin, navigator; 2Lt. Martin Gelbert, bombardier; SSgt. Francis P. Owens, engineer; SSgt. Thomas E. Strauser, radio operator; Sgt. John C. Koslowski, assistant engineer; Sgt. Raymond Spencer, assistant radio operator; SSgt. Robert C. Bailey, gunner.
It was their last mission.
Killed at 21
If one thing is for sure about the story of U.S. Army Staff Sgt. Francis Patrick Owens and his comrades, it’s that it was never been told to the Greatest Generation.
It’s a story worth telling.
Francis Owens is my uncle. Since he’s been gone nearly 70 years, you might think I should say he was my uncle. But since I only recently came to know his real story, I prefer to keep it in the present tense.
If you lived an entire life and “uncle” was the closest relationship you had to another person — besides mom and dad, brother and sister — would that be all right?
Of course it would.
If you signed up for military service and were killed in an ill-fated domestic training flight during World War II, would anyone remember you? If you die when you’re 21 years old, in an event that didn’t make official history books or wasn’t a script for a Hollywood movie, will anyone care more than 80 years later?
Francis Patrick Owens was 21 years old when he died in a military plane crash near Rapid City, S.D., on June 20, 1943, Father’s Day.
Francis was the youngest of three brothers and a sister who lived in the Manayunk section of Philadelphia, Depression-era children who were part of the hardscrabble poor in rented homes in the gritty, poverty-stricken canal town in the shadow of the great St. John the Baptist Catholic Church. They knew the value of life and the importance of faith and freedom — as difficult as that may have seemed — held together by a strong, beloved mother, Marie (Kelly) Owens. In addition to Francis, his two brothers and his sister’s husband all served honorably in World War II and lived to raise families in Philadelphia and vicinity.
The legacy of Francis was left behind in the wreckage of South Dakota, a place so far away from his loved ones it might as well have been Russia.
For 60-plus years, Francis was the uncle we never knew and the tragedy few of us understood.
‘Return to sender’
The last letter Marie Owens sent to her youngest son Fran, or Buddy as they called him, was postmarked June 19, 1943. He was killed the next day.
The letter, returned to Marie, was stamped “Return to sender” along with a handwritten note “accidentally killed.”
In the letter to her youngest son, Marie describes the sleeping patterns of Buddy’s new-born nephew and his brother, Thomas, returning to military camp. She also confirms that someone from the neighborhood had indeed been killed, presumably in a military exercise.
Like any mother, Marie did her best to correspond frequently with her military son. Her baby returned the favor.
On June 9, 11 days before his death, Buddy wrote that a pending trip to Seattle had been scratched due to poor weather but was set to go the next day.
“I hope the weather is OK tomorrow. It rained here again today. It really is very monotonous. I’d like to see a nice June day again.”
Francis had some free time between maneuvers and was able to share some good humor, along with his pal “Roy.”
“Roy and I were just reading our letters aloud,” Francis wrote to his mother. “Some people write the funniest things. One of the letters I got had ‘There is nothing new or indifferent at home.’ That’s really murdering something or other.”
Francis may have wanted to provide his mom a chuckle, but he also knew she was worrying, which he addresses in a letter dated May 24, less than four weeks before his death.
“Mom, you may be reading about some plane ‘accidents’ lately. Well,
don’t worry about me. There is no such word as ‘accident.’ Any crack ups are due to carelessness, and that’s one thing my pilot will not tolerate. My pilot is one of the best in the business, and ever since I’ve been flying with him, I’ve always taken off with confidence. When I lose my confidence in him, then I’ll quit flying. So don’t ever worry about me in the air.”
He signed off, as he did in more than one letter, “Love to all, Bud.”
‘I know it hurts …’
Marie Owens wanted to know just how her baby boy could have been killed when he wasn’t overseas or staring down the enemy. Family recollections are that she was notified of his death by telegram and later charged oldest son John with claiming his remains upon the return of Francis, a graduate of St. John the Baptist High school in the Manayunk section of Philadelphia. She declined a military funeral, which she later may have regretted, but did not back down in trying to learn what happened to her son. She was 46 years old, holding her family together with a shoestring, and was not ready to accept this horrifying, inexplicable tragedy.
She asked questions. She wrote letters to military bosses. She quizzed family and friends connected to the military. She didn’t get any answers, at least none that would help resolve her agony.
Her efforts are reflected in a letter responding to her from Fran’s military friend, a man who signed his letter “Roy.” She obviously had asked him to provide details of her son’s death.
In a six-page letter on USO stationary, dated July 26, 1943, he wrote: “Yes, Mrs. Owens, I know it hurts when people talk to you about Fran, but please don’t take it so hard.”
“Mrs. Owens, in this letter, I may hurt you, but God knows I don’t want to.”
“It’s what you asked me about the accident. Honest, Mrs. Owens, I
can’t tell you. If I were home, I could tell you, but I just can’t write it on paper. The Army is a funny thing. I don’t quite understand it myself.
I wanted to be fair with you because you are just like my own mother.
I even went to the priest and asked him. He said that if the War Department did not tell you, it would be best that I did not write about it to you. He said that it would be a serious offense. I asked him to pray for Fran and remember him in all the prayers.”
“You may think I’m being cruel, but honest I’m not. I will say that I think it happened very quick and he never knew what happened. That’s about all I can tell you, Mrs. Owens, and I will say that your son was a good Catholic and went to church every Sunday. I know this because we went together. God will take care of him, so try not to worry too much.”
Roy’s last name is not included. He is sweet in his letter to Fran’s mother and probably honest in the claim that the two attended Mass together, but his assertion that Fran did not know what happened is contrary to some of the evidence.
Internal explosion
A man named Anthony J. Mireles has published a book that is of great value to so many, not the least of whom are the survivors of Francis P. Owens and his crew.
It is a huge volume entitled, “Fatal Army Air Forces aviation accidents in the United States 1941-45.”
As Fran hinted in his letter to his mother, scores of service people were killed in these incidents.
Mireles is among the few who knows what happened to Francis and his crewmates. He responded to an e-mail about the fatal flight of June 20, 1943.
“The following summary is based on information contained in the official Army Air Forces Form No. 14 Aircraft Accident Report –Microfilm Call# 46216, June 20, 1943, Accident# 16,” Mireles wrote. “This was a pretty bad accident, probably caused by the ignition of improperly vented
gasoline fumes in the wing panel. The airplane had been modified with additional internal tankage in the wings at a modification center at some time after leaving the factory. It was essentially a brand-new airplane at the time of the accident.”
Marie Kelly would have loved Anthony Mirales and the work he has done. She demanded details. More than a half-century later, he helps provide them.
6-20-43. Rapid City, South Dakota.
At approximately 1230 MWT, a Boeing B-17F (42-30445) broke up in flight and crashed south of the AAF gunnery range 25 miles south of Rapid City Army Air Base, Rapid City, South Dakota, killing nine crew members.
The airplane had taken off from Rapid City Army Air Base at 1140 MWT on an aerial gunnery mission.
The airplane was standing by in the gunnery range traffic pattern waiting its
turn to fire at a towed target when it was seen on fire and breaking up in flight by witnesses on the ground. The B-17 fuselage broke in half at the radio room compartment near the starboard wing. Pieces of the starboard wing, various fire blackened wreckage and bodies were found strewn over an area of one-quarter mile wide by one mile long on the edge of an area called Red Shirt Table.
The body of the bombardier was found one and one-half miles SSE of the main wreckage some 56 hours after the accident. Apparently, the bombardier was attempting to parachute to safety; he died of a severe head injury and was seen floating to earth in his fully deployed parachute.
The body of the ball turret gunner was found in the smashed wreckage of the ball turret.
Investigation of the wreckage revealed that the airplane suffered a catastrophic internal explosion of “gasoline and air” in the starboard wing at an altitude of 3,500 feet above ground level. The damage and subsequent fire caused the airplane to break up and crash. Investigators noted that the B-17 was the “fastest overseas type of B-17F” that had been modified with extra wing fuel tanks at the modification center at Cheyenne, Wyoming.
“The airplane and crew were part of the 541st Bombardment Squadron, 383rd Bombardment Group, Second Air Force, United States Army Air Forces,” Mireles said. “As the engineer on board this aircraft, SSgt. Owens was likely the upper turret gunner as well.”
‘Man-made, mechanical’
The information from Mireles provides a few answers, particularly as they pertain to the questions raised by Marie.
Among the conclusions that can be made from the information provided:
- The modifications made in Wyoming were faulty. Someone screwed up. Mirales noted that the plane had just about rolled off the assembly line but had undergone “modifications” in Cheyenne. The National Weather Service confirmed that it was a glorious day, so weather was not a factor. And witnesses on the ground report the low-flying plane bursting into flames. This disaster can be strictly described as “man-made, mechanical.”
- The letter from “Roy” backs up what Marie probably found out on her own. The Army wanted nothing about this to get out, for at least two reasons. First, it would be harmful for the enemy to know that warplanes contained fuel tanks in the wings. That would have been classified information. Second, verification of a fire on board would have confirmed that someone among the higher-ups made major mistakes in modifying this plane. They sent these fellows into the air in a ticking bomb.
- Lastly, sweet Roy is probably wrong that Francis never knew what hit him. The crew almost certainly knew its plane was blowing up. The best proof is the soldier who managed to leap from the aircraft and deploy his parachute. He didn’t make it, but he had enough time to know he needed to abandon ship.
Unsuccessful parachute jump
News articles from the Evening Bulletin in Philadelphia had some details.
“The body of the last crew member of a nine-man bomber crew that crashed in the heart of the South Dakota Badlands area Sunday afternoon was found late Tuesday, ending a two-day search throughout the area, Major Ellis E. Eno, commanding officer of the Rapid City Army base, announced Wednesday.
He was Lt. Martin Gelbert, Spencertown, N.Y., who apparently made an unsuccessful parachute jump from the plane just before it crashed into the fantastic formations of the scenic playground area.
The body was found by aerial searchers. The parachute was open, but it is believed that the plane was too close to the ground when he leaped, possibly the only man to emerge from the ship before it struck the ground. The body was about a mile and one-half from the wreckage, civilian searchers said, and in a particularly inaccessible spot.
The other eight bodies were brought into Rapid City and identified with difficulty. Late Sunday, all day Monday and most of Tuesday airplanes and soldiers, plus many natives of the Red Shirt Table district of the Badlands scoured the rough country by horses, pack mules, Army vehicles and on foot in a search for the missing airman, whose parachute was seen in the air by witnesses of the crash.”
The dead in addition to Lt. Gelbert were:
- First Lt. Robert R. Owens, RFD, North Wilbraham, Mass.
- Sec. Lt. Frederick W. Buckley, Jr., Beatrice, Neb.
- Sec. Lt. Yale Kweskin, Stamford, Conn.
- Staff Sgt. Francis P. Owens, Philadelphia, Pa.
- Staff Sgt. Robert C. Bailey, Folsom, Calif.
- Staff Sgt. John C. Koslowski, Shenandoah, Pa.
- Sgt. Thomas E. Strauser, Darby, Pa.
- Sgt. Raymond Spencer, Gaffney S.C.
Pilot Lt. Robert Owens shared the same last name but was of no known relation to Buddy Owens. This group of men don’t show up when you Google them.
Memorial for crew
Francis was “compact” or on the smaller side, but you didn’t get along in a rough-and-tumble Irish neighborhood with boyish good looks.
Inscribed on the back of a photograph of Francis: “Can’t say much about this fellow. He hits them and they drop. That’s our Francis.”
High praise in a hand-to-mouth environment.
Cousin “Herb” Herbert remembers it differently.
He’s likely the only person alive who knew Francis, who Herb knew as “Buddy.”
But even Herb was very young when Francis was killed.
“What I know about him is that he was a gunner on a bomber plane during WWII,” Herb said. “He was rather short and compact in build and those were the type of guys they wanted on the bombers, because of the close gunner quarters.”
First-hand accounts of Francis are scarce. Herb’s late sister, Claire, deceased only a few years, was the best in Owens family history. Claire and others in the older generation would joke that the Owens family, like so many others in the harsh economy, moved from place to place in Manayunk because they needed to “beat the rent.” It wasn’t really a joke.
They have addresses listed on Cresson, Markle and Dexter streets, all within a few years in the 1930s and ’40s.
Marie’s granddaughter Mary Clare, niece of Francis, had plenty of documentation about our uncle, and that proved valuable too. But Herb is the only one left who knew Francis Owens.
“As I was growing up, Francis, who was also known as ‘Buddy Owens’ was very kind to me, even though I was a lot younger. He was a very happy person, well-liked by everyone in the family.”
“To my knowledge, he had not been overseas. Their crew was still in training, which I believe was in the Dakotas. I think I heard someone speak one time that he may have been training in the area of Mt. Rushmore at the time of the crash.”
Herb was right. His entire memory of Francis was correct. It was more than anyone in the extended family really knew about the demise of Francis Owens.
He also remembers that years later a memorial near Rapid City was erected in memory of these men. Family members were notified, but likely did not attend a dedication. These fallen veterans are remembered on a monument at the base.
Another reason to go to Mount Rushmore.
No one knew
John, Thomas and Marie “Sis” Owens — the siblings of Francis — all raised families. The brothers lived into the 1970s, Sis more than a decade later, predeceased by her husband Herbie Novak, another veteran and a very special man who helped keep the family together.
Marie’s grandchildren remember them all fondly, but just about none knew what happened to Francis.
“Our father, like your father, Joe, was very closed mouthed about anything having to do with Uncle Francis, or history of the family. You’re right when you say that Uncle Francis’ story needs to be told.”
–Karen, John’s daughter, niece of Francis
“I know Grandmom (Marie) was somewhat devastated, and I believe she may have written to the Army for an explanation of what happened. I seem to recall a letter from a higher-up trying to explain what happened. My most vivid memory of the connection between Grandmom and Uncle Francis is when Grandmom was watching Kennedy’s funeral on TV (yes, Joe, we actually had a TV back then!). She was sitting on the sofa crying and when we asked her what was wrong, she said the funeral reminded her of Uncle Francis. She said they wanted to have a military funeral for him but she didn’t want it.”
— Mary Clare, Sis’s daughter, niece of Francis
“Dad (John) never talked about his ‘history.’ The little I knew, I got from Mom. She mostly talked about how devastating it was for Grandmom (Marie). When Dad got his draft notice, Grandmom was so upset that she talked Dad into appealing his notice. He was totally humiliated when he went before the draft board and was drafted anyway. It’s such a shame that Dad didn’t want to talk about any of his war experiences. He participated in D-Day on a destroyer but would never talk about it.”
— Pat, John’s daughter, niece of Francis
“There’s one incident I recall that was triggered by the memory of Uncle Francis. I came home from St. Joe’s (college) one afternoon in my Air Force ROTC uniform and said hi to Grandmom (Marie) who was in her bedroom. As we were talking, she got filled up and I asked her what was wrong. She avoided the question, saying, ‘nothing, just tired.’ I told my mom about it later and she reminded me that Uncle Francis was her ‘baby’ and that she probably saw him in me behind the uniform. (remember – Grandmom always liked me best!!!) After that, I tried to avoid her when I had to wear it – fortunately for only one year while I was there.”
— Michael, Sis’s son, nephew of Francis
“I only ever knew Dad’s brother was killed in a plane crash during the war. As the youngest, they never tell you anything. Francis was the youngest, like me. Somehow, I thought his death happened in the Carolinas. That’s how much I knew. I heard from someone — maybe my mother — that grandmom was notified by telegram of the death of Francis, and that my own father, while he was serving in Europe, sent his mother a telegram to wish her a happy birthday. She was devastated when she got it, fearing it was news of Dad’s death.”
— Joe (that’s me), son of Thomas, nephew of Francis
When all you have left after 80 years is nieces and nephews you never knew, does anyone care?
Now they know about Francis Owens, American hero.
And they can finally find him on Google.
Same for his crewmates. They have stories, too.
(Joseph P. Owens is editor and general manager at The Dialog newspaper and thedialog.org. Email him at jowens@thedialog.org)
