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HI Guys,
I'm sorry. I have been acting under the assumption that everyone was familiar with me, and with the story of Dean, and his Mustang. I have received so many private messages, and now the confusion in my twofold question, that I have decided to include the story I wrote a few years ago, about Dean, his Mustang, and the events that have gotten us here. So, here it is:
Dean Gilmore was born, November 14, 1921, in a small Pennsylvania community, on the East coast of the United States. He was raised on a farm, just one, of nineteen children. For as long as anyone could remember, Dean was always fascinated by aviation. These were the early days, of flight, when the U. S. mail planes would make their runs through the Pennsylvania valleys, on a regular basis. Dean’s older brother, Charles was also fascinated by aviation, and was himself, an experienced pilot. Charles and his wife, Bertha, owned a farm near Dean’s home. Charles and Bertha were my grandparents. A friend of the family kept his plane parked in a field on my Grandfather’s farm. It is the family’s belief that this is where Dean had his first plane ride, and that this in part is what led to his lifelong love of aviation.
Dean was a very bright, and very popular young man. He was class president, from his freshman through his senior years, at East Penn’s Valley High School, from which he graduated in 1940. He was an Athletic All American, captain of both his baseball and soccer teams. The caption under his senior picture read as follows:
Every class must have its executive; we have ours in “Gilly”. He has led our class as president for four years, and now he wants to be an executive in an airline company. He has been interested in aviation since he learned its fundamentals. He expects to make America air-minded. To put the airplane in the place where the automobile is today. Good luck Gilly. Fly back to East Penn for a visit some bright day.
Such a bright future, for this young man, but then… the war came.
Dean enlisted in the Army Air Corp on June 3, 1942. He, along with 4000 other Air Cadets reported to Maxwell field in, Georgia, July 10, 1942, for pre-flight training. He writes of this training in a letter to his hometown newspaper, dated February 25, 1943. Dean speaks of the rigorous schedule they were all subjected to, and of the “class system” which was firmly in place. It seems the upperclassmen delighted in inventing new ways to keep the young cadets in check. Their schedule was as follows, one half day of classes, and the other half was spent on drill, athletics, and parade. Drill consisted of one hour of marching, daily. They also had two cross country runs per week. These runs were seven miles long, and they were required to run from start to finish. Dean reported “one young cadet ran himself to death, one hot day”.
After surviving the rigors of pre-flight training, Dean went on to primary flying school at Carlstrom Field, a civilian owned Air Field, under contract to the Army. Dean described Carlstrom Field, as being like a country club. All they had to do was go to ground school, and learn to fly. Dean states that it was here they learned the meaning of the term “wash out”. He talks of how it affected the men who had their hearts set on flying. By the time Dean left Carlstrom his original class of 4000, was down by half.
Next, it was on to Bainbridge, Georgia, for basic flying training. This was an Army School with Army instructors, and they all feared it would be difficult. However, Dean writes, “after a few hours in the commonly known, Vultee Vibrator, we could all fly it with a relative degree of safety.” It is at this point in Dean’s letter that you begin to see, and feel the love he had for flying. He describes the Vultee Basic Trainer, number 13A as, “a low wing monoplane, powered with a 450 horsepower engine, with flaps, controllable pitch propeller, and a lot of other gadgets too numerous to mention. It is really a pretty nice airplane to fly!” he added. Before the end of basic flying training they lost another fifteen percent of their original class.
Then, finally the day arrived when Dean and his remaining class mates were recognized by the Army as pilots, and sent to Marianna, Florida, for advanced flying training, in what Dean describes as the sweetest flying airplane in the world, the AT 6-C. Dean describes how they all love to fly it. He goes on to say, there isn’t anything you can’t do with it. You can start doing slow rolls, loops, or anything, and continue until you become bored, but the airplane will still be responding to your control, just as sweet as ever. After completing more than half his training at Marrianna, it was on to Elgin Field, for gunnery practice. Dean tells how for gunnery practice they fired thirty caliber machine guns mounted in the regular cowling position of the AT 6C. They would fire seven hundred rounds at targets on the ground, and another thirteen hundred at targets pulled by another plane. Dean remarks that, “it is fun to touch the trigger, and hear the old machine gun chatter, and imagine what eight or ten guns will sound like in a few months.”
At advanced flying school the class lost another twelve percent of its original number, leaving a mere twenty three percent to graduate. The other seventy seven percent of the class became bombardier, or navigation cadets, or privates in the U.S. Army. How truly heart breaking that must have been for so many who loved flying so much!
Dean closes his letter to the Millheim Journal by telling of flying over all the southern United States, and that not one could compare to his home state of Pennsylvania. He takes the opportunity to say “hello” to everyone back home, and hopes he sees them all when the war is over. Sadly, this was not meant to be.
After graduating from advanced flying school, Dean was sent to the Mediterranean Theatre of Operations, in August, 1943. On October 6, 1943 Dean joined the 111th Tactical Reconnaissance Squadron, nicknamed “The Snoopers“. He was stationed in Italy. While with the 111th Dean flew 91 sorties. By the time he came back to the U.S. in April, 1944, he had 194 hours of combat flying time, and had flown more missions than anyone else in his squadron. In December, 1943, Dean was made Flight Officer of his Squadron.
In early 1944, Dean wrote a letter to his sister, Geraldine, telling her of some of the close calls he had had. He came through each of his missions unscathed, but his F-6A, the recon version of the P-51A, was not as fortunate. The damage to his plane was always repairable. He reported shooting down one enemy plane, and said, “was I ever surprised!” He was given a session at rest camp after this, and he reported, the red cross had set up an officers club that was very nice, and offered lots of entertainment.
On February 25, 1944, Dean was promoted to the rank of First Lieutenant.
On March 15, 1944, the 111th was stationed near the town of Cassino, Italy. Two fierce battles had already been waged there, and the German’s were firmly entrenched in the rubble of the Abbey located near the town. Dean and his weaver were sent, on a mission to relay information to the artillery units. For his skill and bravery that day Dean was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross.
By the end of March, 1944, Dean had flown 87 sorties, and would fly four more before returning home to the United States in April, 1944.
Upon his return to the United States, Dean was assigned to Bartow Army Air Field, Bartow Florida. In July, 1944, Dean was made a flight instructor.
On November 3, 1944 Dean flew his P-51B home to Pennsylvania, on what would be his last trip home, alive. He flew to Williamsport, PA, where he was met by my grandfather, who drove Dean home to Millheim. While at home Dean confided to his sister that on his next furlough home he was going to ask his sweetheart to marry him. He also planned on returning to Europe at the beginning of 1945.
On Sunday, November 5, 1944, Dean stopped at my grandparent’s home, which was now in Mill Hall, PA. My Dad, John, who was 18 at the time, asked his Uncle Dean if he was going to fly his P-51 over the house. Dean told him he might. About an hour later, Dad heard the beautiful sweet sound of that Merlin engine, roaring overhead. He ran outside in time to see Dean heading up the valley. On his return pass, Dad, said Dean buzzed the house so low that the leaves on the maple tree outside were still blowing five minutes later! Dean tipped his wings to Dad as he headed back to Bartow, FL. It was the last time Dad saw his Uncle alive.
The following Thursday, November 9, 1944, The Millheim Journal reported, Dean’s Awarding of the Distinguished Flying Cross. They included the text from the Citation, which read as follows:
“Dean R. Gilmore, 0-799555, First Lieutenant, Tactical Reconnaissance Squadron.
“For extraordinary achievement while participating in aerial flight as pilot of a P-51 type aircraft. On March 15, 1944, Lt. Gilmore flew on a two-plane mission to adjust heavy artillery gunfire upon enemy sites near Cassino, Italy. Skillfully maneuvering his fighter plane through tense anti-aircraft fire, Lt. Gilmore relayed exact information enabling our guns to silence two 88 m.m. gun batteries, one heavy gun battery, and a dual-purpose gun position. While adjusting fire upon a fifth target, twelve ME-109’s attacked Lt. Gilmore and his weaver. Displaying outstanding courage and flying ability as he maneuvered the two-plane element against tremendous odds, Lt. Gilmore damaged one enemy aircraft before breaking off combat and returning safely to base. His steadfast devotion to duty and outstanding proficiency as a combat pilot reflect great credit upon himself and the Armed Forces of the United States.”
Just one week later, this same paper would report Dean’s death.
November 14, 1944 was Dean’s twenty third birthday. From all accounts the day was a rather routine one. Dean had done 30 minutes of flying early in the day, and then at approximately 4:00 p.m. He took off on a routine training mission, leading four junior pilots. The mission was a two lap circle which took them North from Bartow, around Lake Louisa, and back to Bartow. According to the wingman, and the other pilots, the first lap of the flight was accomplished without incident. On the second leg of their journey, something went terribly wrong. As the five planes came over the tree’s and passed over Lake Louisa Dean’s plane went into a gradual descent and slammed into the lake.
Frank and Isabel Wright were out boating on the lake, when’s Dean’s plane crashed, they were approximately 2500 feet away. From a written account they gave the day following the accident a vivid picture of the wreck emerges. They reported that as the plane descended from approximately two hundred feet it appeared to be cutting low, and when it tried to straighten up, it appeared to bounce, much like a stone skipping across the surface of the water. They then report that there was a terrible crash, and that pieces of the plane were blown into the air. While it is possible that the cold water hitting the hot engine caused the plane to explode, it seems more likely that the sound they heard was the planes collision with the sandy bottom of the lake. Mr. And Mrs. Wright rowed immediately to the wreck site, and looked for signs of life, they found none. They stated that gasoline was pouring from one of the tanks and the water was a blaze. They noticed fifty feet to the left of the main wreckage something white was floating, upon closer inspection they discovered it was the deployed parachute. Floating under the parachute was my Uncle’s lifeless body. The boat was too small to bring his body into it, so they held him up, and rowed toward shore. Before leaving the scene, they tied one of two oxygen flasks that were floating, to the wreckage. They signaled the planes from Dean’s squadron, who were circling, and report that the planes left. Upon reaching the shore they report Dean’s body was taken away in an Ambulance.
Eleven hundred miles away, Dear old Grandpa Harry, Dean’s father, received the news from his children, that his youngest son was gone. Dean’s body was accompanied home by train, by one of his fellow comrades. From all accounts Dean’s funeral was enormous. The local church was filled to capacity, with people lined up for four blocks away, to pay their respects to this local fallen hero. With Dean’s burial in the local cemetery, an end came to a brilliant talented well loved young man’s life. For fifty seven years Dean was lovingly remembered by his family, but the only public remembrance of this brave young man, was a picture which hangs in the local American Legion in Millheim. Also in that fifty seven year span, the remains of Dean’s P-51B, lay hidden from view under Lake Louisa’s waters.
That is until last year. Central Florida was in the midst of a severe three year drought. The water level at Lake Louisa had dropped to a one hundred year low. Two young boys were on the lake, kayaking, on June 26, 2001, when they noticed something sticking out of the water. Upon inspection they realized it was two severely twisted blades attached to the hub of a propeller. They immediately rowed to shore and contacted park officials. Park Manager, Charles McIntire, contacted the Lake County Sheriff’s Department, who sent the dive team to recover the wreckage. The first concern officials had was whether this was a new wreck, but the profuse amount of algae covering the surfaces, led officials to conclude that the wreck had been there for some time. All that was recovered was, the prop, the radiator, the battery, part of the wing, and a pile of assorted pieces. It was obvious that a good deal of wreckage had been removed prior to its most recent discovery.
The next focus of the investigation was two fold. What type of plane was it, and what happened to the pilot? A series of four newspaper articles ran in the Orlando Sentinel, asking anyone with information to please come forward. The first thought was that this was a P-40 Warhawk, however the solid copper radiator, and four bladed propeller, led officials to later conclude, that it was a P-51 Mustang.
After reading of the search for the pilot’s identity, and his possible location, Jesse Caldwell, a lifelong Florida resident, came forward with an old letter written by Ward Harker, base commander at Bartow Army Air Field, to Mr. And Mrs. Wright, thanking them for their efforts to save Dean. Her son, had been tearing down the Wright family home, in the late 1980’s, and came across the letter. He knew that his Mom liked to collect old things so he gave it to her. She tucked it away, where it lay forgotten for over ten years. When this information came to light, Anthony Colarossi, a reporter for the Orlando Sentinel began an internet search for Dean’s relatives. I have always been interested in my family’s history, and I have posted family data on many genealogy websites. Anthony found my email address, and on July 3, 2001, I received an email that changed my life.
From the time I was a little girl, I always knew of Uncle Dean, and the tragic way his life ended. As I dug into my family’s history, I often wondered what Lake Louisa looked like, and what really happened that fateful day over half a century earlier. When I checked my email on July 3rd, the title, “Looking for Relatives of 1st. Lt. Dean R. Gilmore”, jumped out at me. My first thought was, it was a response to a genealogy post I had placed. When I read of what had transpired in Florida, I was literally dumbfounded! My Dad walked in while I was reading, and as I read it to him he was equally stunned. I called Anthony, and he put me in touch with Mark Brewer, the Lake County Sheriff’s Department Legal Advisor. Mark informed us that Sheriff George Knupp planned on honoring Dean, and all other Aviators who flew in the skies over Florida during the war. Initially, the plan was for a Monument to be placed at Leesburg Airport, which was also an AAF Base during WWII. This idea was scrapped for several reasons. The most obvious being Dean had no ties to this Base. The decision was made to place a monument at Lake Louisa State Park. It was decided that the Dedication would take place on Monday, November 12, 2002. This was the day we observe Veteran’s Day. In the four months leading up to the ceremony Mark kept us advised of all developments involving, the monument, the wreckage, and the dedication ceremony, I spent the time learning everything I could about Dean. I did this by digging through old newspapers, and by talking to his only two surviving siblings, Geraldine Rossman, and Jean Stover
On November 8, 2002, my Dad and I set out from our homes, to drive the eleven hundred miles to Lake Louisa for the ceremony. We arrived in Clermont on November 9th, and we were treated as honored guests, from the moment we arrived. The next morning, Dad and I drove to the Lake. We wanted a chance to see the Lake before the ceremony. We knew it would be very emotional. We were greeted by the Park Ranger, and his staff. We were taken to the Monument which stands seven feet tall, and has a tip of the propeller from Dean’s plane embedded in the top of it. As I stood with my back against the back of the monument, and stared off across the lake, I was in direct line with where the plane was recovered.
On Sunday a traditional Veteran’s Day ceremony took place at the Citrus Tower, near Clermont. It was here that we had our first glimpse of the wreckage. As I neared the flatbed truck, upon which the pieces lay, I was overcome with emotion. I never thought a twisted pile of metal could have such a powerful effect on me, but to see the force which was needed to turn this once beautiful machine into this twisted wreck was very powerful indeed. Dad and I were asked to speak, and after we finished we were presented with a shadowbox containing miniatures of Dean’s ribbons, silver wings, and his 1st lt. Bars. It was a beautiful tribute.
Monday, November 12, 2001, dawned bright and beautiful. It was two days before the 57th Anniversary of the crash, and also two days before what would have been Dean’s 80th Birthday. We arrived at the Lake at 9:00 A.M., and were met by a multitude of television reporters. After giving several interviews, the Ceremony began, and again we were asked to speak. As I stood in front of all those people and talked about Dean, I realized how truly blessed I was to have the opportunity to get to know such a wonderful young man. After the monument was unveiled, we were presented with a plaque that contained another tip of a propeller from the plane, and also the rudder pedal. As the Chaplain began the benediction, we heard the hum of a Merlin Engine heading towards us. Seconds later Kermit Weeks roared over head in Cripes A Mighty, and gave us all quite a show. He made five passes, from various angles, and on his last pass he tipped his wings in farewell, much the same way as Dean had done for my Dad all those years before. As we watched the plane leave our sight, a beautiful American Bald Eagle appeared, circled the lake and landed on the sand bar where the wreckage was recovered.
My Dad’s closing remarks in the speech he gave were, “My one regret is that Dean is not here to share in the dedication of this beautiful monument and to reminisce with his comrades in arms”, but as the Eagle landed on the wreckage site, I knew in my heart that Dean was indeed with us that beautiful day.
Another chapter in this amazing story……..
A few months after the Ceremony in Florida, Jack Roush, of Roush racing purchased the remains of Dean’s plane, and is reconstructing it as it appeared in 1944. After an internet request to many many war bird historians, I was able to locate photographs of dean’s Mustang when she was at Bartow Airfield in 1944. The Roush people now know EXACTLY what 43-12252 looks like! The photograph clearly shows her serial number. She is underconstruction in CA.
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