Boston Globe - 30 Sep 1997
John T Kimbell Jr, of Boston, Sept 29, aged 72 years. Late Business Management consultant to health care, oil and gas industries and World War II Veteran. Lovingly survived by his children, Stacy Leigh Kimbell of Dallas, TX, Kent Bradley Kimbell of Dallas, TX, Jeffery John Kimbell of Washington, DC, his longtime companion Sharon Matland of Boston and 3 sisters, Jacklyn Cook of Birmingham, AL, Mildred Murray of Montgomery, AL and Katherine Hayes of Dothan, AL. Family and friends are invited to attend a reception in his memory at the Boston Harbour Hotel Wednesday, October 1, 1997 at 7:30 pm. Memorial gifts may be sent to The Kimbell Fund, Massachusetts General Hospital, c/o Dr Bruce Chabner, 100 Blossom St, Cox Building, Room 640, Boston, MA 02114. Arrangements directed by J S Waterman and Son-Eastman Waring, 495 Commonwealth Avenue, Boston, MA.
•~~~~~~~~~~~~ஜ۩۞۩ஜ~~~~~~~~~~~~•
Chicago Tribune - 2 Oct 1997
John T Kimbell Jr, 72, former Baxter president
by Steven J Stark
Tribune Staff Writer
John T Kimbell Jr, 72, former president of Baxter Laboratories in Deerfield, died Monday at his home in Boston.
Mr Kimbell served as president of Baxter from 1970-77. He previously served as marketing director for the company's Flint Laboratories. He became vice president of marketing for Baxter in 1965 and executive vice president in 1968.
After leaving Baxter in 1977, he moved to Boston and founded a consulting firm, John T Kimbell & Associates.
Early in his career, Mr Kimbell worked at Ethicon Inc, a subsidiary of Johnson & Johnson, where he rose to sales manager of the Fenwal Laboratories Division.
Mr Kimbell founded the Health Industry Manufacturers Association in Washington and served on a variety of boards, including the Association of the Advancement of Medical Instrumentation, Medical Surgical Manufacturers Association, Pharmaceutical Manufacturers Association, Diamond Shamrock (later Maxus Energy Corp) and HemaSure Inc.
Born in La Grange, Ga, he was raised in Montgomery, Ala. He graduated from the University of Southern California in Los Angeles. He also attended Northwestern University in Evanston.
He served in the US Army Air Forces during World War II, and was awarded the Purple Heart. On May 3, 1945, he and five other members of a B-29 bomber crew were shot down over the Sea of Japan and floated on a raft for 23 hours before being rescued by a submarine.
Survivors include two sons, Kent Bradley and Jeffrey Johns; a daughter, Stacy Leigh; and three sisters.
Services were held Wednesday in Boston.
•~~~~~~~~~~~~ஜ۩۞۩ஜ~~~~~~~~~~~~•
Sergeant Kimbell was the Radio Operator aboard U.S. Army Air Corps B-29-55-BW Superfortress #42-24873, nicknamed "City of Dallas." Ditched 80 miles off the coast of Japan after being struck by anti aircraft flak while on mine-sewing mission. Six other crew were reportedly killed and five survived and were rescued by a U.S. Navy submarine.
With the 28th Bomb Squadron, 19th Bomb Group, World War II.
The crew members reported killed were:
1st Lt Robert H Spencer Jr , pilot, Cenotaph
2nd Lt Burl T Wiley Jr, co-pilot, Cenotaph
2nd Lt Sherwood T Eriksson, Radar Operator, Cenotaph
2nd Lt Adolph Hechinger, Navigator
T Sgt Lynn V Barnett, Flight Engineer, Cenotaph
Sgt Alex Nomick , Right gunner
Other Survivors:
2nd Lt Dean H Vezeau
T Sgt Edwin W Ownby
Sgt William H Muchkivch
Sgt Richard V Marolewski
John's account of his "little mishap" can be found at the following address and reads:
http://lanbob.com/lanbob/H-45Auth/KJ28R-RS.htm
Dec 10 1993 Dear Darrell, I was indeed surprised to get your letter and Dick's narrative on our little mishap in May 1945. I'm enclosing an article I wrote that summer that was published in the Montgomery Advertiser (my home town). I remember the typing wasn't easy for me.
We really did have a great crew and Squadron. I went on to fly 21 more missions from Iwo leading P-51s and P-47s to Japan with no mishaps except for the fighters. We lost 27 in one day due to bad weather coming back. They ran out of gas. We never spotted one raft in the water although we looked for several hours. Thanks again Cordially, John
It was a beautiful morning in May for our seventh mission to the Empire. We had been briefed on weather conditions to and from the target and possible enemy opposition a few hours earlier and now were zooming down the Guam runway and out over the Pacific ocean.
Our crew was not cocky, but we had a confidence that could not be broken even when our number came up. Each of us had that certain sense of safety and security in our crew's ability -- individually, and as a team. We had been flying together for nearly a year now, as a team of close friends, combined to make a fighting combat team. The Japs, too, were aware of this; more than once our bombs had struck Japan with death and destruction.
Our target was the East Kanoya Airfield which was located in the south-easterly sector of the island of Kyushu. The 28th Squadron had been designated to knock this airstrip out to lessen the pressure on Okinawa. This certain airstrip had been used as a training field for Jap suicide planes.
The trip up was a little on the uneventful side, except for the testing of our guns and turrets. We were flying along at a fast clip past Saipan and little Iwo Jima. Iwo had brought back past memories when we had been forced to land there after a hot raid over "FLAK ALLEY" (Nagoya). Lt Ericksson, our Radar-operator, had been peppered with flak from one of the twenty-two holes in the ship. Though he had been wounded, he still stayed on the job.
We met the other planes from our squadron at the rendezvous and then proceeded to landfall at Kyushu in a tight formation. Lt Robert Spencer, our pilot, gave the order to put on our flak-suits and turn on the turrets, which all of us eagerly did. I was sitting on the lower-forward turret cover to be able to check the bomb bays to make sure that all the bombs had fallen. My standard position was to have one hand on the flak-suit release and the other on the hatch to the front bomb bay. You can't afford to be caught with your pants down while over the target.
We were holding down the number 3 slot in the lead element which is much better than the "Purple Heart" corner we had been flying in previous missions. As far as the eye could see there was squadron after squadron of superforts, each turning at different points to their respective targets. All of them had had one purpose and that was to drop their bombs on target and get home safely.
We watched the Squadron-leader open his bomb bay doors, just six minutes prior to "Bombs Away". We followed suit three minutes later. Beads of sweat appeared on my forehead as we neared the target. My oxygen mask and goggles made it extremely hot, even at an altitude of 18000 ft.; however fright had made its share of sweat come to the surface, too. I was scared, as well as every other man on the ship. It is not the panicky fright, but just the fear of being where you are. Just a few scant moments and we would be out over the ocean again.
"55 seconds! 30 seconds! 15 seconds! 1 second! BOMBS AWAY!!!" Al Nomick and I echoed "all bombs out"! Lt. Dean Vezeau, at right our Bombardier, gave us a "Roger". To let us know that he had received our message. Within a few seconds the bomb bay doors were closed and we were winging our way toward the coastline. Suddenly there was a loud thud which had hit under the ship. Flak had hit near us at least. We knew that it had hit nearer when the airplane began filling up with gas fumes. The next thing I knew, I wasn't getting any oxygen because the oxygen line to my position had been severed. Quickly I connected the walk-around bottle to my mask and breathed quite eagerly. I threw off my flak suit and began to search the bomb bay for damage as number 2 engine coughed and went out.
At that moment we dropped back and out of formation as the Jap fighters came at us dropping phosphorous bombs and spitting gunfire; fortunately, with little skill. Spencer advised the gunners in the rear of the ship not to fire because of the gasoline which was pouring from the bottom of the ship like water over the Great Lakes was liable to ignite and explode. Vezeau had control of the upper forward turret. That was our only protection and it came in mighty handy as he blasted one ambitious Tojo who had attacked the nose of the ship.
The projectile had entered below the center gas tank and had penetrated completely through it and made its exit through the top of the fuselage, leaving long jagged fragments of metal pointing skyward. It was merely by the grace of God that the shell had not exploded and blown us to infinity, but this was no time for suppositions. All of the crew were facing the peril with an incredible equanimity. The situation was tense, and the danger very great. One little spark, touched to the stream of gas would have blown us right out of the sky. We all had overwhelming faith in Lt Spencer's and Lt Wiley's intrepid ability to fly; we knew that they would take us out of this danger as they had done so many times before.
We were now flying out over the coast. The ship's nose was headed straight for Okinawa, the closest emergency landing field. It was only 400 miles away and we thought we had a good chance of making it. There were 3 other planes flying with us.
Again I called to the engineer that the gas was pouring out in torrents. Lynn quickly rushed by Lt Hechinger, the navigator, and he went into the bomb bay. I , too, was partially in, but there was no hope of repairing it. Our fuel transfer system had been blown out. Barnett went back to his position at the panel.
The whole plane was densely filled with gas-vapors which were easily detected even through our oxygen masks. The walk-around bottle that I was using quickly emptied and I was completely without oxygen. It didn't matter much then as we were flying at 1500 ft and steadily loosing altitude. I threw my mask off in disgust.
All radio equipment was turned off except VHF (plane to plane communication) and interphone. The interphone in Dick Marowlewski's position was acting up to make matters worse. The slightest spark from my sets would have finished us. Knowing we had two buddy ships with us gave me a feeling of security as far as getting through a distress signal.
Eddy Ownby called in to the pilot and told him there was a great deal of gasoline in the floor of the rear bomb bay. Muchkivch reported smoke but quickly changed it to gas vapor. At that same instant our number 3 engine backfired several times and died. Barnett tried to catch it but failed as there was no more fuel in the tank. This left us in a pretty sad shape. We couldn't make it to Okinawa -- in fact, we couldn't even make it to our nearest rescue vessel which was only 250 miles away. Our only alternative was to get as far out as possible on a straight course to Iwo Jima.
Lt Wiley gave the order "PREPARE FOR DITCHING"! Each of us acknowledged in turn. The bomb bay doors were opened and I tossed flak suits, helmets, oxygen bottles and all loose equipment from the plane. Adolph Hechinger was handing them to me as fast as I could throw them out. The men in the rear of the plane were doing likewise and also ridding the rear bomb bay of 14 inches of gasoline which had accumulated there.
The gas from the opened bomb doors made smoke-like vapors that trailed our ship causing the other two ships to think that we were afire. Lt Spencer tried to close the bomb bay doors several times but the only ones to close were the forward doors. This added more danger to the open sea landing. I managed to kick the astrodome glass out after having quite a bit of trouble and salvoed it out of the same hatch. Finally, I put the hatch door braces in place and screwed the bolts in tightly. After giving the Navigator the astro-compass, I climbed in the tunnel. He was braced under his table. Looking at Hechinger once more, I gave him the old thumbs-up signal and he smiled. That was the last time I saw him.
I placed my one man dinghy behind my head, tightened my helmet and waited. A few minutes later Wiley called in "BRACE FOR IMPACT!" I gave one last prayer and held on. I knew we would make it. CRASH! The sea was rough as a cob and the plane seemed to be spinning to the left. I was absolutely helpless. If there was any way at all for me to explain how I felt the nearness of death, I would try, but I can't find the words. It was too great and too strong for me to explain.
The next thing I knew I was on top of the green water, perhaps twenty yards from the already half-sunken ship. It was under water up to the trailing edge of the wing. I inflated my Mae West and it was holding me up quite well. Near the nose of the ship I could see Lt Vezeau floating on his back with his vest inflated. To my left and toward the rear of the ship I saw three men clinging to a one man dinghy.
(When the ship hit the water the unpressurized section in the rear had broken, leaving the plane in two parts. Before I came to the surface, the tail section had submerged.)
My next thoughts were of the seven-man rafts in the wings of the ship. I swam over to the plane against the rough waves and succeeded in getting one raft out and inflating it, but to my horror I couldn't get into it!. My life vest was bulging out too far and my heavy shoes were holding me down. Then suddenly -- almost like a hand from heaven -- a huge wave picked me up on the wing and I toppled over into the raft. I looked around me and could still see three men hanging on to the small raft. I tried desperately to reach them, but the waves were carrying me one way and them another. The large raft was too much for me to handle and all I could do was drift with the current and waves. Staying in the raft was a problem in itself as the waves were rising from 18 to 20 feet. The other raft disappeared quickly. The plane had sunk a few minutes earlier. Now I was completely alone.
The two buddy ships were now dropping dinghies and emergency rations to the other survivors. A "Gibson Girl" radio was aimed toward me, but it hit ten yards from me and was out of sight when the next wave rose, Other supplies were dropped but I didn't get any.
There was debris scattered all over the gasoline covered water and from this came a pungent odor that was sickening. My raft was filled with water which my exhaustion overlooked until I had some more strength back. Apparently, I wasn't injured. Nothing was in sight except pieces of buoyant equipment and that thinned out quickly. Due to the roughness of the water, my visibility horizontally was only a few yards and my much tossed dinghy minimized that.
Darkness came on quickly and brought an unbearable coldness with it. I was afraid to move much for fear of turning my raft over and remembering the difficulty I had had in getting into it the first time, I was extremely cautious. There was a bailing pail tied to the raft and I managed to get most of the water out of one side with it. There was enough room in one side without bailing out the other side, besides it was getting cold!
I called out many times during that long and frigid night, between constant prayer, in hope that I could contact the other survivors, but my voice only grew hoarse. NO RESULTS! Throughout the night and early morning I was very nauseous, finally ending in a series of dry heaves and then I was OK. There were many shining spots in the water which I thought were fish eyes. (I learned it was only the phosphorescence of the salt water.) This bothered me for a while but I soon forgot it!
Toward morning the sea began to calm down and I rested a few minutes at a time. Just before dawn I heard a multi-engine plane quite some distance away, I had flares but was hesitant to use them for it may have been a Jap plane and the Nips had given me enough trouble for one day! I decided to put the flare gun down.
At daylight my back began to ache and I felt as if I had fallen off a cliff. I took stock of my supplies and discovered I was well prepared for any number of days provided I could survive on water, candy caramels, gum and vitamin pills. There were charts, navigation books, first aid kits, compass, sails and numerous other necessities. I had lost my pistol in the crash, but still had my bayonet knife which would give me some protection.
I rigged up my sail and headed out with the wind on a course of 138-150 degrees. The wind changed shortly afterwards and I took the sail down. Not knowing where I was, gave me the jitters but I had to do something. Time was passing too slowly for me.
The sun was bearing down so I pasted my body with sun preventive ointment while my clothes were drying. I looked in my mirror and noticed a gash under my chin which I patched up. My raft was jarring slightly and I turned around and saw a large sea turtle rubbing against the boat. Horror struck, for I was almost certain that he would try to over turn my raft. I had never seen anything so monstrous in all of my life and this creature actually frightened me. His almost human like breathing on the water got on my nerves so, that I got the knife out of the sheathe and jabbed him several times. It didn't seem to phase him for he came back again and again. I finally gave up hope and, evidently, he did too for he soon left me. I figured I was pretty near land because of the turtle!
About 1220 I saw two B-29s flying nearly 25,000 feet almost directly overhead. I signaled with my mirror again and again, but I wasn't sighted by them. Three hours later I spotted another plane flying rather low. I flashed my mirror and fired two red parachute flares. He started toward me. I was so happy I didn't know what to do. Swiftly I spread a can of sea-marker out and he buzzed and dropped several smoke flares in a large area. He had found others, too. I guess I was worried more about Bill Muchkivch than anyone because I knew he couldn't swim. I felt very safe now. The plane was the "OILY BOID" from the 29th Bomb Group. I waved to him and waited patiently.
An hour later I was being pulled on board Commander Gunn's sub. It was the USS Scabbardfish. Eddie Ownby was already on the deck. The first thing he said to me was, "Al got it." I stopped and tried to hold on to myself! My best pal gone! I couldn't make myself believe it. Ownby had thought that I had gone down with the ship. He, Dick Marolewski and Bill Muchkivch and Dean Vezeau had already been picked up by the sub. Bill was in a bad way. His leg was fractured in several places and he had lost lots of blood. He was getting the best of treatment. Plasma had been administered and he was coming around okay.
Lt Vezeau had been in the water all the time without a raft. The only thing he had was the life vest. Just as he was being taken aboard the sub a shark made a pass at him. He was suffering very much from shock. I went into the officer's galley and exchanged stories with Dick and Eddie. The Captain had ordered a bottle of whiskey and I drank a pint between sobs and tears. That steadied my nerves. A shower, a steak dinner and a restless night wasn't bad. At least I was in good hands.
We were picked up 100 miles southwest of Kyushu. The searching for any more survivors went on for the next two days. Unfortunately, no more were found.
Later we were transferred to Commander E.T.Shepard’s USS Picuda for the remainder of the trip. This lasted five more days. Both of the sub’s officers and men were wonderful in trying to comfort us, and I know none of us shall ever forget them.
We were brought to Saipan. A B-24 was waiting for us and we flew back to Guam. I offered a silent prayer and climbed out.
John T Kimbell Jr, of Boston, Sept 29, aged 72 years. Late Business Management consultant to health care, oil and gas industries and World War II Veteran. Lovingly survived by his children, Stacy Leigh Kimbell of Dallas, TX, Kent Bradley Kimbell of Dallas, TX, Jeffery John Kimbell of Washington, DC, his longtime companion Sharon Matland of Boston and 3 sisters, Jacklyn Cook of Birmingham, AL, Mildred Murray of Montgomery, AL and Katherine Hayes of Dothan, AL. Family and friends are invited to attend a reception in his memory at the Boston Harbour Hotel Wednesday, October 1, 1997 at 7:30 pm. Memorial gifts may be sent to The Kimbell Fund, Massachusetts General Hospital, c/o Dr Bruce Chabner, 100 Blossom St, Cox Building, Room 640, Boston, MA 02114. Arrangements directed by J S Waterman and Son-Eastman Waring, 495 Commonwealth Avenue, Boston, MA.
•~~~~~~~~~~~~ஜ۩۞۩ஜ~~~~~~~~~~~~•
Chicago Tribune - 2 Oct 1997
John T Kimbell Jr, 72, former Baxter president
by Steven J Stark
Tribune Staff Writer
John T Kimbell Jr, 72, former president of Baxter Laboratories in Deerfield, died Monday at his home in Boston.
Mr Kimbell served as president of Baxter from 1970-77. He previously served as marketing director for the company's Flint Laboratories. He became vice president of marketing for Baxter in 1965 and executive vice president in 1968.
After leaving Baxter in 1977, he moved to Boston and founded a consulting firm, John T Kimbell & Associates.
Early in his career, Mr Kimbell worked at Ethicon Inc, a subsidiary of Johnson & Johnson, where he rose to sales manager of the Fenwal Laboratories Division.
Mr Kimbell founded the Health Industry Manufacturers Association in Washington and served on a variety of boards, including the Association of the Advancement of Medical Instrumentation, Medical Surgical Manufacturers Association, Pharmaceutical Manufacturers Association, Diamond Shamrock (later Maxus Energy Corp) and HemaSure Inc.
Born in La Grange, Ga, he was raised in Montgomery, Ala. He graduated from the University of Southern California in Los Angeles. He also attended Northwestern University in Evanston.
He served in the US Army Air Forces during World War II, and was awarded the Purple Heart. On May 3, 1945, he and five other members of a B-29 bomber crew were shot down over the Sea of Japan and floated on a raft for 23 hours before being rescued by a submarine.
Survivors include two sons, Kent Bradley and Jeffrey Johns; a daughter, Stacy Leigh; and three sisters.
Services were held Wednesday in Boston.
•~~~~~~~~~~~~ஜ۩۞۩ஜ~~~~~~~~~~~~•
Sergeant Kimbell was the Radio Operator aboard U.S. Army Air Corps B-29-55-BW Superfortress #42-24873, nicknamed "City of Dallas." Ditched 80 miles off the coast of Japan after being struck by anti aircraft flak while on mine-sewing mission. Six other crew were reportedly killed and five survived and were rescued by a U.S. Navy submarine.
With the 28th Bomb Squadron, 19th Bomb Group, World War II.
The crew members reported killed were:
1st Lt Robert H Spencer Jr , pilot, Cenotaph
2nd Lt Burl T Wiley Jr, co-pilot, Cenotaph
2nd Lt Sherwood T Eriksson, Radar Operator, Cenotaph
2nd Lt Adolph Hechinger, Navigator
T Sgt Lynn V Barnett, Flight Engineer, Cenotaph
Sgt Alex Nomick , Right gunner
Other Survivors:
2nd Lt Dean H Vezeau
T Sgt Edwin W Ownby
Sgt William H Muchkivch
Sgt Richard V Marolewski
John's account of his "little mishap" can be found at the following address and reads:
http://lanbob.com/lanbob/H-45Auth/KJ28R-RS.htm
Dec 10 1993 Dear Darrell, I was indeed surprised to get your letter and Dick's narrative on our little mishap in May 1945. I'm enclosing an article I wrote that summer that was published in the Montgomery Advertiser (my home town). I remember the typing wasn't easy for me.
We really did have a great crew and Squadron. I went on to fly 21 more missions from Iwo leading P-51s and P-47s to Japan with no mishaps except for the fighters. We lost 27 in one day due to bad weather coming back. They ran out of gas. We never spotted one raft in the water although we looked for several hours. Thanks again Cordially, John
It was a beautiful morning in May for our seventh mission to the Empire. We had been briefed on weather conditions to and from the target and possible enemy opposition a few hours earlier and now were zooming down the Guam runway and out over the Pacific ocean.
Our crew was not cocky, but we had a confidence that could not be broken even when our number came up. Each of us had that certain sense of safety and security in our crew's ability -- individually, and as a team. We had been flying together for nearly a year now, as a team of close friends, combined to make a fighting combat team. The Japs, too, were aware of this; more than once our bombs had struck Japan with death and destruction.
Our target was the East Kanoya Airfield which was located in the south-easterly sector of the island of Kyushu. The 28th Squadron had been designated to knock this airstrip out to lessen the pressure on Okinawa. This certain airstrip had been used as a training field for Jap suicide planes.
The trip up was a little on the uneventful side, except for the testing of our guns and turrets. We were flying along at a fast clip past Saipan and little Iwo Jima. Iwo had brought back past memories when we had been forced to land there after a hot raid over "FLAK ALLEY" (Nagoya). Lt Ericksson, our Radar-operator, had been peppered with flak from one of the twenty-two holes in the ship. Though he had been wounded, he still stayed on the job.
We met the other planes from our squadron at the rendezvous and then proceeded to landfall at Kyushu in a tight formation. Lt Robert Spencer, our pilot, gave the order to put on our flak-suits and turn on the turrets, which all of us eagerly did. I was sitting on the lower-forward turret cover to be able to check the bomb bays to make sure that all the bombs had fallen. My standard position was to have one hand on the flak-suit release and the other on the hatch to the front bomb bay. You can't afford to be caught with your pants down while over the target.
We were holding down the number 3 slot in the lead element which is much better than the "Purple Heart" corner we had been flying in previous missions. As far as the eye could see there was squadron after squadron of superforts, each turning at different points to their respective targets. All of them had had one purpose and that was to drop their bombs on target and get home safely.
We watched the Squadron-leader open his bomb bay doors, just six minutes prior to "Bombs Away". We followed suit three minutes later. Beads of sweat appeared on my forehead as we neared the target. My oxygen mask and goggles made it extremely hot, even at an altitude of 18000 ft.; however fright had made its share of sweat come to the surface, too. I was scared, as well as every other man on the ship. It is not the panicky fright, but just the fear of being where you are. Just a few scant moments and we would be out over the ocean again.
"55 seconds! 30 seconds! 15 seconds! 1 second! BOMBS AWAY!!!" Al Nomick and I echoed "all bombs out"! Lt. Dean Vezeau, at right our Bombardier, gave us a "Roger". To let us know that he had received our message. Within a few seconds the bomb bay doors were closed and we were winging our way toward the coastline. Suddenly there was a loud thud which had hit under the ship. Flak had hit near us at least. We knew that it had hit nearer when the airplane began filling up with gas fumes. The next thing I knew, I wasn't getting any oxygen because the oxygen line to my position had been severed. Quickly I connected the walk-around bottle to my mask and breathed quite eagerly. I threw off my flak suit and began to search the bomb bay for damage as number 2 engine coughed and went out.
At that moment we dropped back and out of formation as the Jap fighters came at us dropping phosphorous bombs and spitting gunfire; fortunately, with little skill. Spencer advised the gunners in the rear of the ship not to fire because of the gasoline which was pouring from the bottom of the ship like water over the Great Lakes was liable to ignite and explode. Vezeau had control of the upper forward turret. That was our only protection and it came in mighty handy as he blasted one ambitious Tojo who had attacked the nose of the ship.
The projectile had entered below the center gas tank and had penetrated completely through it and made its exit through the top of the fuselage, leaving long jagged fragments of metal pointing skyward. It was merely by the grace of God that the shell had not exploded and blown us to infinity, but this was no time for suppositions. All of the crew were facing the peril with an incredible equanimity. The situation was tense, and the danger very great. One little spark, touched to the stream of gas would have blown us right out of the sky. We all had overwhelming faith in Lt Spencer's and Lt Wiley's intrepid ability to fly; we knew that they would take us out of this danger as they had done so many times before.
We were now flying out over the coast. The ship's nose was headed straight for Okinawa, the closest emergency landing field. It was only 400 miles away and we thought we had a good chance of making it. There were 3 other planes flying with us.
Again I called to the engineer that the gas was pouring out in torrents. Lynn quickly rushed by Lt Hechinger, the navigator, and he went into the bomb bay. I , too, was partially in, but there was no hope of repairing it. Our fuel transfer system had been blown out. Barnett went back to his position at the panel.
The whole plane was densely filled with gas-vapors which were easily detected even through our oxygen masks. The walk-around bottle that I was using quickly emptied and I was completely without oxygen. It didn't matter much then as we were flying at 1500 ft and steadily loosing altitude. I threw my mask off in disgust.
All radio equipment was turned off except VHF (plane to plane communication) and interphone. The interphone in Dick Marowlewski's position was acting up to make matters worse. The slightest spark from my sets would have finished us. Knowing we had two buddy ships with us gave me a feeling of security as far as getting through a distress signal.
Eddy Ownby called in to the pilot and told him there was a great deal of gasoline in the floor of the rear bomb bay. Muchkivch reported smoke but quickly changed it to gas vapor. At that same instant our number 3 engine backfired several times and died. Barnett tried to catch it but failed as there was no more fuel in the tank. This left us in a pretty sad shape. We couldn't make it to Okinawa -- in fact, we couldn't even make it to our nearest rescue vessel which was only 250 miles away. Our only alternative was to get as far out as possible on a straight course to Iwo Jima.
Lt Wiley gave the order "PREPARE FOR DITCHING"! Each of us acknowledged in turn. The bomb bay doors were opened and I tossed flak suits, helmets, oxygen bottles and all loose equipment from the plane. Adolph Hechinger was handing them to me as fast as I could throw them out. The men in the rear of the plane were doing likewise and also ridding the rear bomb bay of 14 inches of gasoline which had accumulated there.
The gas from the opened bomb doors made smoke-like vapors that trailed our ship causing the other two ships to think that we were afire. Lt Spencer tried to close the bomb bay doors several times but the only ones to close were the forward doors. This added more danger to the open sea landing. I managed to kick the astrodome glass out after having quite a bit of trouble and salvoed it out of the same hatch. Finally, I put the hatch door braces in place and screwed the bolts in tightly. After giving the Navigator the astro-compass, I climbed in the tunnel. He was braced under his table. Looking at Hechinger once more, I gave him the old thumbs-up signal and he smiled. That was the last time I saw him.
I placed my one man dinghy behind my head, tightened my helmet and waited. A few minutes later Wiley called in "BRACE FOR IMPACT!" I gave one last prayer and held on. I knew we would make it. CRASH! The sea was rough as a cob and the plane seemed to be spinning to the left. I was absolutely helpless. If there was any way at all for me to explain how I felt the nearness of death, I would try, but I can't find the words. It was too great and too strong for me to explain.
The next thing I knew I was on top of the green water, perhaps twenty yards from the already half-sunken ship. It was under water up to the trailing edge of the wing. I inflated my Mae West and it was holding me up quite well. Near the nose of the ship I could see Lt Vezeau floating on his back with his vest inflated. To my left and toward the rear of the ship I saw three men clinging to a one man dinghy.
(When the ship hit the water the unpressurized section in the rear had broken, leaving the plane in two parts. Before I came to the surface, the tail section had submerged.)
My next thoughts were of the seven-man rafts in the wings of the ship. I swam over to the plane against the rough waves and succeeded in getting one raft out and inflating it, but to my horror I couldn't get into it!. My life vest was bulging out too far and my heavy shoes were holding me down. Then suddenly -- almost like a hand from heaven -- a huge wave picked me up on the wing and I toppled over into the raft. I looked around me and could still see three men hanging on to the small raft. I tried desperately to reach them, but the waves were carrying me one way and them another. The large raft was too much for me to handle and all I could do was drift with the current and waves. Staying in the raft was a problem in itself as the waves were rising from 18 to 20 feet. The other raft disappeared quickly. The plane had sunk a few minutes earlier. Now I was completely alone.
The two buddy ships were now dropping dinghies and emergency rations to the other survivors. A "Gibson Girl" radio was aimed toward me, but it hit ten yards from me and was out of sight when the next wave rose, Other supplies were dropped but I didn't get any.
There was debris scattered all over the gasoline covered water and from this came a pungent odor that was sickening. My raft was filled with water which my exhaustion overlooked until I had some more strength back. Apparently, I wasn't injured. Nothing was in sight except pieces of buoyant equipment and that thinned out quickly. Due to the roughness of the water, my visibility horizontally was only a few yards and my much tossed dinghy minimized that.
Darkness came on quickly and brought an unbearable coldness with it. I was afraid to move much for fear of turning my raft over and remembering the difficulty I had had in getting into it the first time, I was extremely cautious. There was a bailing pail tied to the raft and I managed to get most of the water out of one side with it. There was enough room in one side without bailing out the other side, besides it was getting cold!
I called out many times during that long and frigid night, between constant prayer, in hope that I could contact the other survivors, but my voice only grew hoarse. NO RESULTS! Throughout the night and early morning I was very nauseous, finally ending in a series of dry heaves and then I was OK. There were many shining spots in the water which I thought were fish eyes. (I learned it was only the phosphorescence of the salt water.) This bothered me for a while but I soon forgot it!
Toward morning the sea began to calm down and I rested a few minutes at a time. Just before dawn I heard a multi-engine plane quite some distance away, I had flares but was hesitant to use them for it may have been a Jap plane and the Nips had given me enough trouble for one day! I decided to put the flare gun down.
At daylight my back began to ache and I felt as if I had fallen off a cliff. I took stock of my supplies and discovered I was well prepared for any number of days provided I could survive on water, candy caramels, gum and vitamin pills. There were charts, navigation books, first aid kits, compass, sails and numerous other necessities. I had lost my pistol in the crash, but still had my bayonet knife which would give me some protection.
I rigged up my sail and headed out with the wind on a course of 138-150 degrees. The wind changed shortly afterwards and I took the sail down. Not knowing where I was, gave me the jitters but I had to do something. Time was passing too slowly for me.
The sun was bearing down so I pasted my body with sun preventive ointment while my clothes were drying. I looked in my mirror and noticed a gash under my chin which I patched up. My raft was jarring slightly and I turned around and saw a large sea turtle rubbing against the boat. Horror struck, for I was almost certain that he would try to over turn my raft. I had never seen anything so monstrous in all of my life and this creature actually frightened me. His almost human like breathing on the water got on my nerves so, that I got the knife out of the sheathe and jabbed him several times. It didn't seem to phase him for he came back again and again. I finally gave up hope and, evidently, he did too for he soon left me. I figured I was pretty near land because of the turtle!
About 1220 I saw two B-29s flying nearly 25,000 feet almost directly overhead. I signaled with my mirror again and again, but I wasn't sighted by them. Three hours later I spotted another plane flying rather low. I flashed my mirror and fired two red parachute flares. He started toward me. I was so happy I didn't know what to do. Swiftly I spread a can of sea-marker out and he buzzed and dropped several smoke flares in a large area. He had found others, too. I guess I was worried more about Bill Muchkivch than anyone because I knew he couldn't swim. I felt very safe now. The plane was the "OILY BOID" from the 29th Bomb Group. I waved to him and waited patiently.
An hour later I was being pulled on board Commander Gunn's sub. It was the USS Scabbardfish. Eddie Ownby was already on the deck. The first thing he said to me was, "Al got it." I stopped and tried to hold on to myself! My best pal gone! I couldn't make myself believe it. Ownby had thought that I had gone down with the ship. He, Dick Marolewski and Bill Muchkivch and Dean Vezeau had already been picked up by the sub. Bill was in a bad way. His leg was fractured in several places and he had lost lots of blood. He was getting the best of treatment. Plasma had been administered and he was coming around okay.
Lt Vezeau had been in the water all the time without a raft. The only thing he had was the life vest. Just as he was being taken aboard the sub a shark made a pass at him. He was suffering very much from shock. I went into the officer's galley and exchanged stories with Dick and Eddie. The Captain had ordered a bottle of whiskey and I drank a pint between sobs and tears. That steadied my nerves. A shower, a steak dinner and a restless night wasn't bad. At least I was in good hands.
We were picked up 100 miles southwest of Kyushu. The searching for any more survivors went on for the next two days. Unfortunately, no more were found.
Later we were transferred to Commander E.T.Shepard’s USS Picuda for the remainder of the trip. This lasted five more days. Both of the sub’s officers and men were wonderful in trying to comfort us, and I know none of us shall ever forget them.
We were brought to Saipan. A B-24 was waiting for us and we flew back to Guam. I offered a silent prayer and climbed out.
Boston Globe - 30 Sep 1997
John T Kimbell Jr, of Boston, Sept 29, aged 72 years. Late Business Management consultant to health care, oil and gas industries and World War II Veteran. Lovingly survived by his children, Stacy Leigh Kimbell of Dallas, TX, Kent Bradley Kimbell of Dallas, TX, Jeffery John Kimbell of Washington, DC, his longtime companion Sharon Matland of Boston and 3 sisters, Jacklyn Cook of Birmingham, AL, Mildred Murray of Montgomery, AL and Katherine Hayes of Dothan, AL. Family and friends are invited to attend a reception in his memory at the Boston Harbour Hotel Wednesday, October 1, 1997 at 7:30 pm. Memorial gifts may be sent to The Kimbell Fund, Massachusetts General Hospital, c/o Dr Bruce Chabner, 100 Blossom St, Cox Building, Room 640, Boston, MA 02114. Arrangements directed by J S Waterman and Son-Eastman Waring, 495 Commonwealth Avenue, Boston, MA.
•~~~~~~~~~~~~ஜ۩۞۩ஜ~~~~~~~~~~~~•
Chicago Tribune - 2 Oct 1997
John T Kimbell Jr, 72, former Baxter president
by Steven J Stark
Tribune Staff Writer
John T Kimbell Jr, 72, former president of Baxter Laboratories in Deerfield, died Monday at his home in Boston.
Mr Kimbell served as president of Baxter from 1970-77. He previously served as marketing director for the company's Flint Laboratories. He became vice president of marketing for Baxter in 1965 and executive vice president in 1968.
After leaving Baxter in 1977, he moved to Boston and founded a consulting firm, John T Kimbell & Associates.
Early in his career, Mr Kimbell worked at Ethicon Inc, a subsidiary of Johnson & Johnson, where he rose to sales manager of the Fenwal Laboratories Division.
Mr Kimbell founded the Health Industry Manufacturers Association in Washington and served on a variety of boards, including the Association of the Advancement of Medical Instrumentation, Medical Surgical Manufacturers Association, Pharmaceutical Manufacturers Association, Diamond Shamrock (later Maxus Energy Corp) and HemaSure Inc.
Born in La Grange, Ga, he was raised in Montgomery, Ala. He graduated from the University of Southern California in Los Angeles. He also attended Northwestern University in Evanston.
He served in the US Army Air Forces during World War II, and was awarded the Purple Heart. On May 3, 1945, he and five other members of a B-29 bomber crew were shot down over the Sea of Japan and floated on a raft for 23 hours before being rescued by a submarine.
Survivors include two sons, Kent Bradley and Jeffrey Johns; a daughter, Stacy Leigh; and three sisters.
Services were held Wednesday in Boston.
•~~~~~~~~~~~~ஜ۩۞۩ஜ~~~~~~~~~~~~•
Sergeant Kimbell was the Radio Operator aboard U.S. Army Air Corps B-29-55-BW Superfortress #42-24873, nicknamed "City of Dallas." Ditched 80 miles off the coast of Japan after being struck by anti aircraft flak while on mine-sewing mission. Six other crew were reportedly killed and five survived and were rescued by a U.S. Navy submarine.
With the 28th Bomb Squadron, 19th Bomb Group, World War II.
The crew members reported killed were:
1st Lt Robert H Spencer Jr , pilot, Cenotaph
2nd Lt Burl T Wiley Jr, co-pilot, Cenotaph
2nd Lt Sherwood T Eriksson, Radar Operator, Cenotaph
2nd Lt Adolph Hechinger, Navigator
T Sgt Lynn V Barnett, Flight Engineer, Cenotaph
Sgt Alex Nomick , Right gunner
Other Survivors:
2nd Lt Dean H Vezeau
T Sgt Edwin W Ownby
Sgt William H Muchkivch
Sgt Richard V Marolewski
John's account of his "little mishap" can be found at the following address and reads:
http://lanbob.com/lanbob/H-45Auth/KJ28R-RS.htm
Dec 10 1993 Dear Darrell, I was indeed surprised to get your letter and Dick's narrative on our little mishap in May 1945. I'm enclosing an article I wrote that summer that was published in the Montgomery Advertiser (my home town). I remember the typing wasn't easy for me.
We really did have a great crew and Squadron. I went on to fly 21 more missions from Iwo leading P-51s and P-47s to Japan with no mishaps except for the fighters. We lost 27 in one day due to bad weather coming back. They ran out of gas. We never spotted one raft in the water although we looked for several hours. Thanks again Cordially, John
It was a beautiful morning in May for our seventh mission to the Empire. We had been briefed on weather conditions to and from the target and possible enemy opposition a few hours earlier and now were zooming down the Guam runway and out over the Pacific ocean.
Our crew was not cocky, but we had a confidence that could not be broken even when our number came up. Each of us had that certain sense of safety and security in our crew's ability -- individually, and as a team. We had been flying together for nearly a year now, as a team of close friends, combined to make a fighting combat team. The Japs, too, were aware of this; more than once our bombs had struck Japan with death and destruction.
Our target was the East Kanoya Airfield which was located in the south-easterly sector of the island of Kyushu. The 28th Squadron had been designated to knock this airstrip out to lessen the pressure on Okinawa. This certain airstrip had been used as a training field for Jap suicide planes.
The trip up was a little on the uneventful side, except for the testing of our guns and turrets. We were flying along at a fast clip past Saipan and little Iwo Jima. Iwo had brought back past memories when we had been forced to land there after a hot raid over "FLAK ALLEY" (Nagoya). Lt Ericksson, our Radar-operator, had been peppered with flak from one of the twenty-two holes in the ship. Though he had been wounded, he still stayed on the job.
We met the other planes from our squadron at the rendezvous and then proceeded to landfall at Kyushu in a tight formation. Lt Robert Spencer, our pilot, gave the order to put on our flak-suits and turn on the turrets, which all of us eagerly did. I was sitting on the lower-forward turret cover to be able to check the bomb bays to make sure that all the bombs had fallen. My standard position was to have one hand on the flak-suit release and the other on the hatch to the front bomb bay. You can't afford to be caught with your pants down while over the target.
We were holding down the number 3 slot in the lead element which is much better than the "Purple Heart" corner we had been flying in previous missions. As far as the eye could see there was squadron after squadron of superforts, each turning at different points to their respective targets. All of them had had one purpose and that was to drop their bombs on target and get home safely.
We watched the Squadron-leader open his bomb bay doors, just six minutes prior to "Bombs Away". We followed suit three minutes later. Beads of sweat appeared on my forehead as we neared the target. My oxygen mask and goggles made it extremely hot, even at an altitude of 18000 ft.; however fright had made its share of sweat come to the surface, too. I was scared, as well as every other man on the ship. It is not the panicky fright, but just the fear of being where you are. Just a few scant moments and we would be out over the ocean again.
"55 seconds! 30 seconds! 15 seconds! 1 second! BOMBS AWAY!!!" Al Nomick and I echoed "all bombs out"! Lt. Dean Vezeau, at right our Bombardier, gave us a "Roger". To let us know that he had received our message. Within a few seconds the bomb bay doors were closed and we were winging our way toward the coastline. Suddenly there was a loud thud which had hit under the ship. Flak had hit near us at least. We knew that it had hit nearer when the airplane began filling up with gas fumes. The next thing I knew, I wasn't getting any oxygen because the oxygen line to my position had been severed. Quickly I connected the walk-around bottle to my mask and breathed quite eagerly. I threw off my flak suit and began to search the bomb bay for damage as number 2 engine coughed and went out.
At that moment we dropped back and out of formation as the Jap fighters came at us dropping phosphorous bombs and spitting gunfire; fortunately, with little skill. Spencer advised the gunners in the rear of the ship not to fire because of the gasoline which was pouring from the bottom of the ship like water over the Great Lakes was liable to ignite and explode. Vezeau had control of the upper forward turret. That was our only protection and it came in mighty handy as he blasted one ambitious Tojo who had attacked the nose of the ship.
The projectile had entered below the center gas tank and had penetrated completely through it and made its exit through the top of the fuselage, leaving long jagged fragments of metal pointing skyward. It was merely by the grace of God that the shell had not exploded and blown us to infinity, but this was no time for suppositions. All of the crew were facing the peril with an incredible equanimity. The situation was tense, and the danger very great. One little spark, touched to the stream of gas would have blown us right out of the sky. We all had overwhelming faith in Lt Spencer's and Lt Wiley's intrepid ability to fly; we knew that they would take us out of this danger as they had done so many times before.
We were now flying out over the coast. The ship's nose was headed straight for Okinawa, the closest emergency landing field. It was only 400 miles away and we thought we had a good chance of making it. There were 3 other planes flying with us.
Again I called to the engineer that the gas was pouring out in torrents. Lynn quickly rushed by Lt Hechinger, the navigator, and he went into the bomb bay. I , too, was partially in, but there was no hope of repairing it. Our fuel transfer system had been blown out. Barnett went back to his position at the panel.
The whole plane was densely filled with gas-vapors which were easily detected even through our oxygen masks. The walk-around bottle that I was using quickly emptied and I was completely without oxygen. It didn't matter much then as we were flying at 1500 ft and steadily loosing altitude. I threw my mask off in disgust.
All radio equipment was turned off except VHF (plane to plane communication) and interphone. The interphone in Dick Marowlewski's position was acting up to make matters worse. The slightest spark from my sets would have finished us. Knowing we had two buddy ships with us gave me a feeling of security as far as getting through a distress signal.
Eddy Ownby called in to the pilot and told him there was a great deal of gasoline in the floor of the rear bomb bay. Muchkivch reported smoke but quickly changed it to gas vapor. At that same instant our number 3 engine backfired several times and died. Barnett tried to catch it but failed as there was no more fuel in the tank. This left us in a pretty sad shape. We couldn't make it to Okinawa -- in fact, we couldn't even make it to our nearest rescue vessel which was only 250 miles away. Our only alternative was to get as far out as possible on a straight course to Iwo Jima.
Lt Wiley gave the order "PREPARE FOR DITCHING"! Each of us acknowledged in turn. The bomb bay doors were opened and I tossed flak suits, helmets, oxygen bottles and all loose equipment from the plane. Adolph Hechinger was handing them to me as fast as I could throw them out. The men in the rear of the plane were doing likewise and also ridding the rear bomb bay of 14 inches of gasoline which had accumulated there.
The gas from the opened bomb doors made smoke-like vapors that trailed our ship causing the other two ships to think that we were afire. Lt Spencer tried to close the bomb bay doors several times but the only ones to close were the forward doors. This added more danger to the open sea landing. I managed to kick the astrodome glass out after having quite a bit of trouble and salvoed it out of the same hatch. Finally, I put the hatch door braces in place and screwed the bolts in tightly. After giving the Navigator the astro-compass, I climbed in the tunnel. He was braced under his table. Looking at Hechinger once more, I gave him the old thumbs-up signal and he smiled. That was the last time I saw him.
I placed my one man dinghy behind my head, tightened my helmet and waited. A few minutes later Wiley called in "BRACE FOR IMPACT!" I gave one last prayer and held on. I knew we would make it. CRASH! The sea was rough as a cob and the plane seemed to be spinning to the left. I was absolutely helpless. If there was any way at all for me to explain how I felt the nearness of death, I would try, but I can't find the words. It was too great and too strong for me to explain.
The next thing I knew I was on top of the green water, perhaps twenty yards from the already half-sunken ship. It was under water up to the trailing edge of the wing. I inflated my Mae West and it was holding me up quite well. Near the nose of the ship I could see Lt Vezeau floating on his back with his vest inflated. To my left and toward the rear of the ship I saw three men clinging to a one man dinghy.
(When the ship hit the water the unpressurized section in the rear had broken, leaving the plane in two parts. Before I came to the surface, the tail section had submerged.)
My next thoughts were of the seven-man rafts in the wings of the ship. I swam over to the plane against the rough waves and succeeded in getting one raft out and inflating it, but to my horror I couldn't get into it!. My life vest was bulging out too far and my heavy shoes were holding me down. Then suddenly -- almost like a hand from heaven -- a huge wave picked me up on the wing and I toppled over into the raft. I looked around me and could still see three men hanging on to the small raft. I tried desperately to reach them, but the waves were carrying me one way and them another. The large raft was too much for me to handle and all I could do was drift with the current and waves. Staying in the raft was a problem in itself as the waves were rising from 18 to 20 feet. The other raft disappeared quickly. The plane had sunk a few minutes earlier. Now I was completely alone.
The two buddy ships were now dropping dinghies and emergency rations to the other survivors. A "Gibson Girl" radio was aimed toward me, but it hit ten yards from me and was out of sight when the next wave rose, Other supplies were dropped but I didn't get any.
There was debris scattered all over the gasoline covered water and from this came a pungent odor that was sickening. My raft was filled with water which my exhaustion overlooked until I had some more strength back. Apparently, I wasn't injured. Nothing was in sight except pieces of buoyant equipment and that thinned out quickly. Due to the roughness of the water, my visibility horizontally was only a few yards and my much tossed dinghy minimized that.
Darkness came on quickly and brought an unbearable coldness with it. I was afraid to move much for fear of turning my raft over and remembering the difficulty I had had in getting into it the first time, I was extremely cautious. There was a bailing pail tied to the raft and I managed to get most of the water out of one side with it. There was enough room in one side without bailing out the other side, besides it was getting cold!
I called out many times during that long and frigid night, between constant prayer, in hope that I could contact the other survivors, but my voice only grew hoarse. NO RESULTS! Throughout the night and early morning I was very nauseous, finally ending in a series of dry heaves and then I was OK. There were many shining spots in the water which I thought were fish eyes. (I learned it was only the phosphorescence of the salt water.) This bothered me for a while but I soon forgot it!
Toward morning the sea began to calm down and I rested a few minutes at a time. Just before dawn I heard a multi-engine plane quite some distance away, I had flares but was hesitant to use them for it may have been a Jap plane and the Nips had given me enough trouble for one day! I decided to put the flare gun down.
At daylight my back began to ache and I felt as if I had fallen off a cliff. I took stock of my supplies and discovered I was well prepared for any number of days provided I could survive on water, candy caramels, gum and vitamin pills. There were charts, navigation books, first aid kits, compass, sails and numerous other necessities. I had lost my pistol in the crash, but still had my bayonet knife which would give me some protection.
I rigged up my sail and headed out with the wind on a course of 138-150 degrees. The wind changed shortly afterwards and I took the sail down. Not knowing where I was, gave me the jitters but I had to do something. Time was passing too slowly for me.
The sun was bearing down so I pasted my body with sun preventive ointment while my clothes were drying. I looked in my mirror and noticed a gash under my chin which I patched up. My raft was jarring slightly and I turned around and saw a large sea turtle rubbing against the boat. Horror struck, for I was almost certain that he would try to over turn my raft. I had never seen anything so monstrous in all of my life and this creature actually frightened me. His almost human like breathing on the water got on my nerves so, that I got the knife out of the sheathe and jabbed him several times. It didn't seem to phase him for he came back again and again. I finally gave up hope and, evidently, he did too for he soon left me. I figured I was pretty near land because of the turtle!
About 1220 I saw two B-29s flying nearly 25,000 feet almost directly overhead. I signaled with my mirror again and again, but I wasn't sighted by them. Three hours later I spotted another plane flying rather low. I flashed my mirror and fired two red parachute flares. He started toward me. I was so happy I didn't know what to do. Swiftly I spread a can of sea-marker out and he buzzed and dropped several smoke flares in a large area. He had found others, too. I guess I was worried more about Bill Muchkivch than anyone because I knew he couldn't swim. I felt very safe now. The plane was the "OILY BOID" from the 29th Bomb Group. I waved to him and waited patiently.
An hour later I was being pulled on board Commander Gunn's sub. It was the USS Scabbardfish. Eddie Ownby was already on the deck. The first thing he said to me was, "Al got it." I stopped and tried to hold on to myself! My best pal gone! I couldn't make myself believe it. Ownby had thought that I had gone down with the ship. He, Dick Marolewski and Bill Muchkivch and Dean Vezeau had already been picked up by the sub. Bill was in a bad way. His leg was fractured in several places and he had lost lots of blood. He was getting the best of treatment. Plasma had been administered and he was coming around okay.
Lt Vezeau had been in the water all the time without a raft. The only thing he had was the life vest. Just as he was being taken aboard the sub a shark made a pass at him. He was suffering very much from shock. I went into the officer's galley and exchanged stories with Dick and Eddie. The Captain had ordered a bottle of whiskey and I drank a pint between sobs and tears. That steadied my nerves. A shower, a steak dinner and a restless night wasn't bad. At least I was in good hands.
We were picked up 100 miles southwest of Kyushu. The searching for any more survivors went on for the next two days. Unfortunately, no more were found.
Later we were transferred to Commander E.T.Shepard’s USS Picuda for the remainder of the trip. This lasted five more days. Both of the sub’s officers and men were wonderful in trying to comfort us, and I know none of us shall ever forget them.
We were brought to Saipan. A B-24 was waiting for us and we flew back to Guam. I offered a silent prayer and climbed out.
John T Kimbell Jr, of Boston, Sept 29, aged 72 years. Late Business Management consultant to health care, oil and gas industries and World War II Veteran. Lovingly survived by his children, Stacy Leigh Kimbell of Dallas, TX, Kent Bradley Kimbell of Dallas, TX, Jeffery John Kimbell of Washington, DC, his longtime companion Sharon Matland of Boston and 3 sisters, Jacklyn Cook of Birmingham, AL, Mildred Murray of Montgomery, AL and Katherine Hayes of Dothan, AL. Family and friends are invited to attend a reception in his memory at the Boston Harbour Hotel Wednesday, October 1, 1997 at 7:30 pm. Memorial gifts may be sent to The Kimbell Fund, Massachusetts General Hospital, c/o Dr Bruce Chabner, 100 Blossom St, Cox Building, Room 640, Boston, MA 02114. Arrangements directed by J S Waterman and Son-Eastman Waring, 495 Commonwealth Avenue, Boston, MA.
•~~~~~~~~~~~~ஜ۩۞۩ஜ~~~~~~~~~~~~•
Chicago Tribune - 2 Oct 1997
John T Kimbell Jr, 72, former Baxter president
by Steven J Stark
Tribune Staff Writer
John T Kimbell Jr, 72, former president of Baxter Laboratories in Deerfield, died Monday at his home in Boston.
Mr Kimbell served as president of Baxter from 1970-77. He previously served as marketing director for the company's Flint Laboratories. He became vice president of marketing for Baxter in 1965 and executive vice president in 1968.
After leaving Baxter in 1977, he moved to Boston and founded a consulting firm, John T Kimbell & Associates.
Early in his career, Mr Kimbell worked at Ethicon Inc, a subsidiary of Johnson & Johnson, where he rose to sales manager of the Fenwal Laboratories Division.
Mr Kimbell founded the Health Industry Manufacturers Association in Washington and served on a variety of boards, including the Association of the Advancement of Medical Instrumentation, Medical Surgical Manufacturers Association, Pharmaceutical Manufacturers Association, Diamond Shamrock (later Maxus Energy Corp) and HemaSure Inc.
Born in La Grange, Ga, he was raised in Montgomery, Ala. He graduated from the University of Southern California in Los Angeles. He also attended Northwestern University in Evanston.
He served in the US Army Air Forces during World War II, and was awarded the Purple Heart. On May 3, 1945, he and five other members of a B-29 bomber crew were shot down over the Sea of Japan and floated on a raft for 23 hours before being rescued by a submarine.
Survivors include two sons, Kent Bradley and Jeffrey Johns; a daughter, Stacy Leigh; and three sisters.
Services were held Wednesday in Boston.
•~~~~~~~~~~~~ஜ۩۞۩ஜ~~~~~~~~~~~~•
Sergeant Kimbell was the Radio Operator aboard U.S. Army Air Corps B-29-55-BW Superfortress #42-24873, nicknamed "City of Dallas." Ditched 80 miles off the coast of Japan after being struck by anti aircraft flak while on mine-sewing mission. Six other crew were reportedly killed and five survived and were rescued by a U.S. Navy submarine.
With the 28th Bomb Squadron, 19th Bomb Group, World War II.
The crew members reported killed were:
1st Lt Robert H Spencer Jr , pilot, Cenotaph
2nd Lt Burl T Wiley Jr, co-pilot, Cenotaph
2nd Lt Sherwood T Eriksson, Radar Operator, Cenotaph
2nd Lt Adolph Hechinger, Navigator
T Sgt Lynn V Barnett, Flight Engineer, Cenotaph
Sgt Alex Nomick , Right gunner
Other Survivors:
2nd Lt Dean H Vezeau
T Sgt Edwin W Ownby
Sgt William H Muchkivch
Sgt Richard V Marolewski
John's account of his "little mishap" can be found at the following address and reads:
http://lanbob.com/lanbob/H-45Auth/KJ28R-RS.htm
Dec 10 1993 Dear Darrell, I was indeed surprised to get your letter and Dick's narrative on our little mishap in May 1945. I'm enclosing an article I wrote that summer that was published in the Montgomery Advertiser (my home town). I remember the typing wasn't easy for me.
We really did have a great crew and Squadron. I went on to fly 21 more missions from Iwo leading P-51s and P-47s to Japan with no mishaps except for the fighters. We lost 27 in one day due to bad weather coming back. They ran out of gas. We never spotted one raft in the water although we looked for several hours. Thanks again Cordially, John
It was a beautiful morning in May for our seventh mission to the Empire. We had been briefed on weather conditions to and from the target and possible enemy opposition a few hours earlier and now were zooming down the Guam runway and out over the Pacific ocean.
Our crew was not cocky, but we had a confidence that could not be broken even when our number came up. Each of us had that certain sense of safety and security in our crew's ability -- individually, and as a team. We had been flying together for nearly a year now, as a team of close friends, combined to make a fighting combat team. The Japs, too, were aware of this; more than once our bombs had struck Japan with death and destruction.
Our target was the East Kanoya Airfield which was located in the south-easterly sector of the island of Kyushu. The 28th Squadron had been designated to knock this airstrip out to lessen the pressure on Okinawa. This certain airstrip had been used as a training field for Jap suicide planes.
The trip up was a little on the uneventful side, except for the testing of our guns and turrets. We were flying along at a fast clip past Saipan and little Iwo Jima. Iwo had brought back past memories when we had been forced to land there after a hot raid over "FLAK ALLEY" (Nagoya). Lt Ericksson, our Radar-operator, had been peppered with flak from one of the twenty-two holes in the ship. Though he had been wounded, he still stayed on the job.
We met the other planes from our squadron at the rendezvous and then proceeded to landfall at Kyushu in a tight formation. Lt Robert Spencer, our pilot, gave the order to put on our flak-suits and turn on the turrets, which all of us eagerly did. I was sitting on the lower-forward turret cover to be able to check the bomb bays to make sure that all the bombs had fallen. My standard position was to have one hand on the flak-suit release and the other on the hatch to the front bomb bay. You can't afford to be caught with your pants down while over the target.
We were holding down the number 3 slot in the lead element which is much better than the "Purple Heart" corner we had been flying in previous missions. As far as the eye could see there was squadron after squadron of superforts, each turning at different points to their respective targets. All of them had had one purpose and that was to drop their bombs on target and get home safely.
We watched the Squadron-leader open his bomb bay doors, just six minutes prior to "Bombs Away". We followed suit three minutes later. Beads of sweat appeared on my forehead as we neared the target. My oxygen mask and goggles made it extremely hot, even at an altitude of 18000 ft.; however fright had made its share of sweat come to the surface, too. I was scared, as well as every other man on the ship. It is not the panicky fright, but just the fear of being where you are. Just a few scant moments and we would be out over the ocean again.
"55 seconds! 30 seconds! 15 seconds! 1 second! BOMBS AWAY!!!" Al Nomick and I echoed "all bombs out"! Lt. Dean Vezeau, at right our Bombardier, gave us a "Roger". To let us know that he had received our message. Within a few seconds the bomb bay doors were closed and we were winging our way toward the coastline. Suddenly there was a loud thud which had hit under the ship. Flak had hit near us at least. We knew that it had hit nearer when the airplane began filling up with gas fumes. The next thing I knew, I wasn't getting any oxygen because the oxygen line to my position had been severed. Quickly I connected the walk-around bottle to my mask and breathed quite eagerly. I threw off my flak suit and began to search the bomb bay for damage as number 2 engine coughed and went out.
At that moment we dropped back and out of formation as the Jap fighters came at us dropping phosphorous bombs and spitting gunfire; fortunately, with little skill. Spencer advised the gunners in the rear of the ship not to fire because of the gasoline which was pouring from the bottom of the ship like water over the Great Lakes was liable to ignite and explode. Vezeau had control of the upper forward turret. That was our only protection and it came in mighty handy as he blasted one ambitious Tojo who had attacked the nose of the ship.
The projectile had entered below the center gas tank and had penetrated completely through it and made its exit through the top of the fuselage, leaving long jagged fragments of metal pointing skyward. It was merely by the grace of God that the shell had not exploded and blown us to infinity, but this was no time for suppositions. All of the crew were facing the peril with an incredible equanimity. The situation was tense, and the danger very great. One little spark, touched to the stream of gas would have blown us right out of the sky. We all had overwhelming faith in Lt Spencer's and Lt Wiley's intrepid ability to fly; we knew that they would take us out of this danger as they had done so many times before.
We were now flying out over the coast. The ship's nose was headed straight for Okinawa, the closest emergency landing field. It was only 400 miles away and we thought we had a good chance of making it. There were 3 other planes flying with us.
Again I called to the engineer that the gas was pouring out in torrents. Lynn quickly rushed by Lt Hechinger, the navigator, and he went into the bomb bay. I , too, was partially in, but there was no hope of repairing it. Our fuel transfer system had been blown out. Barnett went back to his position at the panel.
The whole plane was densely filled with gas-vapors which were easily detected even through our oxygen masks. The walk-around bottle that I was using quickly emptied and I was completely without oxygen. It didn't matter much then as we were flying at 1500 ft and steadily loosing altitude. I threw my mask off in disgust.
All radio equipment was turned off except VHF (plane to plane communication) and interphone. The interphone in Dick Marowlewski's position was acting up to make matters worse. The slightest spark from my sets would have finished us. Knowing we had two buddy ships with us gave me a feeling of security as far as getting through a distress signal.
Eddy Ownby called in to the pilot and told him there was a great deal of gasoline in the floor of the rear bomb bay. Muchkivch reported smoke but quickly changed it to gas vapor. At that same instant our number 3 engine backfired several times and died. Barnett tried to catch it but failed as there was no more fuel in the tank. This left us in a pretty sad shape. We couldn't make it to Okinawa -- in fact, we couldn't even make it to our nearest rescue vessel which was only 250 miles away. Our only alternative was to get as far out as possible on a straight course to Iwo Jima.
Lt Wiley gave the order "PREPARE FOR DITCHING"! Each of us acknowledged in turn. The bomb bay doors were opened and I tossed flak suits, helmets, oxygen bottles and all loose equipment from the plane. Adolph Hechinger was handing them to me as fast as I could throw them out. The men in the rear of the plane were doing likewise and also ridding the rear bomb bay of 14 inches of gasoline which had accumulated there.
The gas from the opened bomb doors made smoke-like vapors that trailed our ship causing the other two ships to think that we were afire. Lt Spencer tried to close the bomb bay doors several times but the only ones to close were the forward doors. This added more danger to the open sea landing. I managed to kick the astrodome glass out after having quite a bit of trouble and salvoed it out of the same hatch. Finally, I put the hatch door braces in place and screwed the bolts in tightly. After giving the Navigator the astro-compass, I climbed in the tunnel. He was braced under his table. Looking at Hechinger once more, I gave him the old thumbs-up signal and he smiled. That was the last time I saw him.
I placed my one man dinghy behind my head, tightened my helmet and waited. A few minutes later Wiley called in "BRACE FOR IMPACT!" I gave one last prayer and held on. I knew we would make it. CRASH! The sea was rough as a cob and the plane seemed to be spinning to the left. I was absolutely helpless. If there was any way at all for me to explain how I felt the nearness of death, I would try, but I can't find the words. It was too great and too strong for me to explain.
The next thing I knew I was on top of the green water, perhaps twenty yards from the already half-sunken ship. It was under water up to the trailing edge of the wing. I inflated my Mae West and it was holding me up quite well. Near the nose of the ship I could see Lt Vezeau floating on his back with his vest inflated. To my left and toward the rear of the ship I saw three men clinging to a one man dinghy.
(When the ship hit the water the unpressurized section in the rear had broken, leaving the plane in two parts. Before I came to the surface, the tail section had submerged.)
My next thoughts were of the seven-man rafts in the wings of the ship. I swam over to the plane against the rough waves and succeeded in getting one raft out and inflating it, but to my horror I couldn't get into it!. My life vest was bulging out too far and my heavy shoes were holding me down. Then suddenly -- almost like a hand from heaven -- a huge wave picked me up on the wing and I toppled over into the raft. I looked around me and could still see three men hanging on to the small raft. I tried desperately to reach them, but the waves were carrying me one way and them another. The large raft was too much for me to handle and all I could do was drift with the current and waves. Staying in the raft was a problem in itself as the waves were rising from 18 to 20 feet. The other raft disappeared quickly. The plane had sunk a few minutes earlier. Now I was completely alone.
The two buddy ships were now dropping dinghies and emergency rations to the other survivors. A "Gibson Girl" radio was aimed toward me, but it hit ten yards from me and was out of sight when the next wave rose, Other supplies were dropped but I didn't get any.
There was debris scattered all over the gasoline covered water and from this came a pungent odor that was sickening. My raft was filled with water which my exhaustion overlooked until I had some more strength back. Apparently, I wasn't injured. Nothing was in sight except pieces of buoyant equipment and that thinned out quickly. Due to the roughness of the water, my visibility horizontally was only a few yards and my much tossed dinghy minimized that.
Darkness came on quickly and brought an unbearable coldness with it. I was afraid to move much for fear of turning my raft over and remembering the difficulty I had had in getting into it the first time, I was extremely cautious. There was a bailing pail tied to the raft and I managed to get most of the water out of one side with it. There was enough room in one side without bailing out the other side, besides it was getting cold!
I called out many times during that long and frigid night, between constant prayer, in hope that I could contact the other survivors, but my voice only grew hoarse. NO RESULTS! Throughout the night and early morning I was very nauseous, finally ending in a series of dry heaves and then I was OK. There were many shining spots in the water which I thought were fish eyes. (I learned it was only the phosphorescence of the salt water.) This bothered me for a while but I soon forgot it!
Toward morning the sea began to calm down and I rested a few minutes at a time. Just before dawn I heard a multi-engine plane quite some distance away, I had flares but was hesitant to use them for it may have been a Jap plane and the Nips had given me enough trouble for one day! I decided to put the flare gun down.
At daylight my back began to ache and I felt as if I had fallen off a cliff. I took stock of my supplies and discovered I was well prepared for any number of days provided I could survive on water, candy caramels, gum and vitamin pills. There were charts, navigation books, first aid kits, compass, sails and numerous other necessities. I had lost my pistol in the crash, but still had my bayonet knife which would give me some protection.
I rigged up my sail and headed out with the wind on a course of 138-150 degrees. The wind changed shortly afterwards and I took the sail down. Not knowing where I was, gave me the jitters but I had to do something. Time was passing too slowly for me.
The sun was bearing down so I pasted my body with sun preventive ointment while my clothes were drying. I looked in my mirror and noticed a gash under my chin which I patched up. My raft was jarring slightly and I turned around and saw a large sea turtle rubbing against the boat. Horror struck, for I was almost certain that he would try to over turn my raft. I had never seen anything so monstrous in all of my life and this creature actually frightened me. His almost human like breathing on the water got on my nerves so, that I got the knife out of the sheathe and jabbed him several times. It didn't seem to phase him for he came back again and again. I finally gave up hope and, evidently, he did too for he soon left me. I figured I was pretty near land because of the turtle!
About 1220 I saw two B-29s flying nearly 25,000 feet almost directly overhead. I signaled with my mirror again and again, but I wasn't sighted by them. Three hours later I spotted another plane flying rather low. I flashed my mirror and fired two red parachute flares. He started toward me. I was so happy I didn't know what to do. Swiftly I spread a can of sea-marker out and he buzzed and dropped several smoke flares in a large area. He had found others, too. I guess I was worried more about Bill Muchkivch than anyone because I knew he couldn't swim. I felt very safe now. The plane was the "OILY BOID" from the 29th Bomb Group. I waved to him and waited patiently.
An hour later I was being pulled on board Commander Gunn's sub. It was the USS Scabbardfish. Eddie Ownby was already on the deck. The first thing he said to me was, "Al got it." I stopped and tried to hold on to myself! My best pal gone! I couldn't make myself believe it. Ownby had thought that I had gone down with the ship. He, Dick Marolewski and Bill Muchkivch and Dean Vezeau had already been picked up by the sub. Bill was in a bad way. His leg was fractured in several places and he had lost lots of blood. He was getting the best of treatment. Plasma had been administered and he was coming around okay.
Lt Vezeau had been in the water all the time without a raft. The only thing he had was the life vest. Just as he was being taken aboard the sub a shark made a pass at him. He was suffering very much from shock. I went into the officer's galley and exchanged stories with Dick and Eddie. The Captain had ordered a bottle of whiskey and I drank a pint between sobs and tears. That steadied my nerves. A shower, a steak dinner and a restless night wasn't bad. At least I was in good hands.
We were picked up 100 miles southwest of Kyushu. The searching for any more survivors went on for the next two days. Unfortunately, no more were found.
Later we were transferred to Commander E.T.Shepard’s USS Picuda for the remainder of the trip. This lasted five more days. Both of the sub’s officers and men were wonderful in trying to comfort us, and I know none of us shall ever forget them.
We were brought to Saipan. A B-24 was waiting for us and we flew back to Guam. I offered a silent prayer and climbed out.
Gravesite Details
Entered the service from : Unknown; ASN 14183148
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