At about 1430 hours on February 20, 1947, the crew of the Kee Bird took off from Ladd Field on a photo mission which was to last about 20 hours. We had about 26 hours of fuel on board and proceeded northward to Pt. Barrow, Alaska, which was our last land checkpoint in our northward flight over the polar ice cap. Lt. Cowan, the navigator, gave us a heading which would be the first leg of our outgoing flight. Flying at 15,000 feet, we turned onto our assigned leg and flew on it for approximately seven hours. Flying VFR (Visual Flight Rules), we completed the first leg on the mission without problem. At this time, there was little indication that this would become one of the most memorable flights of our lives.

Shortly after Lt. Arnett, the aircraft commander, flew over the North Pole and turned onto the return leg, we flew into a cloud bank. At first, we thought very little about it, since we had been flying VFR on our first leg, we assumed that we would soon be breaking out of the clouds. However, after flying IFR (on Instrument Flight Rules) for about 45 minutes, we decided we would have to get a fix on our position and to correct our gyro compass setting. To save fuel, Lt. Arnett decided to make a gradual climb to get on top of the clouds. Using a climb power setting, it took us about 30 minutes to get above the clouds at 24,000 feet into twilight.

Lt. Cowan, the navigator, said that under these conditions, it would be impossible to get a good fix and recommended that we hold the present heading until the sun would get high enough to get a fix on it. However, as we watched the sun rise above the horizon, it immediately started to set. Lt. Cowan pointed out that if we took a fix, there would be so much of a refraction error that it would not be a good one. Since it had been approximately two hours since Lt. Cowan had been able to give us a corrected compass heading, he suggested that we hold the present heading. At this time, we had been in the air approximately 16 hours. Lt. Arnett and Lt. Cowan were going over their navigational chart s trying to figure our approximate location. As our radio operator, Sgt. Robert Leader, was in contact with Ladd Field, he requested QDN, but we did not receive them . We had flown for some time on the present heading and we noticed that the undercast was breaking up, although what we saw below was a very uninviting sight, with rugged peaks, mountains and a rugged coastline as far as we could see.

We were faced with two possibilities. The first one was holding our present heading until it got dark enough for Lt. Cowan to get a celestial fix. In this case, knowing that we faced approximately 16 hours of total darkness and estimating approximately 9 to 10 hours of fuel, it would give us time, once we knew where we were, to make a safe landing at Fairbanks or stations unknown. The other possibility was to find a place safe enough to make a crash landing during the remaining daylight. But what we saw below wasn't very encouraging. While all this was going on, Sgt. Leader was trying to make contact with anybody who could offer us assistance.

Using our radio compass, we picked up a station transmitting a strong continuous signal. At no time did it interrupt identifying itself. Lt. Arnett suggested that we follow the radio beam and if we would hit a cone of silence, to bail out. I looked at the undercast, and not knowing what was beneath it, I politely informed Lt. Arnett that if he wanted to bail out along with those who wanted to go with him, he could; but in no way was I going to leave. I was staying with the ship.

While he and Lt. Cowan renewed their interest in going over the navigational charts, I proceeded to use the radio compass, hoping to find something better than the beam we were using. Lo and behold, I finally picked up KFAR, an AM station in Fairbanks, Alaska. The signal was fairly strong, so I informed Lt. Cowan and Lt. Arnett of my finding and we proceeded to follow the direction of the beam. After approximately a half an hour, however, the signal faded out and the compass started wandering. I knew then that it had to be a skip wave. Holding the same heading in the hopes of picking it up again, I noticed a break in the clouds at about the one o'clock position and 10 miles away what looked like a saucer-shaped area among some rolling hills. I turned around and told Lt. Arnett that he should look at it, as it appeared to be a possible landing site to set the Kee Bird down. When he got back to his seat, I turned the controls over to him and we started into a gradual descending turn to get a better look at this flat patch of snow. As it was starting to get dark very quickly now, we didn't have too much time left to make up our minds. At approximately 100 feet above the area, Lt. Arnett began banking around to get a better look at the other side of this frozen patch of snow when the engines started to cut out because of lack of fuel. But as he leveled out again, the engines caught, giving us a few more minutes of flight time. With what little fuel we had left, Lt. Arnett proceeded to fly away from the site so he could make a gradual turn to line up for a final approach as low as he could over the rolling hills at the far end. We decided to make a normal landing except that we would leave the landing gear up.

Since we had no idea was underneath the patch of snow, I suggested to Lt. Arnett that it might be a good idea to open up all the escape hatches in the event of a rough landing, so they wouldn't be jammed and trap us inside in the event of a fire. In doing so, we found that the noise level became so great that we were unable to communicate with the engineer on the final approach. To compensate for this, we arranged that when Lt. Arnett wanted the fuel selector switches turned off, Lt. Arnett would let me know. I, in turn, would pass the word by patting Lt. Cowan on the back, who would make sure the message got through to the flight engineer, Lt. Luedke. This effort at getting all the fuel out of the fuel lines was a necessity in order to lessen the chance of a fire upon impact. In the same way, when Lt. Arnett wanted Lt. Luedke to pull the master bar, the same system was used, and the master switch was pulled to cut of all electrical power immediately before touching down.

While this was going on, the men in the back part of the plane were getting all the emergency equipment next to the escape hatches so it could be unloaded quickly in case of a fire. We prepared for the landing, which, much to our delight, turned out to be smooth as we found nothing underneath us but about f our inches of snow on the surface of a frozen lake. We skidded the length of the ice and eventually came to a stop on the edge of the shore. At this time, I was halfway out of the escape hatch from my copilot's seat, and as I reached the ground I was hoping I wouldn't see any smoke or fire. To say the least, we were all glad when we found out that there was evidence of neither.

Since Sgt. Leader had been in contact with Ladd Field on the CW, he locked the key down on the final approach, hoping that Ladd might get a fix on us. As we found out later that we were so far away that this was not possible. Upon landing, Lt. Luedke drained the oil out of #2 and #3 engines which was later to come in handy for heating purposes. He also fashioned a device in which he put a piece of parachute soaked with a mixture of oil and gasoline in order to heat up the oil pan of the "putt-putt" generator, which he covered with a tarp to conserve heat. With the battery also underneath the tarp with the putt-putt, neither one would freeze at the 55 below zero temperatures. The decision was made not to fire up the putt-putt to contact Ladd Field, since, not knowing where we were. We figured a message would be futile. We chose to wait until it got dark enough for Lt. Cowan and Lt. Lesman to work out our position before we would fire up the putt-putt to notify Ladd where we were.

By this time we were in our arctic survival clothing, taking inventory of everything in the emergency kits and storing the away. Much of our time was spent guessing where we were, whether in Alaska or Canada. Nobody guessed Greenland. As I talked with the other crewmembers, I didn't detect any fears or doubts. Their spirits seemed to be high and all felt it would just a matter of time before we would be rescued. Besides talking, there wasn't really much to do at the time. We continued to wait for it to get dark enough for Lt. Cowan and Lt. Lesman to get a fix and work out our location.

I went back into the ship and sat in the co-pilot's seat. Sgt. Leader was still at his post at the radio controls and we both waited for the navigators to determine where our crash site was. As soon as it was dark enough to get a three star fix, then it would only be a matter of getting the right charts and seeing where the lines intersected. As cold as it was, coupled with the bulkiness of the clothing and gloves, it was a miracle that they were able to accomplish what they had done. We waited, anxiously wondering where we were, whether we could get a fix and whether the putt-putt would fire up.

Finally, the word was passed to see if it would kick over, and w hen it came on line, I think it was the sweetest sound I had ever heard in my life. Now it was Sgt. Leader's turn to fire up his radio, get o n CW, and put our the word where we were. At this time I put a set of earphones on and shortly afterwards we received a call from Thule, Greenland, saying we were approximately 200 miles north of them and all further transmissions would be directed to them, that they would be in touch with Ladd and others concerned with our rescue. A schedule had been made between Thule and the Kee Bird as to when each would contact the other, but at the present time there was no use for us staying on the air. Only after all information was coordinated with Thule and the rescue effort was well underway, did Sgt. Leader leave his post. Now that our spirits were lifted, the thought came to our minds to see of any of us could get any sleep, since most of us had been up for over 30 hours.

A plan was worked out where one person would stay on guard, while the rest of us attempted to get some sleep. Prior to this mission, we had attended a survival course conducted by Sir Hubert Wilkins, a noted Arctic explorer, which gave us some tips on how to survive in the Arctic. One of them was, even though it was extremely cold, our body would still give off moisture, so we should never go to sleep with our clothes on. Rather, we were to take them off, turn them inside out and let the moisture in our clothing evaporate in the air. Now, climbing into a sleeping bag in just your underwear at 55 degrees below zero is a shocking experience. We were also told that one should never to sleep when very cold, but it is hard to detect exactly where coldness ends and sleep begins. After a while, you find yourself saying, "Forget it," and go to sleep hoping that you will wake up.

What woke me was some frost in my face what had accumulate on the fur of the Arctic sleeping bag as somebody shook me and told me that there was a B-29 in the vicinity. It was still total darkness, but I dressed, and with the rest of the crew, took turns grinding out on the Gibson Girl hoping they could home in on our position. I don't know how long we were grinding away, but they never could get a fix on us and we were informed by Sgt. Leader that they would be returning to their base. When it started getting light, Lt. Luedke took one other person and started hiking across the lake to the far end. We heard later that he had seen some rabbit tracks and had the idea of bringing home a nice rabbit dinner. Bob Luedke has since denied finding the rabbit tracks, but we all agreed that the story had been good for morale at the time.

About this time, Sgt. Leader notified us that he was in contact with another B-29 from Ladd Field. As I recall, it was Capt. Allenby flying "Boeing's Boner," who said he was airborne and heading in our direction. The ETA was given and we anxiously awaited for the B-29;s arrival. We received a message from Capt. Allenby saying t hat they were in the vicinity of our location but were unable to see us. Sgt. Leader contacted the radio operator on the rescue ship, telling him to hold the heading they were flying and to talk continuously, reciting poems, stories or whatever he wanted, but not to break up the conversation. Sgt. Leader turned his volume down a low as he could hear, listening, detecting, fade or build. After several minutes, he told the radio operator on the B-29 to have the pilot change course 90 degrees to the right. Here again, he told the radio operator to inform the pilot to hold course. At that time, I left the compartment and went out on the snow. The navigator told me approximately which direction we might be able to see them come in from, and about the 11 o'clock position off the nose of our aircraft I spotted a small speck in the sky. I told Sgt. Leader that I had visual contact and asked him to have the B-29 alter its course about 20 degrees and start letting down. This brought them right down over the Kee Bird. They made several passes dropping supplies that we were grateful to receive, and after a short while, they bade us farewell and flew off.

Our next job was to gather up the supplies which were scattered all over the area of the frozen lake. Once we had them all together, we started rummaging through them to see what we could find. One thing we found that we thought we might like was the Dinty Moore Beef Stew, but then we were faced with the problem of getting the contents out of the can since it was frozen solid. It took quite a while to heat it up in boiling water to thaw it out, put it into a cold aluminum mess kit and try to eat it before it got cold. We soon learned not to touch our lips to the eating utensils, since they would stick and it would feel like they were on fire. Emergency supplies which were provided for our use were packed in a metal barrel, Once emptied, we used the barrel for a stove by placing a parachute in it with oil and gasoline mixture on top and lighting the mixture. It gave us many hours of warmth.

We spent three days on the ice, and never saw the sun once. We had partial light for seven hours, followed by about 17 hours of total darkness during each 24-hour cycle. The plan for the second night was the same as the first. We would each take our turns standing guard while the rest of us would sleep. I found that by using an Army blanket to prop up my parachute, and laying out my sleeping bag on top, it was much warmer than sleeping on the cold metal inside the aircraft.

The following morning, Sgt. Leader was again in touch with Thule. He was informed that a rescue party was being formed and asked for us to check the lake to see if it would be possible for a C-54 to make a wheels down landing on the ice. Several of us went out. Checked the ice, found it to be solid and the covering layer of snow to be no more than 5 inches deep. To give the pilot something to line up on, I sent out several men the length of what was to be the runway, and had them lay cut-up sections of signal tarps with the blue side up to mark the landing strip. We then placed flares at both ends of the ice surface of the lake to let the pilot know that three was land at both ends, as we thought it would be a little dangerous if he were to touch down before he was over the ice or if he were to overshoot his landing and run onto the shore at the other end. All that remained was to light the flares as soon as we received word that the rescue plane was in the vicinity and ready to come in for a landing. We gave our report to Sgt. Leader, who in turn relayed the message to Thule, and all we had to do now was to sit back and wait, and wait we did.

When Sgt. Leader told us that the C-54 was in the vicinity, we lit the flares and then tore up a rubber raft and placed it in the barrel of burning oil. This gave off a thick, black smoke and was quickly seen by the crew of the C-54. The pilot of the C-54 was Lt. Cavnar, who made a couple of passes over the ice, determined that it was safe to land, and set his plane down without any mishaps. Lt. Cavnar kept his engines running while members of his crew were unloading emergency supplies which they had planned to parachute to us in the event they were unable to land. We were told not to take anything aboard the C-54, so Lt. Arnett had all sensitive material destroyed. We then climbed aboard the C-54, taxied to the far end of the ice, and Lt. Cavnar prepared for the takeoff. I recall a moment when the engines were roaring but the plane was not moving. Suddenly, slowly, we started down the frozen lake. I don't know how fast we were going, but unbeknownst to me and the rest of the crew, Lt. Cavnar's C-54 had jets (JATO rockets) attached to the plane's fuselage, and when they were ignited the acceleration was impressive. Within just a few seconds, we were airborne. But at that time, with the noise and smoke, my thoughts were that we had an engine fire, and I was thinking, "Here we go again."

We also had a B-29 escort from Ladd Field which had arrived over the frozen lake at about the same time that Lt. Cavnar plane did. The B-29, believed to have been piloted by Lt. Holland, was asked to accompany Lt. Cavnar's plane to Thule in the event we ran into any trouble, since the C-54 no longer had any emergency supplies on board. On our way to Thule, it was discovered during the radio conversations with our friends on the B-29 that Sgt. Earl Stewart was on the B-29, and on the C-54 was his twin brother, Sgt. Ernest Stewart, of the Kee Bird crew.

After landing at Thule, we were given a steak dinner, and shortly thereafter we were loaded on the C-54 for a nonstop flight to Westover Field in Massachusetts, Aboard the C-54, the medical doctor gave each one of us a sleeping pill. It worked, and the next thing I knew, we were getting ready to land at Westover Field, so I have no idea if anything eventful happened on the flight. At Westover, we were greeted by the military brass, an array of photographers, newsreel cameramen and the Red Cross. We were immediately taken to the base hospital, where we had a wing all to ourselves. I noticed that we had military policemen at the door going into the hallway, and others stationed at the door leading outside. We showered, were given pajamas and a bathrobe, and were escorted to the mess hall where breakfast was waiting for us. In addition to providing us with the usual shaving equipment, toothpaste and soap, the Red Cross had arranged for phone calls so we could get in touch with our families/

Shortly afterward, several ranking officers came into the hospital wing, including a full colonel, who greeted us and told us what we could day and what we couldn't. We were not to talk about the mission. He went as far as to say that even as a civilian we would be held accountable in the future if we were to talk about what we were doing. "It was strictly a training mission," was all we were to say. The base officer said that they were setting up a question and answer press conference in the lounge of the hospital and asked if I would go down and speak to them. Lt. Arnett didn't want to go. Whether he figured that I didn't know as much about the mission as he did and had less chance for a slip up, I'll never know. But I went down and talked to them, remembering what I was told by the colonel. They must have thought I was either stupid or a doggone good liar because all I talked about was a training mission. After a while, they shut everything down and I was glad and relieved to get out of there. We were issued new clothing and allowed to leave the hospital. I don't know how many days we were at Westover Field, but I do remember that several of us took a train into New York. We got there at 9 o'clock in the evening, and left at 3 o'clock the following morning. We had to be back at the base at 6 AM.

Shortly thereafter, we were loaded onto a C-47 and flown to Selfridge Field in Michigan, where we stayed overnight, and then on to Great Falls, Montana, and finally on to Fairbanks, Alaska. Our mission was complete. It just took us much longer than anticipated.

I had been asked to recommend those who I thought played an important part in the rescue of the crew. I find this difficult because I feel that each person played an important part. At no tome did I hear any bickering among the crew, and cooperation was excellent. When asked to do things, everyone pitched in to do their share. So, it is difficult for me to mention some and not others. But Lt. Cowan and Lt. Luedke performed their duties as navigator and flight engineer in a dedicated manner. Lt. Cowan and Lt. Lesman were able to pinpoint our position under the difficult conditions with which they had to work. Lt. Luedke played an important part for his ingenuity and thinking ahead in getting the oil out of the engine so we could use it, and fixing the putt-putt and the battery so they wouldn't freeze over. Sgt. Leader showed great dedication in spending long hours at his post working his radio equipment, unable to get out and move around like the rest of us. The manner in which he talked the B-29 in was outstanding. Again, it is hard, but these things stick out in my mind/

There has been hardly a week gone by that I haven't thought of the men and the mission of the Kee Bird. I have often thought how wonderful it would be to see her one more time.