Uncle Eddie lived in Florida and sometimes came to NY to visit our family during the 1960s, driving up with Aunt Jean and sometimes Katherine, their daughter. Eddie was born in Brooklyn with the rest of the LaBarbera siblings, but by then he was from what seemed that very faraway place Florida.
He was always anticipated--he was the most spirited and gregarious of the siblings. The lively one My father was older and more restrained. I remember having meals on our screened in porch in the New York summer heat.
Eddie had a crewcut and looked youthful though he must have then been in his fifties. He had a grin, and a deep tan (which I later learned was from taking atabrine for Malaria). His car seemed fancy and exotic--it had air conditioning (air conditioning in a car!) that blew from several roundish vents, each with concentric, ever smaller circles of plastic inside. He did very well as an insurance salesman in Florida too, winning numerous prizes with Prudential.
Uncle Eddie was outgoing , though experiences in the war had been very harsh and probably what would be objectively considered traumatic. Twice he had been shot down in New Guinea--and like many other aviators, had to manage in a dense jungle, with injuries, the risk of being caught and perhaps killed or tortured by the Japanese, and the likelihood that he would be regarded by his superiors as dead, with no attempt to reach him. It took some time to get back to American held soil, while enduring horrific circumstances and likelihood of being eaten by insects, animals, or humans.
The plane that Uncle Eddie flew was a p-47d, which was a bomber escort and ground attack fighter, and sometimes called the Thunderbolt. They were turning them out by the thousands. The Jap plane probably was a zero or Ki-45.
Others in the family talked about their war experiences when I was a child. Uncle Jerry had been in North Africa, mom had lost a cousin at Battle of the Bulge, and Dad wrote a diary daily of events. But Eddie never partook in the discussion. . Nowadays, there would be no doubt that he could easily obtain a full VA disability--they would probably give it to him without ado, giving his expediences in the jungle. Additionally, the aircraft engines on that plane were so loud that the cochleas of those pilots must have looked like burnt lima beans.
Oddest of coincidences, Eddie and Jean eventually had a vacation place in Panama City, and I visited him when I moved here decades later, about 1989, via a rather random route of jobs and schools in various places. By then there was some tension in the adult family, maybe just time and in-laws, not much interest to us children. Eddie was a bit independent minded and may not have enjoyed the permanent role of the youngest male sibling, the subordinate status involved in perpetuity.He was very gallant and fatherly to me. I remember him reaching into his pocket and giving me a lot of bills. "Its only money." He seemed to like my then spouse Nancy, whose father was also in the insurance business. He bought us a big meal on Panama City Beach.
The air force has reproduced the old records of planes shot down, and there is annotation of Eddie's plane, with date, identification number of plane, and type of plane. It was New Guinea on 6-21-1943, which made him 27 years old. Its hard to imagine a 27 year old managing that kind of situation--seems so young. Several other aviators also went down that day.
During the time Eddie was training, my Dad was quite fearful of his younger brother's future. Around 1942, my Dad, working at with the Australian Air Force on Tonga, remarked in his diary that men hardly older than boys were given a few months training and expected to maneuver against Jap fighters. Probably the young men of the Japanese air force had as little training as their counterparts. My Dad secretly hoped Eddie, his junior by five years, would wash out and be given a clerical job. The family already had had two sibling deaths, one from a infant dropped by a nursemaid, another as aftereffect of the flu epidemic, which carried their mother off as well. So they had experienced three deaths in their immediate family already.
Anyone who piloted one of those planes faced high mortality rate. It might not have been as bad as a ball gunner, but probably near.. It was not exactly the modern air force. My Dad also described sitting on a court martial board for an Australian pilot who left a beer can in the cockpit which had gotten lodged under controls. My Dad tried to get him off the hook.
Eddie would send me elaborate penned letters with a fatherly tone, and I tried to keep in touch. He died at age 83, five years after my Dad, same age. 83 seems, for my father and brothers, a sort of a set ending point. The causes of death vary--the body just wears out at about the same time, and not a bad time at that considering that aging past one's early eighties tends not to be a whole lot of fun.
A letters is produced below. I wonder if Eddie's handwriting, showing great fine motor coordination, indicated the type of coordination skills that made him suitable to be a fighter pilot. In any case, I have great respect for individuals who choose that work. Contrary to the stereotype of hot dogs, the ones I have known seem responsible, disciplined, and good natured individuals.
He was always anticipated--he was the most spirited and gregarious of the siblings. The lively one My father was older and more restrained. I remember having meals on our screened in porch in the New York summer heat.
Eddie had a crewcut and looked youthful though he must have then been in his fifties. He had a grin, and a deep tan (which I later learned was from taking atabrine for Malaria). His car seemed fancy and exotic--it had air conditioning (air conditioning in a car!) that blew from several roundish vents, each with concentric, ever smaller circles of plastic inside. He did very well as an insurance salesman in Florida too, winning numerous prizes with Prudential.
Uncle Eddie was outgoing , though experiences in the war had been very harsh and probably what would be objectively considered traumatic. Twice he had been shot down in New Guinea--and like many other aviators, had to manage in a dense jungle, with injuries, the risk of being caught and perhaps killed or tortured by the Japanese, and the likelihood that he would be regarded by his superiors as dead, with no attempt to reach him. It took some time to get back to American held soil, while enduring horrific circumstances and likelihood of being eaten by insects, animals, or humans.
The plane that Uncle Eddie flew was a p-47d, which was a bomber escort and ground attack fighter, and sometimes called the Thunderbolt. They were turning them out by the thousands. The Jap plane probably was a zero or Ki-45.
Others in the family talked about their war experiences when I was a child. Uncle Jerry had been in North Africa, mom had lost a cousin at Battle of the Bulge, and Dad wrote a diary daily of events. But Eddie never partook in the discussion. . Nowadays, there would be no doubt that he could easily obtain a full VA disability--they would probably give it to him without ado, giving his expediences in the jungle. Additionally, the aircraft engines on that plane were so loud that the cochleas of those pilots must have looked like burnt lima beans.
Oddest of coincidences, Eddie and Jean eventually had a vacation place in Panama City, and I visited him when I moved here decades later, about 1989, via a rather random route of jobs and schools in various places. By then there was some tension in the adult family, maybe just time and in-laws, not much interest to us children. Eddie was a bit independent minded and may not have enjoyed the permanent role of the youngest male sibling, the subordinate status involved in perpetuity.He was very gallant and fatherly to me. I remember him reaching into his pocket and giving me a lot of bills. "Its only money." He seemed to like my then spouse Nancy, whose father was also in the insurance business. He bought us a big meal on Panama City Beach.
| 430621 | LABARBERA, EDGAR R | P-47D | 42-22314 |
During the time Eddie was training, my Dad was quite fearful of his younger brother's future. Around 1942, my Dad, working at with the Australian Air Force on Tonga, remarked in his diary that men hardly older than boys were given a few months training and expected to maneuver against Jap fighters. Probably the young men of the Japanese air force had as little training as their counterparts. My Dad secretly hoped Eddie, his junior by five years, would wash out and be given a clerical job. The family already had had two sibling deaths, one from a infant dropped by a nursemaid, another as aftereffect of the flu epidemic, which carried their mother off as well. So they had experienced three deaths in their immediate family already.
Anyone who piloted one of those planes faced high mortality rate. It might not have been as bad as a ball gunner, but probably near.. It was not exactly the modern air force. My Dad also described sitting on a court martial board for an Australian pilot who left a beer can in the cockpit which had gotten lodged under controls. My Dad tried to get him off the hook.
Eddie would send me elaborate penned letters with a fatherly tone, and I tried to keep in touch. He died at age 83, five years after my Dad, same age. 83 seems, for my father and brothers, a sort of a set ending point. The causes of death vary--the body just wears out at about the same time, and not a bad time at that considering that aging past one's early eighties tends not to be a whole lot of fun.
A letters is produced below. I wonder if Eddie's handwriting, showing great fine motor coordination, indicated the type of coordination skills that made him suitable to be a fighter pilot. In any case, I have great respect for individuals who choose that work. Contrary to the stereotype of hot dogs, the ones I have known seem responsible, disciplined, and good natured individuals.
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