Jimmy Stewart

by Marc Eliot

  In November, Jimmy was given his first flying assignment. He was ordered to take his squadron on a B-24, a four-engine bomber nicknamed Liberators by the aces of the U.S. Army Eighth Air Force “Liberator” division, to Brazil, for an advanced training mission. Just before he left, Jimmy was given a three-day pass. He flew to Hollywood to visit with Clark Gable, whose wife, Carole Lombard, had been killed the previous January, along with her mother, when her plane crashed shortly after takeoff, following a war bond drive in Las Vegas. Gable was so grief-stricken that he had enlisted in the air force, graduated Officer’s Training School (OTS), and was determined to see action, despite the fact he was forty-one years old. He and Jimmy spent a long night together, one that began at Chasen’s and ended at Gable’s estate, where Jimmy comforted and encouraged Gable, wishing him luck on his upcoming combat assignment, all the while wondering when his own time would come.

  Upon his return to the base, Jimmy flew to Brazil. From there he flew the squadron to Great Britain, to join the more than 350,000 American military men and women already stationed there. Just before boarding, a reporter for the Los Angeles Times caught up with what he described as a “shy and taciturn” Stewart, who apologized but insisted he was “unavailable for an interview.”

  He arrived in Great Britain on November 25, 1942, and was immediately besieged by the British press, which was given full access to the American base. He and every other soldier had been ordered by the army to remain totally cooperative. “I found that infinitely more nerve-racking than the actual duties I understood I was to carry out on bombings. I used every trick in the book to escape them. I had a very kind and understanding senior officer who kept me in the air so much that those intruders came to seem like tiny specks down there on land.”

  A week later, the 445th joined up with the 454rd and 379th at the Allied air base at Tibenham, a small village in Norfolk about a hundred miles northeast of London that was to become the permanent base for Stewart’s squadron. As the commander of a B-24 Liberator, Jimmy believed he was certain to see action, as every one of every four raids over Europe came out of one of these three squadrons.

  Eventually, the British press picked up on his reluctance to serve as the army’s PR person and spun it to their best advantage. Screaming front-page headlines told the British people that, despite their best efforts, Captain Stewart “JUST WANTS TO DO HIS JOB!” This headline quickly reached America and soon, much to his surprise, the British and U.S. papers were flooded with sympathetic letters from civilians asking that Stewart be given a break and left alone. Nonetheless, the army, angered by what it felt was an unnecessarily uncooperative officer, insisted that he and all others continue to meet with and answer questions from the press. Jimmy did as he was told.

  1942 turned into 1943, and still he continued to wait. Nearly a year passed while he performed practice runs and training during the day and listened to the report of distant bombs being dropped on England by the Germans while the Allies drove the Axis land forces from Northern Africa and slowly back to Germany.

  Finally, on December 19, 1943, two years and nearly two weeks after Pearl Harbor, and four years after World War Two had officially begun, Jimmy was assigned to his first actual combat mission. To celebrate the occasion, Captain James Stewart, of Hollywood, was introduced to the London press at the Officers’ Club 8th Air Force Headquarters, against a background of deep leather lounge chairs, chefs, ham and roast-beef sandwiches, and double sherries—surely not the normal fare for either enlisted men or officers. According to the New York Herald Tribune, present among the press were three young British “women reporters.” One, a young woman “in a tweed jacket, gray skirt, mauve scarf and pork-pie hat, leaned close and rolled her gray eyes. ‘Oh Captain,’ she purred. ‘You do look sunburned.’

  “At that point Colonel John Hay Whitney, of the 8th Air Force Public Relations Staff, rose and cleared his throat: ‘It is my pleasure, ladies and gentlemen, to present to you Captain Stewart.’”

  Jimmy, squirming in his seat, crossed and uncrossed his legs several times, said a few words, and then asked for questions. The session ended after virtually every inquiry imaginable was asked, not about the war but about Hollywood. Would he return to pictures, did autograph seekers bother him? What was it like to kiss a movie star?

  None of the navigators, copilots, enlisted gunners, or radio men who would fly on Captain Stewart’s first combat mission had been invited to the affair.

  One day later, on December 20, 1943, Jimmy led the 445th on a blistering all-out attack on the German port cities of Bremen and Kiel. They were met with strong aerial resistance from the German Luftwaffe, and, after several passes, Jimmy led his men on a daring midnight raid as part of a double American offensive against Germany that originated simultaneously from both England and Italy. The cluster of planes from England succeeded in shooting down between about fifty enemy aircraft in what was later described as dozens of “blazing dogfights” that left Bremen in flaming ruin. The Allied forces, in turn, lost twenty-five bombers. A Nazi rocket missed Jimmy’s plane by twenty feet. He could still hear the buzz in his ears as he landed safely back in England early the next morning.

  Stewart’s next mission was set for January 7, 1944. He spent a sleepless night-before rereading the 91st Psalm that his father had given him. The next day he took it along on the squadron’s bombing of Ludwigshafen.

  On the return flight, one of his fliers broke rank. Stewart went on his radio to try to bring him back, an act that violated the mandatory silence for all squadrons actively engaged in combat. Padlock Red Leader to Padlock Green Leader…Padlock Red Leader to Padlock Green Leader… When the other pilot did not get back on course, insisting he was on the right path and the rest of the squadron was off, Stewart signaled the other fliers to fall in line with Padlock Green Leader. “We’re sticking with you,” Jimmy told him over the radio.

  The Luftwaffe picked up their tail from the radio and set about to wipe them out. Twenty-eight miles south of Paris, sixty Messerschmitt and Focke-Wulfs came straight on toward Jimmy’s squadron and launched a vicious attack. The first of Stewart’s men to be shot down was the same pilot who had taken them off course. A badly shaken Stewart, who watched helplessly as the plane fell in a dark downward plume, managed to lead the rest of his men safely back to England.

  On a subsequent assignment, Jimmy’s plane was hit with direct flak, just behind the nosewheel. His ship’s tail shot up in the air and his fuselage cracked open like an egg. He nonetheless managed once again to get back to base safely, crash-landing left onto the runway and leaving aluminum skid marks behind him. No one believed anyone could have survived that landing.

  Including Jimmy. Although he walked away without a scratch, the mission had instilled in him a fear he could not easily shake. The night before another particularly dangerous run, he lapsed into a fit of panic. Unable to sleep, he broke out in cold sweats, believing he would not survive that attack. As he later recalled, “I was really afraid…our group had suffered several casualties even before I knew I was going to have to lead the squadron deep into Germany…I feared the worst. Fear is an insidious and deadly thing. It can warp judgment, freeze reflexes, breed mistakes. And worse, it’s contagious. I felt my own fear and knew that if it wasn’t checked, it could infect my crew members.”

  As 1944 began, Stewart continued to lead missions over occupied France and the German mainland. Reporters had not been able to find out much from or about him once this round of missions had begun. According to the Los Angeles Times, war correspondents had “braved mud and the commanding officer at the Liberator base in pursuit of the elusive Jimmy Stewart, but not one so far has come within sight of him,” although one unidentified wingmate did report on the physical condition of the actor. “If you think he is skinny in the movies, you ought to see him now.”

  In mid-January, he led a bombing raid on Frankfurt, followed in February by raids on Nürnburg and Galze Rigen, Holland. On February 20, he l
ed an attack on Brunswick that took down six German fighter planes. Three of his squadron’s planes were shot down during the dogfight; twenty-seven crewmen reported missing in action; four casualties accounted for.

  On nights he wasn’t engaged in combat, he occasionally played the piano at the Officer’s Club. One who got closer to him than most was a young staff sergeant who went to all the briefings just to listen to Jimmy deliver them. “I watched the way the crews would relate to him. They used to relate to him as a movie star for a while then they’d forget about all that and realize he was one of the boys. He was marvelous to watch.” The sergeant was a young, unknown, wanna-be New York actor by the name of Walter Matthau.

  Jimmy was at the Officer’s Club one night when he received word that he was being promoted to full major, and also that he was going to be one of the leaders of the much-anticipated obliteration-bombing of Berlin.

  On March 22, 1944, Jimmy led the 445th on a mission to take part in the bombing of Berlin. He returned unscathed, only to find out that his days with the 445th had come to an end. Just before he had taken off, news came down that Col. Joseph A. Miller, commander of the 453rd, had been shot down in Frederickshafen, Germany. His replacement, Col. Ramsay Potts, was given a free hand in putting together his squadron, and Jimmy was among the first he took.

  On April 8, Major Stewart received the Air Medal in recognition of the ten successful missions he had flown into Germany.

  On April 12, at his insistence, after being promoted to operations officer for the new 453 Squadron, he was assigned to lead a group of Liberators over Oberpfaffenhofen.

  The night before the mission, he sat alone in the half-empty combat mess. Thirteen crews had failed to return that day. Alone with his thoughts and his fears, he wandered about in his small, cold, blacked-out headquarters, scooping what little coal was available into his iron stove. In the morning, he knew he was going to lead his squadron deep into enemy territory, accompanied for only part of the journey by cover, or protection planes. For the rest of the mission there would be nothing but the bloodred, puke gray, and shit brown color-of-death curtain of firepower that would rain down on his men from the barrel-chested FW-190s that the German fighter pilots were so proud of.

  Jimmy slumped at his desk, wary and afraid, once again certain he would not survive the onslaught.

  Outside, Jimmy could hear an engine growling to a roar, then subsiding into quiet as a night maintenance crew tested it for the upcoming mission.

  “I turned off the desk lamp, and my chair scraped the cement floor as I pushed it back. Walking to the window, I pulled back the blackout curtains and stared into the misty English night. My thoughts raced ahead to morning, all the things I had to do, all the plans I must remember for any emergency. How could I have a clear mind if I were saturated with fear? What was the worst thing that could possibly happen? I asked myself. A flak-hit in the bomb tray? A fire in one of our wing tanks? A feathered propeller on a damaged engine that would bring the enemy fighters swooping in (they always singled out a crippled bomber)? One by one I hauled my worst fears out of the closet, as it were, and tried to face up to them. Was that the best way to conquer them? I wasn’t sure.

  “Closing the curtains, I returned to my desk, snapped on the light and pulled out a notebook. I began writing out a list of emergencies and how I would handle them. Everything I could think of. If our ship is mortally hit, I will try to get the crew out before I bail out—provided it doesn’t blow up first. If I’m shot down and captured, I will reveal nothing but my name, rank and serial number. On and on all the grim possibilities.

  “Finally I finished writing and walked over to my metal cot. The springs creaked protestingly as I sat down. I stared unseeingly across the room. The deep-rooted fear was still there. It wouldn’t go away.

  “I thought of my grandfather, who had fought in the Civil War, and my father, who had served in both the Spanish-American War and in the First World War. ‘Were you afraid?’ I’d asked as a youngster back in Indiana, Pennsylvania, when we talked about Dad’s experiences in France. I could remember the faraway look in his eyes as he nodded. ‘Every man is, son,’ he said softly. ‘Every man is.’ But then he would always add something else. ‘Just remember that you can’t handle fear all by yourself, son. Give it to God. He’ll carry it for you.’

  “Somewhere on a distant farm a cock crowed; dawn would be early. I got up and once more drew back the blackout curtains. The mist had cleared and above the dark trees the sky was sparkling with stars.

  “I had no illusions about the mission that was coming up…I had done all I could. I had faced each fear and handed it over to God. And now, no matter what might happen, I knew that He would be with me. In this world or the next.”

  He was. Jimmy returned safely and on May 3, Major Stewart was personally awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross by the legendary James Doolittle for his leadership in the American air raid on Brunswick in February. The accompanying citation read as follows:

  AWARD OF THE DISTINGUISHED FLYING CROSS TO MAJOR JAMES MAITLAND STEWART, 0-433210, Army Air Forces, United States Army. For extraordinary achievement, while serving as Deputy Leader of a Combat Wing formation on a bombing mission over Germany, 20 February, 1944. Having been briefed for instrument bombing with condition that should visual bombing be possible the deputy leader would assume command, the formation proceeded to the target, meeting heavy enemy fighter opposition. When the target was reached, it became apparent that visual bombing was possible and Major Stewart smoothly assumed the lead position.

  In spite of aggressive fighter attacks and later heavy, accurate antiaircraft fire, he was able to hold the formation together and direct a bombing run over the target in such a manner that the planes following his were able to release their bombs with great accuracy. The courage, leadership and skillful airmanship displayed by Major Stewart were in a large measure responsible for the success of this mission.

  Entered Military service from California.

  By command of Lieutenant General Doolittle

  At Jimmy’s request, no press was allowed to witness the ceremony. Afterward, he arranged to have the Distinguished Flying Cross sent to his father, in Indiana.6

  On June 3, he was promoted to the rank of lieutenant colonel. His first order of business was to brief his squad for what their support role was to be in the historic Allied invasion of occupied France.

  On his next assignment leading bombers into the heart of Berlin, a cadre of Luftwaffe put up a fierce battle that lasted for hours. When he finally returned to the base, Stewart, although physically unharmed, got out of his plane and collapsed to the ground.

  It was to be his last mission.

  Although no official records reported it, according to General Arnold, “they shot [his men up] pretty badly. It wasn’t ever official, but I just told him I didn’t want him to fly any more combat. He didn’t argue about it.”

  His nerves shot, his confidence shattered, Stewart experienced something as close to a nervous breakdown as a soldier gets, a condition commonly referred to as shellshock. He spent several weeks in a hospital suffering from emotional trauma, until his military doctors felt he was well enough to be released.

  For the duration of the war, he remained grounded in Great Britain, conducting briefings while serving as wing operations officer and chief of staff. He never again flew into battle.

  On May 7, 1945, the war in Europe officially ended. The next day, Stewart was awarded the prestigious Croix de Guerre from Lieutenant Gen. Martial Valin, chief of staff for the French Air Force, in a ceremony held in England. Among the American soldiers in attendance was Clark Gable, who, afterward, spent about an hour with Stewart in private, sharing stories about the war. Three days later, General Arnold was promoted to chief of staff of the Second Air Division, and gave Stewart the privileged position of command of the wing. It was an honor, if totally ceremonial, and one that the general felt Stewart had earned. That summer, along with twenty-
eight thousand other American veterans of war stationed in England, he was given an honorable discharge and put aboard the Queen Elizabeth bound for America.

  His adjustment back to civilian life was not easy. He took all due pride in having established himself as a Stewart-Maitland warrior, but had not counted on the bad dreams that kept coming, in the dead of night. Back in the States, he refused to talk about the war to reporters, answer any questions about his own experiences, the missions he flew, or his physical and emotional health. He also informed MGM that he would refuse to play soldiers in combat in any future films they might have planned for him. He also refused to allow the studio to make him the subject of any publicity stories or other promotional devices that in any way mentioned his service in the war. Privately, he told friends that he would never fly again, not as a pilot or, unless absolutely necessary, a passenger.

  All he wanted now, he told Hayward, was to live a normal life. As Jimmy later remembered, from that point on “[Leland] was always trying to get me married. When I got back from the service, he came to me and said, ‘Now look, you’ve been away for five years and the movie business is all changed and God knows what, you don’t know what you’re gonna do—what you ought to do is marry a rich girl and take it easy.’”

  Stewart told a reporter from the Hollywood Citizen-News that he was eager to get back to the business of making motion pictures, but no movies about the war (not that MGM was banging down his door to put him, or any of the other aging actor veterans, on the big screen). “The country’s had enough of them. I want to be in a comedy.”

  It took a year before he finally found one, a nice little laugher about suicide. In the script, hand-delivered to him by Frank Capra, the hero of the film decides to kill himself because he wishes he’d never been born. What could be funnier?