II= World War II
Prologue
The first time an interviewer asked me who has been influential in my life, I admit I had not given the question much thought. Prior to that, like many children of plenty, there had been no call to examine the sources of my good fortune. Prefacing the query with a comment on the importance of mentors and role models, I think the interviewer expected me to name a significant professor, famous author or civil rights activist, so there appeared to be surprise when I said, "my father."
The idea a father is not readily perceived to be a role model in the black family stands as sad commentary on a blind spot in America, one that overlooks a host of black men leading exemplary lives. Observations aside, when forced to scan the list of possible benefactors, Dad's name came irrepressibly to the top.
"My father, Charles McGee."
The interviewer probed.
"Interesting choice. Why did you pick him?"
"Because, from my earliest memory, he was always encouraging me."
Many things were taught under his watchful eye. Whether to ride a bike down the steepest of hills (or what seemed so when I was six years old) or attend school thousands of miles from home at age thirteen, he instilled in me an early confidence which led me to believe I could meet these and other challenges with some risk taking and hard work.
Looking back, I realize the true value of his wonderful gift. Living in the midst of a racist and sexist society, he could have advocated a cautious path.
"You're a young black girl in a world that doesn't much appreciate you. There are going to be a lot of obstacles. Don't set yourself up for disappointment."
Dad didn’t say these words because the thought behind them was foreign to him. Instead, he made me his namesake and endowed me with the sense of purpose and determination that directed his life. It is with gratitude and abiding love, I put his story on paper.
Many significant events, even historic ones, are not recognized at the onset. It may take a series of insights which accumulate over time to finally afford a clear understanding. The legend of men who became Tuskegee Airmen is an example. Dad’s story is closely entwined with theirs and it is fitting that my first real appreciation of his indomitable spirit came through them. It happened at the Tuskegee Airmen Convention in Washington, D.C., in August of 1989. My brother, Ronald Allen McGee, and sister, Yvonne Gay McGee, had been attending Tuskegee Airmen, Inc. (TAI) conventions for some time, but it was my introduction. Even though I had known some of Dad's fellow officers since childhood, this was my first close encounter with them in a long time.
I entered the reception hall to be greeted by a sea of silver-haired men of various shades of brown from "light, bright, almost white" to the deepest ebony hue. Most were wearing colored blazers, red, blue, orange and navy among others, creating a kaleidoscope as they clustered in some places and intermingled in others. I learned that the color of the jackets denoted the chapter from which the members hailed. Dad looked very sharp, sporting the sky blue of Kansas City's Heart of America Chapter. A number of Airmen approached us.
"Hey, Mac. Good to see you."
"Colonel, you look great. What's new?"
The greetings flew fast and free along with good-natured glad handing and backslapping. Smiles were broad and genuine and the hand shakes strong and sure.
As the evening progressed, long-standing friendships were acknowledged and renewed. There was the periodic talk of illness and loss that might be expected from men in their sixth and seventh decades, but thoughts of advancing years and frail health paled in comparison to the strength and vitality filling the room that night.
Drinks were ordered and glasses clinked as the Tuskegee Airmen swapped stories old and new. The discussions were punctuated by raucous laughter and interrupted by greetings with each new arrival. It didn't take long to realize the special bond between these men, one I felt privileged to observe. Their strong allegiance was unforgettably compelling and at the same time almost intimidating. The Airmen were gallant and gracious to family and friends, but in the midst of so much camaraderie we were set apart. It was clear we weren't one of "them" and to be one of "them" was clearly very special.
That evening, for one moment I was back in time, witnessing a World War II flight ready room filled with a cadre of top notch fighter pilots. With confident swagger, they exuded fiery, irrepressible energy which left no doubt they were equal to the challenge ahead. These men fought racism at home to reach the battlefront. They worked long and hard to become masters of their fate as they faced war. They shared a common conviction that what they were doing would make a difference beyond the war.
Coming back to the present and the convention hall, it was hard to tell forty-five years had elapsed and for all practical purposes nothing had changed. These men conversed with the same enthusiasm and passion that told everyone they could still do phenomenal things. The Tuskegee Airmen were mortal men with uncommon determination to be more than was expected of
them. That night I looked into the familiar face of my father and saw this amazing feature for the first time.
In the years which have passed since the initial insight, I have come to learn much more about the Tuskegee Airmen, gallant aviators, patriots and the first United States African American pilots and crews to serve their country during World War II and to this day. Too often African American men are not portrayed in mainstream America as loving husband, fathers, patriots or role models. In order to dispel ill-conceived notions and share a greater understanding, I commit my father's biography to paper.
This book is drawn from his reflections as he relayed them over the years and in interviews. As narrator of his story, I share observations which are, in great part, the consequences of having him in my life. It is a journey across a century of trial and achievement. It is one for the record.
I: Foundation
1919-1939
•The 1919 Treaty of Versailles ending World War I put heavy demands on Germany, sowing the seeds for future conflict.
•Alcock and Brown completed the first nonstop transatlantic flight in 1919.
•After training in France, Bessie Coleman became the first licensed black pilot in the USA in 1922.
•Following the crash of the New York Stock Market, blacks were hit hard in the Great Depression of the 1930s.
•African Americans helped elect President Franklin D. Roosevelt, who stimulated the economy with the “New Deal” and, with wife Eleanor, was a supporter of civil rights.
•Blacks were admitted into the Civil Pilot Training Program at six black colleges and two non-academic flying schools in 1939.
•Hitler’s invasion of Poland signaled the beginning World War II.
None of us influence the circumstances of our birth, and so it was with my father, Charles Edward McGee, born on December 7, 1919 to Lewis Allen McGee and Ruth Elizabeth Lewis McGee. Lewis was a battle tested World War I veteran returned from Europe where he had served as a 1st lieutenant and chaplain for the troops. At the time of Charles' birth the family lived at 425 E. 158th Street in Cleveland, Ohio, another accident of fate since Lewis' work, sometimes as a teacher, social worker and minister of the AME (African Methodist Episcopal) church, resulted in frequent moves.
Charles' brother, Lewis Allen Jr., was born two years before in Raleigh, North Carolina, and the family had lived in several locales before coming to Cleveland. It turned out the Cleveland stint was long enough to welcome the arrival of Ruth Monzella McGee on May 1, 1921. Sadly, it also served as the last earthly home for the children's mother. Ruth died within weeks of the birth of her daughter and namesake from an infection thought to be pneumonia contracted during her confinement at the hospital following childbirth.