HOOSIER TRAVELER

Preface:

Randy was a legend, an almost magical figure in our family. I grew up knowing that he’d been killed in a plane crash in New Guinea during World War II, even though it was actually Australia. Our family had always decorated his grave in Princeton, Indiana, with an American flag and flowers every Memorial Day. Although we had many pictures of him—in and out of the service—he was seldom talked about. This wasn’t because the Crecelius family didn’t want to remember him; it was because his death was simply too painful to discuss. I knew from a very early age that the pain for my grandparents, mother and uncles would never go away. It was sometimes hard to believe that Randy had been a real person.

William Randall Crecelius (“Randy,” as he was known to family and friends) was one of some 400,000 men and women from the United States who died during World War II. Six of those 400,000 came from Center Township in Indiana, which includes the town of Francisco, Indiana, where Randy attended grade and high school. The story outlined here is no doubt similar to those of other families who lost sons, daughters, fathers, mothers, aunts, uncles and grandparents.

I don’t recall my grandmother, Maude Miley Crecelius, ever mentioning her son by name or referring to him in any way. For Maude, who died in 1970, some 27 years after Randy, it was something she couldn’t bring herself to talk about. When he was mentioned in her presence, she’d remain silent, as if she were privately remembering a special time that only she knew about. She surely thought about Randy every day of her life. His picture was on display in their home in Princeton, but her silent agony would have been unbearable had she tried to verbalize her feelings.

From as far back as I can recall—perhaps once a year, maybe on a birthday or some other special day, and always when no one else was around—my grandfather, Henry Crecelius, would attempt to talk about his son. He’d take my hand, squeeze tightly, and say, “Now Randy… I’ll tell you, he could…” and then fill in the blanks with some story of athletic prowess or some other seemingly magical feat. These efforts to talk about Randy were always very brief, maybe two or three minutes at the most. In later years, they would often end the same way, with grandpa saying, “Steve, your mom has a family, and Jim and Bob have families, but Randy will not have anyone to remember him after we’re all gone. He has no family to keep his memory alive.”

Then grandpa’s voice would trail off. His eyes would blink, and he’d shake his head a few times as if trying to get back to the here and now. And he’d squeeze my hand harder and harder, as if he could somehow will Randy’s return. Grandpa, who lived the final 49 years of his life suffering in silence, squeezed my hand many times but Randy never returned.

The idea of Randy’s memory being lost to the ages seemed nearly as painful to grandpa as losing Randy in the first place. He might have considered Randy’s death as an event for “this life,” but keeping his memory alive, grandpa felt, was something that he wanted to go on forever. Toward that end, grandpa endowed a scholarship in Randy’s name in 1983.

THREE YEARS AFTER MY GRANDFATHER’S death, I was reading about another, more public, hero—General Chuck Yeager. I was surprised to learn that Yeager had been a “Sergeant Pilot” in World War II. And I faintly recalled that Randy had also been a Sergeant Pilot. What a coincidence, I thought: Randy and Chuck Yeager. Could they have known one another? Did they serve in the same flight group? There were so many unanswered questions that I wanted to look into… some day.

The Yeager discovery, along with my first note to the Sergeant Pilots Association in early 1996, marked the beginning of my search for a “few” more details. It quickly became a quest for information about Lt. William Randall Crecelius. I thought that maybe I could find some information about Randy’s days in the service and perhaps assemble a few notes that could be shared with the family. And a few pages of information about Randy, I thought, just might help accomplish what grandpa had wanted so badly—for Randy to be remembered “after we’re all gone.”

What I’ve found is documented here in memory of Randy, and also for Henry, Maude and the rest of the Crecelius family, as well as the many friends who missed him so badly for so long. The title, “Hoosier Traveler,” is taken from the nose art of the plane that Randy normally flew. (His fatal flight was taken in a different airplane.)

Although I know this effort comes too late for Henry and Maude, I’d like to think that they’d approve of this attempt to help keep Randy’s memory alive. And maybe—just maybe—this can help keep alive the memories of all those who, like Randy, died many years ago in faraway lands before they were able to have families who could carry their memory through future generations.

Some of the events leading up to December 19, 1943, will always be shrouded in mystery. Almost all of what is presented here is backed by documentation of some type, like Randall’s flight records, his official military records, military historical groups, military researcher records, books referencing Randall’s flight and military groups, websites, and personal accounts by correspondence — many phone calls, hundreds of letters, a few thousand e-mails, and a few in person interviews—with friends and acquaintances of Randy’s, before and during his military career.

It should be noted that I occasionally received conflicting information. There was one veteran, for example, who called me and rambled on late one night about how he and my uncle frequently buzzed the German countryside in P-51s. Randy’s records reveal that he was never close to going to Europe, nor is there any evidence that he ever flew a P-51.

What I’ve ultimately collected is far beyond what I could ever include in a book, or even a set of books. I’m hopeful the boxes of documents will be maintained in perpetuity by the Crecelius family. The materials were accumulated with the kind help of many others who generously shared their time and recollections, in the process enabling me to learn many things about my uncle’s life and death.

My research took me from military websites and research assistance facilities in the United States to sources in Australia and New Guinea. I’ve received many helpful documents, information and photographs from contacts abroad. One surprising fact that came from this outreach is that the crash that killed my uncle—as well as 30 others—has been a subject of intense study for many years, culminating in a memorial service on December 6, 2003. The speaker that day was Mary O’Brien of the Capricorn Coast Historical Society. Mary has been a very gracious and helpful communicator, and she has generously shared many important insights, based on her own years of research, into the crash at Canal Creek that fateful December day in 1943. Mary lives in Australia, not far from the actual crash site. I’m including the outline of the Canal Creek Memorial Service, which was held at the crash site, in this text.

THIS PROJECT HAS ALSO REMINDED ME that imagination often impacts memory. Most of us tend to fabricate as the years pass—the passage of time somehow gives us the ability to run faster, jump higher and be smarter. A vivid reminder of this can be found in a historic chapter of the Civil War, the Battle of Gettysburg: At Gettysburg in 1863, there were 15,000 Southerners in Pickett’s Charge. By 1883, at least 100,000 Southern males were insisting they had been in Pickett’s Charge; and by 1923, most every surviving Confederate veteran had been with Pickett.

I have not gone to the extra effort of identifying the source of every individual piece of information presented here or detailed how I arrived at a particular conclusion presented in this document. I saw no point to taking the excruciating extra time that would be necessary to identify where it originated since this has no market value as a “book”. I have, however, attempted to identify all (or certainly close to all) resources and have listed them in the “Contacts” link.

In the final analysis, this is an honest presentation of the facts as I know them—and it’s all offered as my best effort to document the life of William Randall Crecelius. Changes, corrections and updates will surely be needed. By using this internet presentation format, I hope to make any needed changes and revisions quickly and easily. Someday maybe another interested family member or researcher will find the boxes of “Randy Chronicles” and do a more detailed study of his life.

Steve McDevitt

Newburgh, Indiana

May 2009