Thank You

In late 1942 , immediately after the Japanese had bombed our base at what was then called Yunnan Yi, my wingman and I went out looking for any stragglers. Instead of us finding them, they found us and shot my propeller off, causing the engine to disintegrate. So I had to bail out. This was over very mountainous terrain about 60 to 80 miles southwest of Yunnan Yi in Yunnan province.

I landed on the bank of the Mekong River, where I was surrounded by about a dozen tribesmen, each with his rifle aimed at me. After the leader walked up to me and read my ID on a Chinese flag we usually had on the back of our jacket . . .

. . . he smiled and hollered something to the others. Neither he nor I could understand what the other was saying orally, so we had to use hand gestures and/or draw sketches on the ground.

For the next five to six days and nights, as we made our way back to my base, we got along great and I was treated like a king. The mountains were so treacherous -- sheer rock and steep inclines -- that we couldn't travel much over 15 miles a day. Some nights I was bedded in the hut of the magistrate of the villages we passed through, and provided with pure white sheets covering a straw pallet (where they got the sheets is a mystery to me).

If you didn't have to look at it, you could say the food they fed me was pretty good with plenty of rice and air dried chicken (not Col. Sanders Kentucky fried chicken) and plenty of rice wine (what we called ching bao juice, or air raid juice). WOW! My hosts had a great time laughing at me as they watched me trying to master the use of chop sticks. I didn't mind though, because I felt that my safety depended on making them happy.

One day they took me bird hunting but I wasn't altogether sure that was really what they had in mind. But after they loaded a rifle and handed it to me and told me to take the first shot, I felt like they trusted me -- and I trusted them. They all burst out with laughter when I missed my first bird. And they howled when I missed the next one, too. Once again, I had kept them entertained. As they watched the birds continue flying I wonder if they thought "This guy came here to defend us?"

When we finally reached my base at Yunnan Yi and they turned me over to US authorities, it was almost with a sad heart; we had become real good friends. As we parted, we shook hands and I saluted each one on them. It was an experience I'll never forget.

Although I despise Communism, I still have a warm feeling toward the Chinese people because of this experience.

I had forgotten how to say "Thank you" in Chinese, but recently my friends helped me remember. Xie xie ni.

Bob O

( Marg Baker, who spent several years in mainland China teaching English, received a request from her friend Bob O'Neill, for help in refreshing his memory in the translation of identification he carried with him during his World War II service in China. Marg immediately contacted her friends in China for help. They responded with so much interest and enthusiasm that Bob wrote this informative letter to Marg to share with her Chinese friends in appreciation for their help. In turn, it is now presented to reflect the relationship enjoyed by members of the Flying Tigers with the people of China, then and now. -- Bob O'Neill )