Part Two: The Officer's Wife
The green orchid bouquet, a symbol of health, good fortune, and success, now looked brittle and fragile. It hung upside down by the wrinkled ice-blue crepe dress. Both looked tired in the cramped closet. Since the rushed wedding last month, they had lost their charm. Though it was nearly noon, the sun had not made an appearance. Winter had been harsh. A lifelong resident of northern climates, Buffalo's cold felt sharper—relentless. It settled in her bones, untouched by heat or wool.
The paper forecasted today’s high at a chilly 24 degrees, but with lake winds and over a foot of snow, it would feel even colder. Still, she eagerly awaited the doorman's call to meet her husband, who was expected soon with her new DeSoto. Months ago, getting a new car wasn't so hard or exciting; now, with America at war and new car sales banned, only a generous wedding gift from her father had found a seller willing to ignore the new restrictions.
It wasn’t as if her new husband, a Major in the Army Air Corps serving as a test pilot for Bell Aircraft Corporation, couldn’t have bought her a car. Still, a new car costing over $700 on a salary of less than $250 a month would have been impractical. Now married, she had convinced him—her money was their money. She didn’t plan to stay in Buffalo after her husband’s deployment overseas; the country was at war, and both knew it was only a matter of time. Instead, she planned to return to Detroit. Family and friends were already searching for a home for her, some eagerly planning a housewarming party. She chuckled, remembering the last party she hosted in Detroit the previous summer. That felt like ages ago, though it had only been a few months. Back then, she had just completed her first year at Michigan State and threw a party to celebrate the end of the year. Who could have predicted such a change in less than a year? She was no longer a student, but now a pilot’s wife—some said he was unlike any of the rest.
When he approached her at Wanakah Country Club a little over two months ago, she saw him as just another man in uniform. When he expressed pleasure at seeing her again and mentioned that he preferred her in riding clothes over a dress, she paused. She suddenly remembered they had met earlier that year outside Empire, Michigan, after an equestrian event. He had praised her poise and style, and they exchanged a few words. It seemed, however, that she made a lasting impression on him. Now, at the Country Club, he looked like a man used to getting what he wanted. His eyes made it clear he wanted her. “Oh, I remember you now, you weren’t in uniform when we met then, which reminds me, where’s your cowboy sidekick? The man dressed like Ben Johnson,” she asked with a sly smile, trying to lighten her sudden nervousness. He replied, “That was my father. He died shortly after we met.” She blinked, an embarrassed flush rising as she tried to steady herself and sincerely expressed her condolences, feeling both guilty and exposed.
The ringing telephone brought her mind back to the present. She went to the elevator, replaying conversations about the car. The new car was a necessity, not a luxury. She needed it to travel between her mother’s home in Bergman and her father’s place, also in Detroit, where he now worked in insurance after the family lumber business was sold. She had left home at fourteen for Ferry Hall, nearly 400 miles away, and had traveled independently since. Marriage, she decided, would not change that.
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Two weeks later, he drove his new bride to Detroit, to the Wardell Apartment Hotel on E. Kirby Street. The location matched his wife’s refined taste and arts background. The elegant building, like a Manhattan hotel, stood in Midtown near the Detroit Institute of Arts. He remembered the postcard describing the three-bedroom apartment her aunt secured for them. It read, “The Wardell Apartment Hotel: The Best Home Address in Detroit.” Their wedding reception was held at the Wardell. He had been enthralled by the opulence, but had not viewed it through the lens of a potential resident at the time. After a tour and a quick education on the necessity of fine furnishings and luxury amenities, he understood why her family chose it.
They celebrated their first Detroit night at Wardell’s Green Room Restaurant. The food and service surpassed anything he’d known. He decided not to think about the cost or that his father-in-law was paying. Instead, he started to see himself enjoying this lifestyle. Though raised comfortably, his mother saw wealth as a tool for betterment, not indulgence. His father believed, “Spare the rod; spoil the child.” His wife was spoiled, but still grounded and humble. Maybe this was another lesson in life—fathers don't always know everything.
He first saw her nearly a year ago while visiting his father at the lake. When his father asked him to attend the horse show, he reluctantly agreed. Horses were his dad’s passion, not his, but in hindsight, he was glad he went. He didn’t know it then, but it would be the last time he saw his father outside a hospital room. If he were a more sentimental man, he might even view that day as his father’s last gift to him: introducing him to his future wife and the mother of his children.
He saw her warming up her horse in the ring; she was competing in the dressage portion of the event, and he instantly recognized her type—he’d spent summers serving people like her. Working as a guide paid for his flying lessons, something his father refused to provide. The days were long, but he learned to appease entitled guests. Most lacked basic fishing, boating, and lifestyle skills. They were accustomed to being waited on hand and foot. He baited hooks, fueled boats, and prepared lunches. From his father, he learned she was the granddaughter of one of Michigan’s richest men. That first meeting didn’t result in a lasting connection, so when his friends mentioned a party at Wanakah Country Club in her honor, he didn't let the chance to reintroduce himself slip by.
Now, in March, and with his wife settled, his focus returned to flying. That summer of 1942, he became a charter member of the 56th Fighter Group. The group trained in Windsor Locks, Connecticut, where they collaborated with engineers to make final adjustments to the new Republic P-47 Thunderbolt, a large, powerful single-engine fighter. On January 6, 1943, the group departed New York for England aboard the RMS Queen Elizabeth. Just two days after this departure, his first son was born.
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| https://historicdetroit.org/galleries/park-shelton-artifacts |
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On April 13, 1943, the 56th Fighter Group carried out its first operational mission. It was a “Rodeo” (fighter sweep). Lieutenant Colonel Zemke, the Group Leader, had to abort and leave the formation. He returned to base at Debden due to an oxygen regulator failure. The Group’s command was assumed by its Deputy Leader, Major Schilling. This marked David’s first mission—a pivotal moment that would forever change the course of the war and aviation.
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From January to October 1943, David commanded the 62nd Fighter Squadron. He then became Group Executive Officer for the 56th Fighter Group, serving from August 1943 until August 1944. His actions often made headlines in newspapers and magazines.
Detroit, Michigan
Monday, January 3, 1944
Page 8
On January 2, Lieutenant Colonel David C Schilling of the Wardell-Sheraton Hotel, is on duty in England with the United States Eighth Army Air Force, was credited Sunday by the AAF as having bagged eight Nazi planes, making him a member of the select group of 19 other “aces” in the Eighth who have five planes or more each. Schilling, who is a Thunderbolt pilot, was credited in dispatches several times this winter with having downed Nazi fighters attempting to intercept fortresses which his group was escorting to targets over Germany and occupied Europe.
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On April 9, during a bombing raid over German-held territory, Schilling and another fighter lost contact with the squadron.
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Lottie Henderson, David’s mother, died in Tulsa on April 19, 1944. Georgia traveled to Tulsa for her mother-in-law’s funeral and, under the power of attorney she held, managed her mother-in-law’s financial and estate affairs after her death.
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In early June, during his R&R, David visited Buffalo and spoke with reporters, accompanied by Georgia and David Jr. They also stopped in New York City to see his brother, Dr. John Schilling. Later, they traveled to Chicago, where Georgia’s brother Robert, a fighter pilot with an air commando group, was expected to join them during his 10-day leave.
In a June issue of the Saturday Evening Post, David was described as “The smiling, glamour-boy ace, Lt. Col. David C. Schilling, of Traverse City, Mich., who has canceled out an even dozen enemy planes.” Cecil Carners also notes that David oversaw the renovation of their Traverse City farmhouse, where Georgia and their young son resided, and where he built a machine shop and invented a crane for wing and engine installation, allowing five men to do the work of 50. His own plane is said to be equipped with all the latest gadgets, much to his crew chief’s delight.
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All the fellows in the group, Colonel Schilling explained, realize that when you hit the enemy, you must expect to take a few blows yourself. That is why nearly all of them have made their wills, and why each has arranged for a pal to administer his affairs. "You see that group over there?" Colonel Schilling asked. I looked at the group of young men who were gathered around the fireplace, chatting and smoking. One by one, Schilling named them for me and told me how many planes each had to his credit. There were Captain Bob Johnson, with a score of 22; Major Jerry Johnson, who had downed 18; Major Mahurin, of Fort Wayne, Indiana, destroyed 21; Colonel Gabreski, of Oil City, Pennsylvania, who got 20; Captain Leroy A. Schreiber, of Plymouth, Massachusetts, 15; and lieutenant Fred J. Christensen, of Watertown, Massachusetts; lieutenant Joe H. Powers, Jr., of Tulsa, Oklahoma; Captain Michael J. Quirk, of Washington, D. C., each with 12. "Only eight fliers, but they've shot down a total of 132 German planes," the colonel added proudly. "What a sight for Goering." [Excerpt]
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On August 12, 1944, Col. Hubert Zemke handed over command of the 56th to David. Then, on September 1, the Thunderbolt group, led by Lt. Col. Schilling, successfully destroyed more than 20 freight cars northwest of Brussels, which were believed to be carrying flying bombs. In October, during a mission over Germany, Col. Zemke had to parachute out after his P-51 lost a wing. He was captured and ended up in Stalag Luft I in Barth, Germany, on the Baltic Sea.
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One night, Schilling and Zemke were talking about the mission flown that afternoon. Both had extremely close calls from Flak. Zemke had a premonition that his luck wouldn't hold out and he would be shot down, and he told Dave that he “would go nuts if captured." He added as an afterthought, “Maybe I wouldn't mind it so much if I had a ukulele to while away the time.” Schilling didn't forget the remark when Zemke was shot down a few weeks later and made a forced landing behind enemy lines. Dave made it his business to find out where his buddy was imprisoned. He flew over the area, and when he made certain of the prisoner-of-war camp’s location, he flew back to London and bought every ukulele he could find.
One afternoon, he took off from his base, didn't tell anyone where he was going, but headed for the German lines and deep into enemy territory. At the risk of his life, he swooped low over the prison camp and dropped the ukuleles over the side of his Thunderbolt in a parachute. Attached was a note to Zemke, “Dear Art, If you need any more, let me know. Dave.”
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The victories, heroics, and seemingly Hollywood-scripted stunts were shared with the folks back home to distract them from the harsh realities of war. The methods used to help pilots endure the challenges of flying were rarely discussed. However, journalists Eric Freedman and Samuel W. Taylor provided an account that shed light on one of these techniques, the use of ephedrine, though it is not known whether it was intended for anything more than a nasal decongestant at the time. We now understand that the risks associated with it far outweigh the benefits. A notable concern, especially at higher doses, is the emergence of psychiatric symptoms like grandiosity, delusions, and mania.
Eric Friedheim and Samuel W. Taylor
1944
In the ready room at the farmhouse, there is little conversation this morning. Nervous fingers fumble
with flying equipment, and its tangle of straps, hooks, buttons, tubes, and rubber piping. Briefing at 9:45 A.M. means a 10.30 A M. take-off, and everybody will be tense until they climb into the Thunderbolts and the green rocket from the control tower tells them to be on their way. Doc Tichenor, from the air surgeon's office, walks about the room with a bottle of ephedrine. The pilots tilt their heads back as he pours the fluid down their nostrils with an eyedropper, a precaution against the ravages of changing air pressure at high altitude.
In the course of his rounds, Doc Tichenor has a word of encouragement for everybody. One of his good friends is Bill Morrill, a handsome lad from Burbank, California. Doc floods Morrill's nose with the fluid.
“A little extra for you, Bill," he says. “This should be one of your big days."
"I'll get one for you today, Doc," Bill promises.
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Stateside, Georgia and David Jr. had moved from Detroit and now resided in a renovated 5,000-square-foot farmhouse in Traverse City, Michigan. The eight-bedroom, six-bathroom house sat on a half-acre near Grand Traverse Bay. Georgia felt a personal connection to this area. Her mother’s family lived in nearby Empire, where she spent her summers and many family holidays.
Grand Traverse Bay’s bright blue-green waters and white sand beaches border the charming downtown, featuring Victorian walkways lined with trees, art galleries, boutiques, and cafes. The delightful shopping district near Georgia’s home showcased original holiday artwork in its shops’ windows as part of the annual holiday display competition. In early December, Santa Claus arrived by Navy plane, escorted by Navy personnel, and led the Christmas parade in an official Jeep. After the parade, Santa stood before a towering Christmas tree, where visitors of all ages were greeted by festive Christmas music performed by students from Traverse City High School.
The Auxiliary Guild kicked off the social season with its Annual Candlelight Tea, hosted by Mrs. G. T. Montague at 524 Sixth Street. This was followed by the Traverse City Musicale’s holiday show, featuring a string ensemble, choral performances, and a short play called “Heigh-Ho for the Holly.” Guests were welcome to attend for 25 cents. The event’s proceeds supported the Club’s Interlochen Fund, which, each year, allowed talented high school music students to attend the prestigious Interlochen Music Camp—the same camp Georgia attended in 1934 at age 13.
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In December 1944, Colonel Schilling was the third in a line of notable combat pilots leading the Eighth Air Force, which at the time included 53 pilots credited with shooting down five or more enemy aircraft. His predecessors were Lieutenant Colonel Francis S. Gabreski of Oil City, PA, a prisoner of war with 28 aerial and three ground victories, and Colonel Hubert Zemke of Montana, who was missing in action.
In a letter dated December 23, 1944, David Schilling conveyed to Margaret Miles and his brother the high morale within his squadron. He described his fellow airmen as both kind individuals from good families and resilient, effective soldiers—a combination he viewed as representative of the American serviceman. He noted their good spirits and their excitement for the Christmas turkey. Later that same day, Schilling achieved leading ace status in the European Theater by shooting down five enemy aircraft.
On Christmas Day, reporter Clifford Epstein from the North American Newspaper Alliance, reporting live from the Eighth Air Force Fighter Station in England, met with the now 26-year-old commander, Col. David C. Schilling. At this point in the war, Schilling was among the top-scoring American fighter pilots, with 34½ German aircraft markings on his P-47 Thunderbolt. Epstein’s report concluded with Schilling’s personal account of the December 23, 1944, attack that earned him the Oak Leaf Cluster award.
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Tulsa, Oklahoma
Friday, January 5, 1945
Clifford Epstein reporting
Page 4
[David Schilling's personal account] As the group approached the Bonn area, a large formation of Huns was sighted to the east. We tried to cut them off, but they managed to get away in a large patch of cirrus clouds. We turned back and, in a few minutes, sighted another large formation of enemy aircraft. I saw approximately 40 enemy aircraft flying off to our left, about 1500 ft below us, and several miles ahead. I flew straight ahead, applied full power, and made a slow diving turn to the left to position my flight on the outside of the enemy formation.
And so doing, I managed to hit the rear right Messerschmitt 109 with a deflection shot at a range of about 700 yards. There was a large concentration of strikes all over the left side of the fuselage, and he fell off to the left. I then picked out another one, more or less ahead of the first, and fired from about the same range as the first, causing him to smoke and catch fire immediately.
By this time, the first Messerschmitt 109 was slightly ahead below to the left, at which point it started to smoke and catch fire. I then picked out another Hun and fired at it from about 1,000 yards and missed it. It broke right and started to die for the deck at about 1700 feet. I had closed to about 500 yards when I fired, resulting in a heavy concentration of stripes and the pilot bailing out. A little later, I cited another formation of 30 to 40 Fulk-Wulfs 190s 1,000 ft below. Circling to the left, I attacked one Jerry from 500-yard range and slightly above to the left. This plane immediately began to smoke and burn, spinning off to the left.
I've been fired at a second and got two or three strikes on him. He took violent evasive action, and it took me several minutes of maneuvering before I managed to get in position to fire. I fired from about 300 yards and from above into the left, forcing me to pull through him and fire as he went out of sight. Over the cowling, I gave about a 5-second burst and began getting strikes all over him. The pilot immediately bailed out, and the ship spun down to the left, smoking and burning until it blew up at about 15,000 feet.
By this time, I was alone and saw a single P-47 of one of the squadrons of my group. I called to him over the radio system. He joined up with me just as a 35 to 40 playing formation of FW-190s flew by about 1,000 ft above. I had hoped to sneak up and knock off the Tailend Charlie, but then I noticed two other Huns on my tail. I did several rolls as I started down and out ran the two by a mile. I lost them, so I climbed back up to 8,000 ft and started home.
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On December 24, Lt. Col. Carl Spaatz delivered the following remarks during the presentation to David of the Oak Leaf Cluster to add to his Distinguished Service Cross.
“Your outstanding heroism and splendid leadership of December 23rd, which enabled the 56th Fighter Group to destroy 37 enemy aircraft, has been brought to my attention. For the aggressiveness, courage, and determination to destroy the enemy which you displayed on this occasion, in personally accounting for five of the enemy destroyed, I award you an Oak Leaf Cluster to the DSC. The inspiring leadership and acts of personal bravery displayed on your many combat missions stand high in the tradition of the Army Air Forces."
Salina, Kansas
Wednesday, March 13, 1957
Master Sergeant John Coyne USAF
Page 2
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On Christmas Eve, reporters visited Georgia’s home at 516 Washington Street in Traverse City, MI, and captured a picture of her and David Jr., aka Sixpence, sitting by the Christmas tree.
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| Traverse City Record-Eagle, Tuesday, Dec. 26, 1944, page 5 |
Tulsa Flyer Top Ace in European Theater
A Tulsa flyer, Colonel David C Schilling, who commands an ace Fighter Group in Europe, became the leading Ace in the European theater Saturday by getting five German planes, boosting his total to 34 and a half, of which 24 and a half were in the air and ten on the ground. Colonel Schilling is the son of the late Mr. and Mrs. Henderson Schilling of Tulsa. His mother, a music teacher who lived at 336 East 29th Place, died last April. His wife, the former Georgia Weidman, lives in Traverse City, Michigan.
The 26-year-old Tulsa pilot led his group into one of the fiercest dogfights of the war when they tangled with 250 German Messerschmitts and Focke-Wulfs and shot down 35 of them Saturday. Shooting is a protege of Colonel Hubert Zemke of Missoula, Montana, who was known as the United States' fighting-est Commander in Europe before he went down just two months ago, just a mile inside Germany, and was taken prisoner.
The old record that Schilling broke was held by another Zemke Protege who also is a prisoner now-- Lieutenant Colonel Francis Gabreski of Oil City, Pennsylvania, who had 31 planes to his credit-- 28 in the air and three on the ground.
Ironically, both Zemke and Gabreski went down on their last missions: Zemke on his final flight before acceding to requests that he accept a desk job, and Gabreski before going home to be married.
Like Zemke, Schilling flew more than most commanders in the European theater, and when he was Zemke’s deputy, they usually alternated with Gabreski in leading the group.
The Germans called them The Terrible Three, and their Squadron usually received plenty of attention from defending Nazi Fighters. Schilling was named and pictured with another Tulsa Ace Captain Joe Harry Powers Jr., 2447 East 70 East 22nd Place, in a Saturday Evening Post article last spring as leaders in an “airport of aces” in a fighter command in England. Captain Powers has since returned to the United States and is now stationed at Harding Field, Louisiana. He has 17 German planes to his credit.
Compilation of Colonel Schilling's awards has lagged far behind, but at last count, he had the Distinguished Service Cross, the Silver Star with one cluster, the Distinguished Flying Cross, and the Air Medal, each with several clusters.
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On January 6, 1945, the 56th Fighter Group marked 800 victories and its second anniversary in England with a celebration at Boxted air base.
Salina, Kansas
Wednesday, March 13, 1957
Master Sergeant John Coyne USAF
Page 2
It was described as the Two-Four-Eight party, a label derived from its two years of operations, its 400 missions flown, and its 800 knockouts of enemy planes. Ranks went out the window as GIs worked their elbows at the Officers Club and brass filled in with the band at the enlisted men's club. All were flying high with their feet on the ground. At the close of the festivities, Colonel Schilling brought the group back to solid earth when he proposed a toast to “All the fighters of the outfit, especially those who could not be there - those who have fought and cannot fight again.”
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David served as a staff officer in England from January to May 1945.
On February 7, the US 8th USAF Headquarters announced that Col. David C. Schilling of Traverse City, Michigan, a leading American fighter pilot, had relinquished his command of the top-scoring 56th Thunderbolt group to take on the role of assistant intelligence chief at the 8th AF Headquarters.
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An English officer describes Schilling as “a serious-minded business-like fellow who wears his decorations as lightly as he does the Eagles on his shoulders, and that is why every man on the station, from the potato peelers and the mess hall up through the best fighter pilots, has an affection for him that approaches worship.”
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On February 7, 1945, the 8th USAF Headquarters announced that Col. David C. Schilling from Traverse City, Michigan, one of America’s leading fighter pilots, had stepped down from his role as commander of the 56th Thunderbolt Group to serve as assistant intelligence chief at the 8th AF Headquarters. In May 1945, after over two years overseas, David’s next assignment was in Elwood Quesada’s office, the Chief of Air Staff for Intelligence at the Army Air Forces Headquarters in the Pentagon, where he worked as an aide. He expressed concerns about becoming a ‘desk pilot’ and showed a strong desire to return to flying. “At the end of the war, I was sitting idly in Washington, reminiscing about flying, while working in a staff position that was beyond my experience,” said David Schilling. It was during these early years at the Pentagon that Eugenie Hunnicutt Schilling told the press in 1956 that she and David first became acquainted.
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