My biological father, Second Lieutenant William
Stewart McHenry, Jr., died in service to his country on
18 October 1943 in Asiatic Territory (I was
born on 28 November 1943). Although he flew the B-24 on
the day of his death, his first love were
the B-17s. So, here's my story about my father and two
photographs to accompany it.
SECOND LT. WILLIAM STEWART MCHENRY, JR.
My father, Second Lieutenant William Stewart
McHenry, Jr., didn’t have to go to war. He
was in engineering school at RPI, when America
entered WWII. I’m told that disliked his
engineering studies and only agreed to finish
college because my mother refused to marry him
unless he "made something of himself." But
he thought that intelligent, trained leaders were
needed in military service and strongly believed
in American democracy and freedom. So, he
enlisted in the US Army Air Corps and became
a B-24 & B-17 bomber pilot. He loved
flying. It is hard to imagine that, at 24,
he would heroically die in one of those planes for the
courage of his convictions.
After he was sent to Asia, my mother learned
she was pregnant with me. Bill was thrilled by
the news and wrote regularly about his hopes
and dreams for his unborn child, whether a girl
or a boy. "If it’s a girl, name her Jean"
were some of the last words ever heard from him.
Eight months into the pregnancy, Mom was notified
that Bill was missing in action. I was
born on 28 November 1943, a bit over a month
after my father died in action. For over a
year after my birth, Mom still waited and
hoped for his safe return. The war department
finally notified her that my father had been
declared dead.
I was almost three, when his body was finally
brought home from Burma in 1946 for burial at
Arlington National Cemetery. I was presented
with my father’s Purple Heart and
Distinguished Service Cross. The citations
related that he and his cockpit crew had kept a
burning and severely disabled aircraft aloft
long enough for all other servicemen aboard to
bail out in a safety zone, but he and his
crew crashed into enemy territory and died. Now,
he’d never have a son to carry on his name
and heritage. I was his only living legacy.
As I grew, others told me how much I resembled
my father and how like him I was in
gestures, attitudes, love of life and people,
and courage of conviction. I became a tomboy
because I wished I had been a son, instead
of a daughter. I chose not to attend college in my
younger years. Instead, I became an airline
flight attendant, just to be able to fly high in the
sky. I also engaged in activities that required
the stereotypical courage of a man: sky-diving
and car racing, for example. For over 30 years,
I lived in the shadow of the father I never
knew. It seemed my responsibility to be all
the things he and my mother dreamed for me, but
I always seemed to fall short of my mother’s
expectations.
I asked myself what kind of a man was my father—
really—and if I had so many of his
strong attributes, why was I not allowed to
use those attributes for myself ? I sensed that my
father was, after all, only human. He, therefore,
could not have been the absolute perfection
my mother always made him seem. A P-47 &
P 51 WWII fighter pilot with 124 successfully
completed missions in the European Theater,
my wonderful step-dad managed to spend 56
years also living with my dead father’s ghost,
but Jack Early always told me that Bill
McHenry was a good man, a true hero, and one
I should always be proud of for his sacrifice
for me and his country. I finally realized
that, if I was to truly pass on my father’s legacy, I
had to live my life freely and appreciate
and use well the fine and strong qualities I’m told I
inherited from him. My inner spirit tells
me that my father could not be proud of me, if I were
anything less than my own person. Now, his
ghost no longer haunts me and I no longer feel
guilty about the strong love I feel for the
dad who tenderly and lovingly raised me. How
lucky can a gal be to have two heroes in her
life whose fatherly love lasts forever?
by Jean McHenry Early-Minuta