My Mother's Father; a Valentine's Day Tribute

I never met my mother's father. He died October 8, 1984, just a short three years before I was born. It's interesting having a relative that most all of my family knew and loved, yet I never did. My view of who he was is based entirely on the experiences others had with him. Well... not entirely.

A while back, my diligent and meticulous Aunt Gail made a very well crafted and detailed book of the history of my mother's side of the family. Contained in this book are biographies, pictures, and even hand written letters of both my grandmother's and grandfather's. You see in the early 1940's, my grandpa was in Douglas, Georgia, in pilot training for the United States Army Air Force, and the closest thing to a text message back then, was to send a letter via snail-mail. We thankfully now have many of the letters my grandfather sent back and forth with his newly-wed wife (my grandmother). How romantic right?

So since it is Valentines Day and all, I decided to do a little online tribute to the grandpa I never met, who seems to have been quite the ladies man and gentleman.


Meet John DeWitt Kishpaugh, my grandpa.

Handsome no? To me this looks like some scene right out of a Nicholas Sparks novel.

Heading off to the Army Air Force

On his way with the Army down to Nashville, John wrote the following letter home to his parents:


Sunday Night 10/25/1942 at 8:20 P.M


      First experience on a train accounts for some of this writing. This is a swinging, swaying, son of a so-and-so. We are making fast time though. At this rate we'll be in Nashville before morning. The boys are sure a swell bunch of fellows. What few officers I've seen are real pleasant and will tell you anything you want to know. Food was swell - Milk - potatoes - roast pork - peach pie - string beans - tomato juice - I couldn't muggle the string beans.

All my love, DeWitt

I couldn't muggle the string beans. Don't you love that line?! I need to start using words like muggle. 

Grandpa with his Army plane. No wonder he had so much fun flying those! Looks great.

And what's a man in the Army without a woman at home to write to? Meet M. Joyce Powell Kishpaugh, my grandma:

Ow ow grandma! Certainly this had to have been a red dress. What a beauty.

Here's an example of one letter from John to Joyce:

       So you're wearing Gloria's formal. Bet it looks like a gunny sack - or are you getting that large?

I'm afraid I've been neglecting my writing duties lately but I'm sure you'll forgive me after this itemized account of my poker playing. Now I have about $200.00 I have won in the last two weeks. Kiss me honey! I'll send you a little at a time so in case a letter gets lost it wont be too much. 

      No more news except I love you and that isn't news anymore - put up with it again anyway I love you DeWitt P.S. I love you. J.D.K.

Now I see where I get my style!  First he comments on if she's getting large, then he showers her with 'I love you's. And yes, he really said P.S. I love you.

In one letter from Joyce back to John, grandma writes a nice and lovely letter as you'd expect a grandma to, then signs off with this:

      Be good, daddy, until I see you again, and then don't be. I love you sweetheart -

                                                                                                                        Mommy

Geesh! I feel sorta guilty reading that! But then again, how else would I be here? (Besides, I bet when writing this, she was unaware that her future grandson would blog about it.)

Then, the following happened as dictated by my Aunt Gail:

      With only about four weeks remaining in his flight training, on June 29th, 1943, John DeWitt Kishpaugh and his squadron were in the air for gunnery practice. The weather was terrible and visibility very poor. The control tower transmitted the instructions for all planes to return to base except Kishpaugh, who would make one more pass over the target area. Another pilot heard only part of that message and thought he might as well make one more pass over the target since it would be clear. Neither pilot saw the other plane as they collided. The other plane lost a wing and the pilot immediately bailed out to safety. John's plane suffered damage to the canopy and the controls. He was able to maintain some form of flight as he assessed the situation. As it became apparent he could not safely land the craft, he jotted this note on the envelope of his flight orders and tucked it inside his flight jacket.

Dear Joyce - This chute is going to open O.K. - But if it shouldn't I love you and see you later.

      The decision made, several factors went into play. If he let go of the controls, the plane would nose over to the right; since the canopy had been crushed he had only a 12-14 inch hole to squeeze his 6 ft 1 in. frame with parachute out of; there were many jagged tears to catch at his clothing and chute; and the slipstream held him against the damaged aircraft. Once outside the airplane, he was reaching back in to the controls while still attempting to free himself and push away, when suddenly all decision was made for him as his small chute opened, immediately followed by the main chute. He was jerked away, back over the plane's tail wing, which he later said sounded like a buzz saw as it took off his left leg. He was conscious all during the descent and held his hands tightly around his injured leg to stop the flow of blood, though his right arm was injured also. The wind was turbulent and he was tossed about, still hearing his plane circling around him part of the way down.

      As he broke through the cloud cover he could see he was coming down in a small orchard behind a farmhouse. The farmer, a sailor passing by and another man got to him quickly. The farmer and the other man made a chair-cradle with their arms and carried him to the farmer's car. The farmer drove at frightening speed to the hospital eight miles away, burning up the car's engine, which had been low on oil. The sailor sat in the front attempting to keep his white uniform clean. When John asked for a cigarette, the sailor lit one up and proceeded to smoke it himself. Perhaps that's why John left him with a remembrance of the occasion, a bloody hand-print on his shoulder. The squadron later took up a collection to pay for a new engine. 

Grandpa took the next few months to recover in a veterans hospital. His U.S. Army Air Force days were over. He went on to live a long, happy life here in Michigan, raising four girls, and living in love with my grandma until the day he died. 

Happy Valentines Day.

Dear Grandpa,

      I love you and I haven't even met you. I hope you're doing well with grandma up in heaven. I'm sure you're playing a lot of golf and the sun is always shining. And I bet you're running on two legs too! I look forward to the day when I get to join you up there. Until then, how about you send me a good one like grandma my way. O.K. I love you and see you later!

-Gabe