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Small decision made 'Candy Bomber' a hero
(Editor's note: Col. (ret.) Gail Halvorsen became a symbol of American resiliance and compassion during the Berlin Airlift. He visited Mountain Home during Air Force Appreciation Day, signed some autographs, and sat down with Mountain Home News Assistant Editor Judi Devol to share his experiences during one of the Cold War's greatest crisis.)
Sometimes it is the smallest decisions that can make the biggest difference, reflected Col. Gail Halvorsen, as he explained how he became "The Berlin Candy Bomber."
It was 1948 and the Soviet blockade of West Berlin had left the population of more than two million people without food or supplies. The Americans, English and French began an airlift to carry food, coal, powdered eggs, potatoes, dried milk, and even newsprint to help the city's people, mostly women and children, as the population faced starvation and economic collapse.
Halvorsen was one of the many pilots assigned to the operation. Flying supplies 110 miles deep inside of East Germany to Berlin to thwart the Soviet siege, Halvorsen recalled his first sight of the city looked like a moonscape with the skeletons of bombed out buildings dotting the landscape. But the determined people were unwilling to surrender their freedom.
A round trip from the Rhein-Main base near Frankfurt to Templehof, the West Berlin base took 17 hours, leaving little time for sightseeing. But Halvorsen wanted to see Hitler's bunker, the Rheischtag and the Brandenburg Gate. He thought he saw an opportunity to take some pictures if he could hitch a ride when his roommate was heading out with a plane load of dried potatoes. Another good friend had already told him of a contact that could arrange for a jeep and driver to run around Berlin.
As soon as they landed, Halvorsen rushed from Base Operations to begin his sightseeing. He hurried along the barbed wire fence to meet the jeep. His first pictures were of airplanes popping over the tops of the apartment buildings.
The first thing that caught his eye was about 30 youngsters in the middle of the grassy field watching the planes swoop over the roof tops to a landing just behind where he was standing.
It did not take long before Halvorsen had exhausted his limited German vocabulary. But fortunately, the children were taught English in school and some of them spoke the language quite well.
The children were watching because they had a tremendous investment in the outcome. Some were timing the aircraft arrivals and could tell of the weekly increases in the number of landings.
"One of the first questions they asked was 'how many sacks of flour does each aircraft carry?' There was some discussion about how many equivalent loaves of bread came across the fence with each plane load.
One question came right after another.
"Then I received a lesson about priorities. They were interested in freedom more than flour. They fully recognized that between the two there was a real relationship but they had already decided which was preeminent," said Halvorsen.
"In the months between the time the aircraft over their homes had changed their cargo from bombs to flour, the children had witnessed an accelerated change in international relations. They gave me the most meaningful lesson in freedom that I ever had.
"None had asked if I had been in one of those bombers in former times.
There was no sign of resentment or hostility. It was freedom, not flour, they were interested in."
Halvorsen found his own preconceived prejudice melting as he visited with the children. When it came time for him to leave, he wondered what had made the children so different. They had forgiven a previous enemy in uniform.
"Not one of the 30 kids, most of whom hadn't had any gum or candy for two or three years, was willing to become a beggar and ask, verbally or by body language, if they could have some chocolate or gum. They must have wondered and believed that I had at least a taste."
In his pocket Halvorsen had only two sticks of Doublemint gum. "Thirty kids and two sticks of gum. There will be a fight, I rationalized. But it was such a little thing. Will you share it with the kids? I wondered.
My father had taught me that good things would happen if you did something for someone without expecting anything in return.
He broke the two sticks in half and offered it to the children who had been translators. There was no fighting or attempts to grab away the prize. But it was obvious that even the wrappers were precious, being carefully tucked away in pockets as treasurers.
"What could I do with 30 full sticks of gum! They could have the wrappers."
A thought began to form. Why not drop some gum and candy to these kids on the next daylight trip to Berlin? "To my own astonishment and dismay I found myself announcing the plan for all to hear. I took the opportunity to add, 'I will do this thing only if the persons who catch the packets will share equally with everyone in the group.'
"A little girl with blue eyes was prodded to be the spokesperson. 'They want to know which aircraft you will be flying.' Such a small package will be easy to lose.
There was no way of knowing what specific plane I would be assigned to on any flight. It would be a four-engine C-54, but there would be no way to identify it from all the rest of them coming over the apartment building.
Suddenly, Halvorsen had another inspiration, he would wiggle the wings.
He explained his signal and left the children in a happy state.
Returning to Frankfurt, he knew he would have to figure a way to keep his commitment to the children. "We could buy a very limited amount of gum and candy. It was strictly controlled by a ration card and there wasn't enough available on my card." He would need the help of his friends.
He also realized that if they put it all in one package and it was lost, they would not be able to do it again. It made more sense to split the drop into three packages. And it made even more sense to put a handkerchief parachute on each package to slow the fall and mark the treasure. Now he just needed to convince his buddies that it was a good idea.
Although somewhat reluctant, their hearts were big and they were soon ready to set the plan in action.
The first trip back to Templehof was in the dark so there would be no drop. But the next was at midday, a perfect time for the children to be able to see and find the packets. As the plane flew over the apartment building, the crew could see the children scanning the heavens.
Halvorsen wiggled the aircraft's wings and the recognition was instant.
The three loaded handkerchiefs were attached to the goodies by string, folded in a special way ready to drop. On Halvorsen's order the packets were thrust out of the flare chute.
Then came a long wait to know if the little parachutes had found the target.
The plane landed and the unloading seemed to go slower than usual. But as the crew taxied for the return trip, they were able to see the three little parachutes being waved at every crew and each aircraft as it taxied by the fence where Halvorsen had first met the children.
On the next daylight trips to Templehof, Halvorsen and the crew found the band of children was increasing in numbers. By the time the aircrew were able to purchase another week's rations, the crowd of kids had noticeably grown.
"We again pooled our resources, came over Templehof (Airport), wiggled our wings, caused a celebration and delivered the goods on target." He noticed that each week the crowd grew.
As the season changed, the flights became more difficult with limited fuel and bad weather conditions complicating the flight plans. Halvorsen went to check the weather map. He found instead a stack of mail addressed to Uncle Wackflugel (Wiggly Wings) and to the Chocolate Flier. Because they had not received any authorization for the candy drops, the crew was afraid they were going to be in for trouble. They decided to lay low and to stop the drops.
But they saw the crowds of children continued to grow with each flight into Templehof. It seemed a sign to them that not all of the children had received a sweet surprise. They pooled the rations they had not used for one final drop of six overloaded handkerchiefs.
When they arrived back at Rhein-Main, they were met by an officer who announced Col. James R. Haun wanted to speak with the pilot. Halvorsen knew he was about to be called on the carpet. Instead the commander ordered him to keep flying, keep dropping, and to keep him informed. It seems that one of the drops had nearly hit a reporter on the head and he had spread the story all over Europe.
On the next trip to Templehof Halvorsen and his crew filled up bags of mail from the Berlin kids. The base commander at Rhein-Main provided two secretaries to help send out replies.
Once the story was out, Halvorsen and his crew would often return from their duties to find their bunks covered with cases of candy and gum.
Handkerchiefs for parachutes were often stacked beside the cases.
The entire operation continued to grow and the letters continued to pour in, most carrying an expression of thanks for the daily flights to support the needs of their beloved city. Then almost apologetically they would mention they were unable to catch a little parachute.
Enthusiasm spread to America and soon contributions of candy began coming from all across the county. And before long candy manufacturers were donating the sweets by the boxcar load.
In May 1949, the highway blockade ended, and by September the airlift stopped. But the memory of Uncle Wiggly Wings, the Berlin candy bomber, remains.