Fogg in the Cockpit: Howard Fogg - Master Railroad Artist, World War II Fighter Pilot
Author:
Genres: Biographies & Memoirs, History
Book Type: Hardcover
Author:
Genres: Biographies & Memoirs, History
Book Type: Hardcover
This is an interesting diary written by a P-47/P-51 pilot who became, after the war, the world's foremost train painter. Each month of his diary is followed by the official monthly history of his squadron.
Fogg becomes an interesting character as you read his diary. He often comments about many others he meets during his service. For many, he adds, "great guy," or something similar. Later, he sometimes drastically changes his opinion of them, a number of them his superiors, often because they are not as easy as he might want them to be. Well, military service is not meant to be easy, as senior officers have standards to maintain.
Plus, I noticed that Fogg often complains about food, drink, leave, rooms, or other benefits that most infantry men fighting on the ground would love to have.
This reminds me of my uncle, a sailor in WWII, who, wrote home complaining that, on his ship in the Atlantic, they were only served ice cream twice a week. When my father's mother passed on my uncle's complaint to my father, serving as a radio operator/gunner on a B-24 in the Pacific, my father replied he hadn't even *seen* ice cream in a year.
Fogg becomes an interesting character as you read his diary. He often comments about many others he meets during his service. For many, he adds, "great guy," or something similar. Later, he sometimes drastically changes his opinion of them, a number of them his superiors, often because they are not as easy as he might want them to be. Well, military service is not meant to be easy, as senior officers have standards to maintain.
Plus, I noticed that Fogg often complains about food, drink, leave, rooms, or other benefits that most infantry men fighting on the ground would love to have.
This reminds me of my uncle, a sailor in WWII, who, wrote home complaining that, on his ship in the Atlantic, they were only served ice cream twice a week. When my father's mother passed on my uncle's complaint to my father, serving as a radio operator/gunner on a B-24 in the Pacific, my father replied he hadn't even *seen* ice cream in a year.
