As our bus made the final turns into the airport property everyone aboard quieted down and began looking out the windows for their first glimpses of the planes we came to see. There was a quick understanding we were not going to be disappointed.
First, as a spec on the horizon, then as an incoming target - my mind trying to calculate the distance at which I could determine the make and color of the aircraft.
Javier graciously answered questions for about another 30 minutes. If the flight of the Camel was the main course, then the dessert was when they fired up the Mercedes engine on the Fokker DVII. Though they did not fly the biplane, we were able to observe, up close, the preparation and awakening of this beautiful aircraft.
This presentation is designed to be an introduction to the visit we will make to his airport in Paso Robles, CA. He began by reviewing photos of the planes we will be seeing – many of these photos were of the aircraft in the air. Arrango cautioned us on multiple occasions during the presentation that flying Saturday would rely on there being almost perfect weather. 
Artist James Deitz took us on a circuitous journey of his
logic for the makings of a good paining, as well as a humorous explanation of
what inspires him as a painter. At the same time he revealed to us what,
in his view, are elements of a bad painting.
This is the story surrounding the beginnings of US Naval Aviation. The nucleus of this group were Yale students, mostly of wealthy families. This was a really nice production. The producers expressed interest in hearing from attendees about what they liked and disliked about the film. There were many offers of assistance and some small corrections expressed after the presentation, but generally the movie was very well received by the group.
Winning the award this year for the presenter who traveled the farthest, up next was Walter Pieters, who was in from Belgium. His presentation, "The Belgian Air Service in the First World War" goes along with his recent book by the same name. His book was part of the conversation Thursday night. For those who have seen it, read it and own it, it is said to be the first and last book on every detail pertaining to the Belgian air service during the war.
Opening Comments from J.R. Williams and the first presentation from Greg Vanwynegarden.
The Thursday night opening reception was from 6 to 8 PM. There were continual greetings and conversations going for the whole two hours. I am going to say there were more wives and significant others in attendance this time than in previous years, but I could be wrong. Dan Polglaze was sharing some war-era books and post-war unit history books with some fascinating photos and stories.
Ted Huscher, a presenter in earlier conferences, had some interesting details to share about is recent trip in Italy to visit sights related to WWI aviation and his past and present research relating to ace pilot Josef Kiss.
Jim Wilberg opened up the conference with his presentation on the early French ace, Jean Navarre. In what would become a sort-of “rebel” theme for the day, Wilberg compared the personality of Navarre against that of the fictional character/pilot “Maverick” from the movie Top Gun, and stated that many of the clichés for fighter pilots started with Navarre.
Pierre, to whom he was very close. Wilberg covered the fact that Navarre, with few exceptions, was not close to many of his fellow pilots and was particularly affected when his few friends were killed in action and particularly when his brother, who also flew in the war, was killed.
Alan Winslow (center) standing in front of the German fighter he shot down on April 14, 1918.
c/o United States National Archives – College Park MD.
From Lt. A.F. Winslow 94th Aero Squadron
A.S.S.C. U.S.R. A.E.F. France.
Dearest Mother and Father:
If anybody was ever more happy than I am right now, I doubt it very much. I tried to cable you the news, but found it practically impossible from here; so I wrote Paul immediately and asked him to do it for me. But I suppose you already know something about it, for in the last two days I have been interviewed by nine reporters.
Here is the story:
On Sunday morning, April 14th, I was “on alert” from 6:00 A.M. till 10:00 A.M. that is, I with Lt. Douglas Campbell of Harvard and California, were on emergency call duty. We were sitting in the little alter tent, playing cards, waiting for a call. Our machines were outside, ready at a moment’s notice. I was patrol leader. At 8:45 I was called to the ‘phone, told by the information officer, who is in the direct touch with all batteries and observation posts, that two German aeroplanes were about two thousand meters above the city, which is only a mile or so from here. We were told that they were going east. We were rushed down to machines in side cars, and in another minute were off in the air. Doug started ahead of me, as I was to meet him above a certain point at five hundred meters, and then take the lead. I gave him about forty-five seconds’ start, and then left myself, climbing steeply in a left-hand spiral, in order to save time. I had not made a complete half-turn, and was at about two hundred and fifty meters, when straight above and ahead of me in the mist of the early morning, and not more than a hundred yards away, I saw a plane coming toward me with huge black crosses on its wings and tail. I was so furious to see a Hun directly over our Aviation field that I swore out loud and violently opened fire. At the same time, to avoid my bullets, he slipped into a left-hand reversement, and came down firing on me. I climbed, however, in a right-hand spiral, and slipped off, coming down directly behind him and “on his tail”. Again I violently opened fire. I had him at a rare advantage, which was due to the greater speed and maneuverability of our wonderful machines. I fired twenty to thirty rounds at him and could see my tracers entering his machine. Then, in another moment, his plane went straight down in an uncontrolled nose-dive – I had put his engine out of commission. I followed in a straight dive, firing all the way. At about six feet above the ground he tried to regain control of his machine, but could not and he crashed into earth. I started down near him, made a sharp turn by the wreck, to make sure he was out of commission, then made a victorious swoop down over him, and climbed up again to see if Doug needed any help with the other Hun: - for I had caught a glimpse of their combat out of the corner of my eye.
I rose to about three hundred again, to see Doug “on the tail” of his Boche, and his tracer bullets were passing throughout the enemy plane. I climbed a little higher, and was diving down on his second Hun, and about to fire, when I saw the German plane go up in flames and crash to earth. Doug had sent his Hun plane down one minute after I had shot down mine.
Mind you, mother, that the fight took place only three hundred meters up, in full view of all on the ground and in the near-by town; mine dropped about one hundred yards to the right, and Doug’s one hundred yards to the left of our field. These are remarkable facts, for one of our Majors, who, with the French army since 1915, has shot down seventeen machines, never had one land in France – and here we go, right off the bat and stage a fight over our aerodrome and bring down two Huns right on it. It was an opportunity of a lifetime – a great chance.
When we landed, only our respective mechanics were left in the drome, to help us out of our flying clothes. The whole camp was pouring out, flying by on foot, bicycles, side cars, automobiles; soldiers, women children, majors, colonels, French and American – all poured out of the city; in ten minutes several thousand people must have gathered. Doug and I congratulated each other, and my mechanic, no longer military, jumping up and down, waving his hat, pounded me on the back instead of saluting, and yelled: Damn it! That’s the stuff, old kid!” Then Campbell and I rushed to our respective Hun Wrecks.
On the way there – it was only half a mile, I ran into a huge crowd of soldiers – blue and khaki – pressing about one man. I pushed my way through the crowd, and I heard somebody triumphantly say to the surrounded man in French: “There he is; now you will believe he is an American.” I looked at the man – a scrawny, poorly clad, little devil, dressed in a rotten German uniform. It was the Hun pilot of the machine I had shot down. Needless to say, I felt rather haughty to come face to face with my victim, now a prisoner, but did not know what to say. It seems he would not believe that an American brought him down. He looked me all over, and then asked me in good French if I was an American. When I answered, “Yes,” he had no more to say. First I stood on one foot – eyeing him all the time, contempt and victory written on my face – then on the other foot, then lit a cigarette – (I did not give him one, as one paper said.) Then I coughed, and finally managed to ask him if he was hurt. When he replied, “No”, I turned, and left him in charge of some other officers, while I ran over to the wrecked plane.
There was a huge crowd around it, and the first man I ran into was our major – the C.O., - and he was the happiest man in the world outside of me and Doug. After him, everybody began shaking my hand. It was an awful time for me. A French and an American General blew up in a limousine to congratulate me – colonels, majors, all the pilots, all the French officers, mechanics, - everybody in the town and camp. All had seen the fight. One woman, an innkeeper, told me she could sleep well from now on, and held up her baby for me to kiss. I looked at the baby, and then felt grateful to my major, who pulled me away in the nick of time. I had my mechanic take off everything available – the machine was a wreck – but I got some splendid souvenirs. The big black German crosses from the wings, his rudder, pieces of canvas with holes from my bullets in them, all his spark plugs, his magnetos, his mirror, clock, compass, altimeter, his clumsy signal revolver, etc. – it is a great collection. After I had gathered all this stuff, and had my mechanic take it back to camp, the photographers began to arrive, and then there was another awful time. When that agony was over, they wheeled what was left of the Hun plane back to our field, and then the photographers got excited all over again. Nevertheless, they got a wonderful lot of interesting pictures, - the duplicates of some I will send you under separate cover, for I don’t date trust many to the mails. I will keep all the films.
Doug returned from similar experiences, and then they worked on both of us all over. He had set his Hun machine on fire at three hundred meters, and it had fallen in flames, rolling over three times, and then completely burning up. There remained but a charred wreckage, like the sacrifice of some huge animal. The Hun pilot had been thrown out and was badly off. His face, hands, feet, nostrils and lungs were all burnt, while his leg was broken. He is now in hospital and my Bosche is probably commencing is job of ditch dogging for the rest of the war.
They got much valuable information off my man – the other couldn’t speak. But I can’t of course give that out. However, he was a Pole, said he was not an officer because he was a Pole. Although he had been an “aspirant” and a pilot at the front for two years. He said to me, with a sort of sigh of relief, throwing up his hands at the same time, “Alors, la guerre est finis pour moi!”
That afternoon my wrecked Hun plane and the charred result of Doug’s good work were exhibited in the public square of the town, surrounded by an armed guard, and overlooked by a French Military band. Not only was it a great day for me, Doug, the Major and the whole squadron, but it was a great day for the townspeople, and has had a good moral effect. You can imagine it, when you realize it took place above their roof tops, at only three hundred meters, and that they were able to see the whole fight. The Americans are indeed welcome in the town now, and I can Doug can buy almost anything half price.
An amusing incident was this, the fight was no near to earth that bullets were flying dangerously all about the ground, No one was hurt, save a French worker in the field, who received a hole through his ear from one of my bullets, and is very proud of it.
Two days later was another happy day, for Doug and I were both decorated by the French Colonel (side to the general of this army) with the Criox de Guerre with a Palm Leaf. That is equivalent to two Croix de Guarres, and you can well imagine I am proud – that was the proudest moment of my life. Also I have received a fine letter from the Chief of the Air Service, and have been mentioned in the General Orders. Likewise the General of the Division of the American Army in this sector came to pay me a visit. Furthermore, I have been proposed for the American Distinguished Service Cross, and for a promotion. Isn’t that all splendid?
The ceremony of giving the Croix de Guerre with a palm was all very impressive. The whole squadron was on parade, all the French officers, nearby, attended and the French Colonel made an excellent speech. I was a little nervous, but passed it off and everything went off smoothly. The official staff photographers were there, with their movie camera and took the whole thing. Then we had to make fools of ourselves for the movies, after it was all over, by putting on our helmets, climbing in and out of our machines and trying not to be embarrassed. It was awful. Those pictures are to be shown in America as official war photographs in about four to six weeks, so you might look out for them.
I received authority to get a duplicate “Croix de Guarre” which I am sending under separate cover to you. Also, I will send some photographs, and a piece of the canvas from the cross on the rudder of the Hun plane I shot down.
My dearest love to you, dear mother and dad, from the happiest son of the world.
Alan.
April 17, 1918
P.S. You have published some of my letters, but please do not publish even part of this, as it is too personal.
I am told that the two wrecked Hun planes are to be exhibited in America as a boomer for the Liberty Loan. It would be great if you could see them. You see they are the first two Hun planes brought down in France by the American air service, and I was the first to bring one down by one minute.
I will also send you duplicates of the official letters I received from the Chief of Air Services, from the French Commander, and my Croix de Guerre citation, etc.
Alan.
______________
In the Douglas Campbell's book "Let's Go Where the Action Is!" there is included a letter with Campbell's account of his victory on April 14, 1918. The editor of the book, Jack Eder, included in his notations a journal entry from Col. Frank P. Lahm. He describes the injured pilot as "...a big husky typical German, 24 years old..." He does not describe the nationality of the other, non-injured pilot, but he does ask the pilot if he is an officer, to which the pilot replied, "Je suis adjutant."
In this particular notation, Eder, the editor of the book takes issue with Lahm identifying Winslow's kill as an "Albatross." Eder not only maintains that Winslow's kill was a Pfalz, but he goes on to say that "Neither Campbell or Winslow ever got to meet either of the men they had brought down."
This book was published in 1984, and obviously Mr. Eder was unaware of the Winslow letter included in this posting. Given the confusion about this combat I think Mr. Eder did the best he could. This blog posting is simply to bring another piece of the puzzle into the light and maybe spark some conversation.
Your comments and input would be appreciated.
