Courtship, The War Years, Marriage of Cy and Mary Eaton 1938-1945
The following is an excerpt from Memories, Dreams, And It Probably Happened: 1946.-1976 The Eaton Jr. Family
by Catherine Lee Eaton
Prologue:
It Took Two and Then Some:
Cyrus S. Eaton and Mary S. Eaton
Courtship
The War Years
Early Marriage
(1938-1945)
In the intricate patterns
Of the mingling waves and rocks,
In the surprise of every sunrise,
The voices of seagulls and pines
Echo in the sounds of your hearts
Seating the shores of years together,
The' shores have not been sandv and sheltered,
Nor always peaceful.
Nor have they ever vanished
(poem by Cathy Eaton on Mom and Dad’s anniversary.
In 1942 Mom attended the liberal arts woman’s college, Smith College in Northampton, Massachusetts. That same year Dad attended Pine Bluff School of Aviation, an air corps training center in Pine Bluff, Arkansas. The United States of America had been at war since December 8, 1941. Dad’s class, 42-D, graduated from The Air Corps Advanced Flying School of Ellington Field, Texas, on April 29, 1942. Dad’s close friend, Hank Coakley, was a regimental captain who ghost wrote Dad’s letter to Grandpa Stephens requesting the hand of Mary Margaret Stephens in marriage. She was nineteen years old. War changes things and people. Living must be packed into a small amount of time in the present. The future is even more uncertain that it is in peace years. That year Farley Eaton Married David Hume, Catherine Stephens married Harvey Barrett, and Mom almost chickened out/
July 11, 1942, Dad remained confined in the hospital. Grandpa Stephens deceived the marriage license bureau which needed Granny’s signature on the marriage certificate because Mom was a minor; he solemnly declared Granny deceased while making Mom promised, “Never tell your mother; it would break her heart.” Later that evening Grandpa Stephens delighted in revealing the deception. During the busy afternoon Mom suffered a case of the jitters; the Eides, close neighbors, bolstered her with a shot of scotch and sent her back to her Chesterton Road home in Shaker Heights, Ohio. The hospital released Dad for several hours. Cyrus S. Eaton, Jr. married Mary Margaret Stephens in the backyard of the Stephen family home. In true Christian generosity, a deal between the archbishop and Grandpa Stephen’s telephone company had been made to secure permission for an outdoor wedding between a Catholic and a former Babtist/current atheist. The church received special phone benefits, and a priest married Mary and Cy.
Maid of honor, Catherine, and bridesmaids Helen, Dibbie, Susie, and Farley Eaton attended the bride. Neighter Hank Coakley or Jim Hobstetter could obtain leave so Grandpa Eaton acted as Dad’s best man. A beauriful wedding! Even if Dad, drugged up, cannot remember the time of the wedding and had to spend his wedding night back in the hospital. Mom celebrated her wedding night at a co-ed slumber party.
Of course, the romance began long before July 1942. Dad dated Molly Doan (Bellamy), a neighbor of Mom’s who, young and innocent, skipped down some steps and burped. She was 16. Dad was 21. Dad took note. For their first date, Dad escorted Mom to a hockey game, where a flying puck knocked out one of his teeth. Impressed, Mom (after dis-inviting a previous date) invited Dad to her junior prom. After all, Dad was a college man, a fraternity man. On New Year’s Eve, Mom was granted permission to stay up the entire night – but absolutely no drinking! Mom’s younger sisters encouraged the romance: throwing peas at Dad when he came to dinner; spraying cheap, smelly perfume in the interior of his mother’s car, which he had been given special permission to drive.
Mom evidently admired the lean, hungry look. During some of their courting days, Dad suffered a broken jaw. Pulled wisdom teeth and boxing do not mix well. Another special privilege – Mom traveled by train to a Colgate fraternity party. Although the young women were sequestered on a dorm floor guarded by a matron, the guys including Jim Cleveland and Jim Hobstetter snuck in their bedroom and escaped being caught by hiding under the bed while smoking a cigar and on the fire escape.
The romance fluctuated. Dad borrowed money and bought everybody drinks. Mom’s laundry bill soared. Dad forgot to write. Mom flushed his fraternity pin down the toilet (or did she send it back.) Dad forgot to write. Mom had a marvelous time at Dartmouth with a guy named Penny. Dad called. Mom was still at Dartmouth. Woops! Spring vacation in Texas – and Mom proposed marriage at the train station, or did Dad do that? Grandpa and Granny Stephens worried about their four and one half year age difference, about Mom’s decision to leave Smith College after only two years, about Dad’s seriousness in this endeavor. But, only two months, a marvelous letter from Dad arrived and eloquently requested mom’s hand in marriage. Doubts dispelled, a marriage date was set. Thank you, Hank Coakley, the ghost writer of the letter. The romance flourished.
After the wedding, Mom and Dad drove to Midland, Texas, where Dad practiced flying B-18 Bombers. Mom saved her money with which Dad purchased a car radio. The newlyweds made close friends – many of whom would not survive the war. Two survivors, Hobby and Dottie Hobstetter (another Colgate/Smith romance) joined various escapades during those days of training. Mom and Dad moved to Mac Dill Field, Tampa, Florida. Mom, untrained in the domestic arts, managed to boil eggs so long that the water boiled away and the eggs exploded on the ceiling.
War separates families. Mom rejoined her family. Lieutenant C. S. Eaton, Jr. of 553 Bomb Squadron, 386 Bomb Group, on his way north before flying overseas, buzzed Hathaway Brown School and other institutions of higher learning. When Mom visited Dad right before his London departure, the hotel clerk tried to prevent Dad from taking “that hussy” up to his room. “This is not that kind of establishment,” the clerk said. Dad punched him out. War creates heroes.
Dad traveled to England with his squadron via Iceland and Scotland. They quite enjoyed Scotland and Ireland, but found England fairly depressing; the English seemed to be quite indifferent to the Americans, latecomers to the war. The duties of Assistant Operation Officer kept Dad busily occupied, but he found time to play poker, generally a loosing proposition. Once he won a $200 pot.
Living at her parent’s home on Chesterton Road in Shaker Heights, Ohio, Mom attended business/secretarial school in preparation for working at an advertising agency. With her newly acquired skills, she flooded Dad’s mailbox with many typed letters of news and love. Dad wrote infrequently. Follows is Dad’s last letter to Mom before his first and only bombing mission. At the time the B 26 Marauders were being extensively criticized as unsafe. Their war record proved them to be valiant, effective war machines.
July 21, 1943
Darling,
I am getting bad about this writing business. Not much good to talk about it—Will just have to take a brace. Am receiving a letter from you at least every other day. I suppose it must seem that I’m not very appreciative—but it’s hard to say just how much your letters mean. Thank you, honey—know it’s hard for you to wait, to write when you never hear from me.
Glad you saw Betty, and were able to have a talk with her. Hope you will see Dad as much as possible. Heard the Hobstetters had a boy. Also Hob is flying B-24s at Forth Worth.
That Bomb Boogie you read about wsn’t mine. My ship has been in perfect shape ever since I got it, and seems to improve with time. However, I have been on more than several missions, and while nothing spectacular, you should be reading about 26’s operations from England.
Have been able to play tennis quite a bit lately. Got a good racket in London. Play on grass courts.
This Operations job keeps me pretty busy. If all I had to do was fly, it would be a day at the beach. They’re beginning to look up to 26’s now. What little they’ve done so far has been much better than they expected, and they’re planning big things for us. Only startling news I’ve heard is that they will move us out of here during the winter, and we’ll be a lot further from home.
Gus and I have been making lots of plans for after the war. In the summer we’ll go out (fly out) and visit them for a month or so, and then in the winter they’ll come up and spend some time with us skiing. It sure is hard to wait until this is all over, but is pleasant to think and plan about the future.
Darling, --I do feel badly about not writing more often. Wish you would explain to my family; beside being a slip-shod, I do have quite a bit to do. However, will write more letters in the future.
Stoffers, I’ve never in my life thought about anyone as much as I think about you. Sometimes it doesn’t seem I can wait to see you again, but it won’t be too long. Darling, what you mean to me, and what our love means is one of the things you can’t write about, but I know we both know. I hope you are as happy inside as I am.
Give my very best love to all your and my family. Also Ellie.
All my love,
Cy
P.S. Just so you’ll understand and won’t worry—a great many boys get shot down, and aren’t heard of for a long while—but they are all usually safe. If anything like that should happen to me, you’ll know I’m O.K.
P.S.S. Miss you millions.
Follows is the closing of one of Mom’s letters to Dad.
July 8, letter 32—When I’m making $125 a month, think how money will pile up so high, and everyone will be jealous, and we’ll get a dog, a house and a picket fence with some children and things. Oh life will be so darn best and wondebar…all the time even when you are reading the newspaper and I am teaching little CY (3 years) and littler Minnie (2 years) how to smoke.”
At last Dad’s bombing squadron was alerted that their first bombing mission would take place. Months of training behind them, the pilots and their crews anticipated their first mission with excitement, with fear, with eagerness. Fellow pilot, Bob Saltsman, described their bombing mission in a letter to Mom--
We were awakened at about two thirty on the morning of July 30, 1943 and told that there would be a briefing one hour from then at the line briefing room. Six crews was our squadron’s contribution to the raid, so at about three o’clock, the six of us, together with Cy (His presence as Asst. Operations Officer was necessary at the briefing) reported to the line. We had breakfast there and at the announced time went into briefing.
The briefing was carried out very well. We were informed of all flak batteries along our route and also of any fighter opposition that might be expected. The net conclusion was that the target (an airdrome in Holland) would be strongly defended by both flak and fighters.
At this time it became evident that Cy would not take an active part in this, our first, mission. The following pilots were listed to flight: 1) Dewhurst, 2) Saltsman, 3) Haber, 4) Williamson, 5) Hochrein, 6) Zimmerman.
Cy was listed to lead the second element in an afternoon raid on the same day. It was obvious that he felt pretty bad about being left out so it was no surprise when he announced his intentions of flying in our first raid even if he had to go stowaway. Dave Dewhurst got pretty mad about it and told he couldn’t go…that he was needed here to get the second mission in shape. Well, the whole thing ended in Cy’s convincing Dave that he could go on our raid and be back in time for the next one. His first choice of planes was Ray’s, but since Ray already had eight aboard, he chose Andy’s so that he could more readily observe the action.
We left briefing at about four thirty and got out to the ships about a quarter to five. Inspection went through OK and at five-ten the engines were started. We taxied out at five-fifteen, checked our engines and taxied into takeoff position. As we waited to take off, eighteen planes took off ahead of us as we were flying the number 4 box of six. Pretty soon Dave’s ship went down the runway, then mine and Haber’s. Ray gave his (“Two Way Ticket”) ship the gun and went zipping into the air. When he had attained an altitude of about 75 feet, his right engine quit cold. One wing started up and in order to maintain level flight he was forced to cut the other engine and crash land straight ahead. This he did and landed in a field just off the takeoff runway. No one was hurt badly and Ray will be back flying as soon his thumb mends. It was broken. Well, George and Andy took off without incident and joined our flight. The formation was changed now. Andy was now flying the position that was to have been occupied by Ray.
After climbing out of the early morning dusk we leveled off at about ten thousand and, in very close formation, proceeded northeast to our first turning point. We picked up our fighter escort on time and started across the channel. There was no enemy activity until we reached the coast of Belgium, and then we encountered a little flak. However, we were employing evasive tactics and we plowed through the increasingly heavy flak. We were still in formation and still very close. As we approached the target the order to open bomb-bay doors was obeyed and we dropped our bombs. The results will not be known until recent photos are sent in. As we passed over the target, the lead ship started a slow turn to the right and at this time the Jerries really started throwing the stuff up. At the same time about seventy five Focke-Mules and ME-109’s engaged our escort and us. My story from now on is not from personal observation because I was awfully busy flying my plane. It is, however, reasonably accurate.
Andy was flying along with us and everything was OK when out of the blue a burst of flak hit his right engine. It must have crippled it completely because he immediately began to slip out of our turn formation farther and farther and farther, slowing loosing altitude. I forgot to mention that he’d been unable to drop his bombs. At any rate his ship started a wide spiral indicating that he was a hell of a time trying to control things. About thirty seconds after he’d left our formation, three Jerry fighters jumped his ship. Andy’s rear gunner accounted for two of them, but two more replaced them and they proceeded to riddle the plane with everything they had. It was damn cold blooded and made me pretty sick when I heard of it. Pretty soon the spiral tightened into a spin and he was seen to spin into the channel just off the cost. Observers say it was fairly flat spin, though so we’re hoping that the ship broke up sufficiently to enable some of the crew to escape.
The letter could not be mailed until Mom was officially notified that Dad was missing in action. No news followed until Dad was reported dead; Mom was a war widow. A newspaper article described her as unwilling to go into mourning or accept his death. She just kept telling stories of the young man she loved.
A letter that was dictated to (I can’t read name or date or exact address) by P. Vermaat to Mom, described Dad’s rescue and capture:
Dear Mrs. Eaton.
This letter is going to let you know what happened to your husband on the 30th of June 1943. He dropped from his aeroplane, while he was flying from England to Germany in the South of Holland, in the river Schelde, between Bergen-op-Zoom and Yesseke, I was there in the vicinity with my ship, and it made me very happy to be able to save him from death, when he came down by Parachute. He was wounded on his breast, back, and legs, his bearing was very courageous. His situation was not hopeless. I was very sorry to be compelled to hand him over to the German authorities and probably they have brought him to the hospital at Benyen op-Zoom, as their prisoner.
I heave heard no further news of him. Your husband gave me your address, and I thought you would like to hear these facts. Please will you mention the good receiving of this letter.
This letter is written on behalf of a Dutch civilian, whose address I am enclosing.
Pieter Vermaat
Emmastout 18
Yeoozeke, Holland.
Note I couldn’t decipher spelling of locations.
On August 13, 1942 Dad wrote a postcard to Mom:
Darling: Am a German prisoner of War! This is my first chance to write. Am allowed so many postcards and letters a month. The same will apply to you. Will give you my address when I get to my permanent camp. This is the first word of my fate. Let Squadron know at once. I was the only one who got out alive. Have sorta been through hell. Taken 27 shell fragments out of me but feel pretty good now. My allotments will come through as ever. Spend most of the time thinking of all the fun we will have when it’s all over. Give my best love to everyone. All my love to you. Cy
Another letter written on December 10, 1945 by P. Vermaat to Dad’s sister, Lee.
Madam:
It was a great joy to me to receive on 20-11-45, your esteemed letter relating to your brother, 1st LT. Cyrus S. Eaton, for which I thank you with great appreciation. To know that my letter has been the cause of your hearing about the survival of your nearest kin, has given me great joy. However, I presume from your letter that you have received from or about him through official channels.
I would appreciate it very much if I heard further from you whether he, as I truly hope, is still alive and entirely recovered from his wounds. He was the only surviving member of the wrecked airplane.
It touched my heart deeply that I had at once and unattended to deliver him to our ruthless and outrageous enemy, but I could not do otherwise as the enemy knew about the event and were all ready to take him prisoner.
How hateful our enemies were will be evident to you from the following: Because of that last friendly handshake which I gave him, I was called to report. However, I succeeded by word and attitude, to get away without punishment. We have lived, struggled and suffered here under very great pressure of the enemy, men have been tortured to death in the camps or died from starvation. Our land and people, formerly so wealthy and proud, have been impoverished by plunder and robbery. But the outrageous enemy has been vanquished by our powerful Allies and thrown out of our beloved little country. We hope soon to recover again from our bleeding wounds and to be able to take again our place among peaceful nations.
…
I kindly request to continue our correspondence, meanwhile, about our first subject, through which, perhaps may come distant friendship bonds.
Should you in the future receive similar news about your brother, it might possibly come from the crew of my ship.
Ending my letter with friendly greetings and a Happy Christmas, I am,
Yours truly Friend
P. Vermaat.
Mom and Dad corresponded with Mr. Vermaat and visited him before his eath.
For a short time Dad recuperated in a hospital, from which he was transferred to Stalag Luft 3 in Germany.
From prison camp Dad could write three letters and four postcards a month. Every two months he could receive an eleven pound package with such items as soap, toothpaste, razor blades, books, socks, chocolate, writing paper, pencils… Because he lived in an officer’s camp, he was assigned no work. The prisoners and the guards, generally pleasant people, ate the same food except the prisoners received Red Cross packages. Dad lived in a bedroom/cell with various roommates; twice a day—in the morning and in the late afternoon—roll call was taken. The rest of the day belonged to the prisoners. They set up a mini-college and taught each other courses in languages, economics, philosophy (which Dad instructed), history…. Dad played chess extensively, shared in the cooking, planned for the future.
Bill Brown planned escapes and attempted several. Eventually, after Dad had spent 700 days in a prison camp, Bill Brown, Dad, and about twenty other prisoners escaped during a march to/from ? Nuremberg. The Russians were advancing from the west. While marching from one camp to another, they lay down in ditches and hid until the columns of prisoners had passed. Following the escape route through a cave, they encountered two very young Germans armed with machine guns and ordered to kill escaped prisoners on sight. The two guards had been making love with their girlfriends. Startled, they spoke: “You are very foolish; the war is almost finished and in a short time you would be returned safely to you homes. Go back. We will hold our fire and count to a thousand. You may return to camp or try to continue your escape. Go back.” Bill Brown and Dad continued their flight while the other prisoners returned to the guarded prisoners. After ten days, the route to American lines was blocked by crossfire between the Germans and Americans. Dad decided cautious crawling from one rock or tree to another provided the best method to cross and dodge the enemy fire. Bill Brown decided to camouflage himself as a tree and attempt to walk across imitating a tree. They both survived.
They were sent to Paris where Dad had his first bath in two years and broke out in a terrible rash. Then they were flown back to the Pentagon to report any information they knew.
Mom and Aunt Sissy had just been to Washington D.C. to visit their father, who told Mom that there hadn’t been news of Dad in a long time from the Red Cross, and that it was probable that Dad was dead. They took the train home. That night in the middle of the night, Aunt Susie answered the phone, and it was Dad. He was in Washington D.C. Mom flew out the next day. They were supposed to meet in the Pentagon but actually passed each other in the hallway at one point. They were reunited later in the day. For two years their contact had been correspondence—letters that took months to arrive at their destination if they arrived all. They were flown to California where Dad was helped to recuperate.
Together again! But those years a part –how did they change Mom and Dad and their relationship? How did they grow? Certainly they had guts and the will to survive and their love for each other helped them to survive with mental health. “Oh life will be so darn best and wonderbar.”
Together. A home. Health. Family. And deep down inside the memories. Many friends never returned. Mom and Dad had dearly loved Hank Coakley. His plane crashed in training.