Essays
Moseying: History of the Southern Llano Estacado
Bombing ranges in west Texas in World War II
August 24, 2005
The Commemorative Air Force Museum mission reads in part “To establish an organization having the dedication, enthusiasm and esprit de corps necessary to operate, maintain and preserve these (World War II) aircraft as symbols of our American military aviation heritage.” During World War II 40 airfields were used as training facilities in Texas.
I can think of twelve that were within 150 miles of Midland – at Big Spring, Sweetwater, Abilene, Lubbock, Midland, Clovis, Hobbs, Ft. Stockton, San Angelo, Pyote, Pecos, and Ballinger. The region was much less populated then, and although the oil industry had established strong beginnings, the towns were still based on the ranching and farming industries.
Some ranchers sacrificed land. The government needed places for bombing ranges, and as I have been told by more than one elderly landowner, claimed the use of the land by eminent domain. “We need “x” number of sections of your land. Everybody must contribute to the war effort. Thank you for being a loyal citizen, and oh, by the way, you can no longer go on that land at anytime, because we are not telling anybody when the training missions occur. If a plane crashes, do not go near it, or you will be arrested.”
The ranchers were good citizens, indeed. And like so many folks at the time, they opened up their homes to the young men from all over the nation, giving them home cooked meals, and allowing them to hunt on their land.
As I am prone to do, I like to imagine what it must have been like, so one day, when returning from a presentation at a nearby town, I stopped on the side of the road next to some property I had been told had been used as a bombing range and imagined the following scene.
“Momma, my pony ran under a hackberry and I was knocked off. Ralphie ran away, and would not let me catch him. I followed him, and he went towards the cedar ridge where the planes come. And Momma, Ralphi got through the fence where the flood from the big rain last week washed out the fence posts. He’s gonna get killed momma, I just know it.”
“Baby girl, I hear planes coming now. We can’t go catch him now. Maybe when the bombs fall he’ll run back across the fence.” The momma turned back to her wood stove, fixing supper for the dozen cowboys that would be in at sundown. “Haul me some firewood – working will keep your mind off of Ralphie.”
The little girl trudged out to the woodshed and filled up a wheelbarrow full of mesquite roots. When she started back to the house she stopped to watch the planes. As the last one of the flight finished its run and began to curve around to head back to the base near the town 30 miles away, it suddenly lost power and smoke came from an engine. She watched, horrified, as it plummeted toward the ground. It hit the ground, over the crest of the ridge, and she heard an explosion. “Momma! Momma! A plane just crashed!”
The mother came to the door. “Those poor boys. Did you see any parachutes?” The little girl shook her head. “Here comes your poppa, coming back from town. I hope he was able to get everything on the shopping list, and I hope he got a decent price for the cows he hauled to the auction barn. Go meet him, maybe he got you some candy as a treat. Tell him about Ralphie, too.”
The little girl ran to meet the truck. “I had three flats on the way home, girl. Look at this tire – three times the rocks on the road poked holes in it. Maybe I won’t have to go to town until I get issued another ration card for another tire. I may have to take poppa’s old wagon, if I have to go, and that would take three days for the round trip.”
The little girl made sure he was through talking and then excitedly told him about Ralphie and the plane crash. “I’ll saddle up one of the horses in the corral and go see if I can whistle up Ralphie.” The two carried in the boxes of cans and the big sacks of beans and flour. “Momma can sew you some new winter underwear out this sack – it must have just come from the factory, ‘cause it’s in real good shape. Won’t that be nice and warm when the northers blow?”
On the way to the corral, the father stopped at the two-holer outhouse for a few minutes. When he rode away, the momma stepped back to the door and stood with the little girl and they watched him go. They both watched for the five minutes it took for him to ride out of sight. She tousled the little girl’s head and said to herself, “I know he’ll go catch that pony, and I know he’ll take a look at that wreck. I hope he comes back before the soldiers from the base arrive to take care of the bodies. At least the planes won’t be back. ” She picked up the little girl and hugged her tight. Hugging the little girl made her believe everything would be all right and nothing more that was bad would happen, that day.
Thank you, Dollye Neal Ballenger, for inspiring this fiction story while telling me stories of A.B. Neal, sheepman par excellence.