John MacCarley
Age: 86
Born: June 1, 1925
Hometown: Philadelphia
Residence: Palm Desert
Military branch: U.S. Army Air Corps; 8th Air Force; 1st Air Division; 379th Bomb Group; 525th Bomb Squadron.
Served: June 1943 - September 1945
Rank: Captain
Family: Lifetime partner Barbara Crabtree; four children, Mark MacCarley of Glendale, Art MacCarley of San Luis Obispo, Kurt MacCarley of Glendale, and Clare MacCarley of Palm Desert.
Honoring Our Veterans
The reception to Desert Sun reporter Denise Goolsby's yearlong tribute to World War II veterans was so popular, we've decided to continue veteran stories on a weekly basis, plus list what's happening with local military groups and service members.
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Venereal disease saved U.S. Army Air Corps veteran John MacCarley's life.
MacCarley, a B-17 bombardier-navigator, didn't have VD, but a crew mate contracted the sexually transmitted disease right before the men were set to fly overseas.
After wrapping up training in El Paso, Texas, crews were sent to Lincoln, Neb., to pick up shiny, new B-17G bombers.
“Ten brand new ships were all set to take off,” MacCarley said. “Our aircraft was loaded and ready to go. Then in walks the co-pilot who says, ‘I've got VD, and I won't be going with you.' We were mad!”
The crew was scratched from the flight list and sent by train to New York Harbor.
The crew, “hated the guy like crazy,” because they had to cross the Atlantic in the SS Ile de France, a troop ship MacCarley described as “a rusty old tub.”
“Then the news came out. All 10 of the new B-17s disappeared in the icy, North Atlantic waters. In effect, he saved us from an icy grave.”
Based in Kimbolton, near Bedford, England, MacCarley flew as a bombardier-navigator on 35 combat missions — bombing airfields, marshalling yards and oil fields.
The bomber crews' anxiety grew mission by mission.
“Mentally, I was a wreck. Like many others, I had gone through the three combat fatigue ‘psycho stages.'”
“During your first few missions, you feel invincible. Halfway through, you start thinking, ‘Hey, I could really get killed.' Near the end of the missions, you start to get shaky — I was convinced we weren't going to come back.”
On April 10, 1945 — MacCarley's 34th mission — the target was an ammunition dump just north of Berlin.
A barrage of flak knocked out one of the plane's engines.
The pilot was able get over the target and drop the bombs, but the sputtering aircraft soon began falling out of formation.
“We kept slipping farther, farther and farther behind. Then we were all alone.”
Almost immediately, two enemy ME-262 jet fighters zeroed in on the struggling B-17.
One of the fighters dove in toward the plane and fired — “Va voom! There was a horrible explosion, and the ship flipped upside-down. I was pinned against the ceiling. The nose dropped, and we started spiraling into a death dive.”
Then suddenly, he smashed back down onto the floor — “The pilot had somehow managed to turn her back upright and pull out of the dive.”
With a gaping hole in the wing, the plane struggled to stay aloft. After some spirited debate about whether to bail — in the middle of Germany — or stay with the faltering aircraft, the pilot told the crew to stand by the escape hatches and to jump if the wing started to fold.
“We desperately scanned the skies for our P-51 fighters, but none were in sight. Then we thought firing distress flares might help.”
MacCarley scrambled to the pilot's compartment, frantically searched for the flare gun and fired as many flares as they could find.
In the distance, they could see the ME-262s heading back to finish them off.
After saying a quick prayer, MacCarley looked up and saw an old, war-weary P-47 fighter plane pulling in close to act as a shield between the bomber and the onrushing jet fighters
“They kept coming, but the P-47 wouldn't move out of the way. At the last moment, they peeled off and disappeared.”
The P-47 escorted the aircraft out of Germany and up over the English Channel.
“He saluted us and did a victory roll,” MacCarley said.
The plane made it over the channel and back to the base. With failing hydraulics and no brakes, the bomber finally came to a stop in 12 inches of mud.
“Inside we were confronted with deafening silence ... without saying a word, we all exited through the waist gun door — almost at the same time.”
Staff writer Denise Goolsby will profile desert veterans from World War II on Sundays. Contact her at (760) 778-4587 or via email at denise.goolsby@thedesertsun.com
