Memories of War
BUTLER TWP — In a spare room of his home, Richard Curry amasses relics from the past.
Mobilized like troops, miniature bombers and fighters are preserved in tabletop cases, where a .50-caliber shell is shown alongside that of a deer rifle, dwarfed in comparison.
Linen handkerchiefs framed on the walls are decorated with Asian drawings, created as gifts by Japanese prisoners once remanded to Curry's care.
Maps and black-and-white photographs, hazy from being enlarged, depict crew members of a B-29 bomber and the Pacific Theater.
A veteran of World War II, Curry's accounts of life as a tail gunner also remain as crisp as his flight jacket, its green fabric still vibrant through the plastic dry cleaners bag on the wall.
"No one was ever more patriotic than I felt I was. I signed up when I was 17 years old, but they wouldn't take me because of my age," said Curry, who consequently rode a bus to California to work in a shipyard while waiting to turn 18.
With patriotism and memories still intact, Curry has used the mementos during presentations at schools. He also has compiled several books.
In addition to "Butler County Heroes of World War II," which documents the experiences of servicemen, Curry has published "World War II Combat Diary," composed largely of his own journals; and "Family Letters from the Greatest Generation," a chronology of letters that describe day-to-day life for Curry, as well as his cousin, David Curry, who was killed in action.
Completing 20 combat missions before the war ended in 1945, Curry has since been torn between patriotism and grieving the loss of his cousin.Like many veterans, Curry maintained a long silence before deciding to talk.Although many factors influence war veterans in their willingness to discuss the past, guilt was the factor that weighed heavily upon Curry, who felt responsible for his cousin's enlistment.Born just nine days after Curry, David had followed Curry's trail to California and then into the military."He was much closer than my brother," Curry said of his late cousin, with whom he enlisted in the U.S. Air Corps under the buddy system."Every grade I was in school, he was with me. We were always together," he said, describing a young man who was popular and artistic, excelling in chorus and theater.Because there were more flight crews available than bombers, two crews were assigned to fly the same airplane. Occupying the same seat on the same bomber that Curry had flown in the previous day, David was killed on his first mission at barely 19 years old."He was in the tail position that I flew the night before, and he was unlucky enough to get hit," Curry recalled, describing the grief that ensued.Shortly after David's plane was shot down in May 1945, Curry wrote a letter home telling of the few details he knew:"(His crew) may have bailed out over the target area, which would have been a death equal to hell, with all of the fires," Curry wrote in a letter home."He may have been able to make it before or beyond the target — which would place him in a prisoner of war status — or (he) may be hiding out, as we've been briefed on such a thing.
"He may have also ditched (landed in water), which would leave him floating on a raft near or on some islands. I haven't given up hope yet and won't until the war ends."It'll be something like 40 days before the War Department declares him dead, but it's more or less a formality, and they won't know any more than we do unless they find him."Although the roster listed David as missing in action three months after the mission, his status would not be known for a year."I didn't know, but it was an empty feeling I had," Curry now says of his cousin's absence."It was a terrible thing, because I didn't know if he was killed or he was a prisoner or what."After a 55-year silence, another of Curry's loved ones — his granddaughter Lauren Dorcy — helped him to open the floodgates.At her teacher's request, the now-18-year-old asked Curry to give a classroom presentation at Butler Catholic School, where Lauren was in the sixth grade."Her face curled up like she was going to cry," Curry recalled about Lauren's reaction when he initially refused the request.
"It was just all the fighting and the flak that was shot at us — and the night missions that the search lights were on us," he said of the difficult memories linked to war."I had nightmares for a long time. I still have some, but they're not as often. ... I used to have them everyday."After finally giving in, Curry realized the talking was a productive pastime.Although Curry was scheduled for a 90-minute presentation, it lasted twice as long after Curry invited the students to interrupt with questions."I just started telling them what Idid. ... They did a lot of interrupting. They were very, very inquisitive. That's why I enjoyed it," he said.As well as inquiring about the times in general, the children asked random questions that ranged from "How big was the plane?" to "What did you do about bowel movements while in flight?" Curry said."He was just so taken back about how interested the kids were," said Curry's daughter, Pam Dorcy of Butler Township, who was somewhat surprised to learn of all her father's experiences as a young soldier."He never talked to us about (the war) much. ... He would answer questions when we would ask him, but it wasn't anything he would volunteer too much. We figured if he wanted to talk about it, he would," she said."I was just shocked," she added. "This is my dad we were talking about. I had no idea he did all those courageous things. I can't imagine being that age and doing what he did."For Curry, his initial program at Butler Catholic led to other talks. He continued to speak at schools for about 10 years, but a recent stroke has slowed him down, he noted."It made me feel better about it: The more I talked about it, the more I came to grips — really — with what happened."Although I went through it, there was nothing more that I could do about it. I just had to realize that's the way it was."But in Curry's case, the writing had preceded the talking. When he retired from Armco in 1983, he began gathering items for the books, now distributed by the Butler County Historical Society.
The first, "Butler County Heroes of World War II," was published in 1995 after interviews with about 20 World War II veterans. The other books came between 2002 and 2004.Simultaneously, the spare room began to resemble a small museum, preserving World War II through photographs and other items that Curry saved or has since collected."It's good therapy, I think," he said."Ihave no regrets about being in the Air Force. I love my country. Ithought it was the thing to do and never gave it another thought. ... I would have forever felt bad that I didn't serve my country. I don't think I could live with myself, really," he said.However proud of his military service, Curry said losing David and the lack of closure surrounding his death continue to plague him.Although remains of some crew members from his B-29 were eventually found and identified, nothing was found of David — not even his dog tags, Curry explained."After the plane was shot down over Tokyo, it had one survivor: Harry Slater," Curry said."After the war was over, he came to visit me for two weeks. He explained as best he could when he jumped out of the plane, his parachute was on fire. He had to beat the fire out with his hands. He was able to pull the rip cord and he landed in a tree on the outskirts of Tokyo," he said. Slater spent the rest of the war as a prisoner.But Slater saw nothing of the plane after jumping — leaving Curry's questions about his cousin unanswered."I still think about him every day. Not a day passes that I don't think about him," he said.Curry said the remains found near the crash site are buried in a national cemetery in St. Louis, Missouri. It is assumed that David's remains are among those buried.
