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Remembering the sacrifice of Mr. Little

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By Steve Otto

sotto@tampatrib.com

Published: May 24, 2009

I don't know that he will read this. Leonard Little has been in and out of the hospital a lot lately. He has had to deal with some serious problems, not the least of which is a wife who is fighting physical problems of her own.

It's another Memorial Day weekend. My guess is that most of us have memories of someone who has served or even made the ultimate sacrifice. It is difficult on days like this to remember a time when American soldiers were not involved in some conflict somewhere across the planet.

I can only imagine what is going through Mr. Little's (I've called him Mr. Little since I was a kid and I'm not changing now) mind as he thinks about lost friends and the war of his youth.

He is one of us; grew up in Tampa, went to Hillsborough High School and then to the University of Tampa. I noticed, by the way, that UT brought in the president of Liberia to talk to its graduating class a couple of weeks ago. Wonder if they ever asked Mr. Little. He has a better story.

One clear day

His moment of destiny happened on a clear August day in 1944 over what then was southern Czechoslovakia.

Mr. Little had wanted to be a pilot but his color-blindness had relegated him to the rear of a B-24 Liberator bomber called the "Flak Shak III," as the tail gunner." Flak Shaks I and II had been shot up so badly they were now scrap metal.

On this particular afternoon they had completed a bombing run over critical oil fields and were trying to get home.

Mr. Little had a window seat to an air show that flashed and exploded across the sky as the German Luftwaffe came after the Americans. But his attention was riveted first to an ME-109 jet that had been a blur before going below his vision, and now by three Focke-Wulf fighters flying abreast of each other and headed directly at him.

He managed to take out the middle fighter, but almost at the same moment felt himself being slammed out of his seat and back into the rear of the plane where he was knocked unconscious.

When he came to he tried to stand but collapsed. At first he thought he had fallen through a hole in the plane, but as he stared down he saw most of one leg was missing.

About all he could do was roll, which is what he managed to do over twisted debris to the escape hatch, where he could make out white chutes swaying across the sky. Knowing his plane was doomed, he rolled out into the blue.

Blood Lake

Leonard Little was 22 years old. His new wife, Grace, was back in Tampa where she soon would read the same telegram as his parents that said her husband was missing in action.

Little had tumbled into the sky over a large lake, one whose name translated to "Blood Lake." Even as he struggled to remain conscious, he saw white chutes drifting down, plunging into the lake and disappearing.

Little's chute missed the lake. Amazingly, so did those of the rest of his crew as the chutes he saw were from other downed bombers.

Six German prisoner-of-war camps, minus a leg and plus a lifetime of suffering later, he made it back to Tampa. Sixty-five years later I believe the memories of that August day are as vivid in his mind as if they happened yesterday.

Keyword: Otto Graphs, for more of Steve Otto's musings.

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