Last spring, America lost a very loved guy. Clarence Emil "Bud" Anderson was the country's last triple ace of the Second World War. Flying P-51 Mustangs, he shot down 16 1/4 German aircraft between 1944 and 1945. He went on to serve as a test pilot in the 1950s and a combat pilot in Vietnam. He retired in '72 as a full colonel and was later promoted to Brigadier General a couple of years before his death. The man led an extraordinary life. He was 102.
For years, he spent time on the airshow circuit and was a regular at Oshkosh (the largest airshow and fly-in in the country), telling his story and doing meet-n-greets with the folks. His life has been documented on the History Channel, his autobiography, and all over the web.
Chuck Yeager said he was the best fighter pilot that he ever saw.
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I think that Colonel Anderson, as I knew him, exemplified the best qualities of American leadership. He was out in front, he was fair and he was good at his job so he taught others by doing. He was also a lot like the grandfather you might want to have. Soft-spoken but firm, friendly but authoritative. He was a little bit self-effacing and very modest. Sometimes it was hard to believe he spent 116 combat missions in WW2 shooting down Nazis.
I had the privilege of working with him on several illustrations depicting his experiences over there. I met with him a number of times, on the phone, via email and in person. Each time, his humility came through in spades, a very likable man. Again, the type of leader that would inspire anyone in his line of work to follow mainly because you'd want him to be proud of you. The man was a fine, fine example of what we who came after called the Greatest Generation.
Whenever I'd speak with him on the phone, he'd always say, "Hi. It's Bud," or he'd sign his emails simply "Bud." But I never called him Bud; it was always Colonel Anderson. Obviously, he was inviting me to call him that, but I just never felt that I'd earned the privilege. This guy had fought Hitler's best pilots three miles up in the sky. I wasn't really fit to stand in his shadow. But he made time for me. I'd be working on a piece and sending him roughs. I'd ask for his thoughts and he'd give me input the very next day. Usually it was about the details.
"The oxygen mask is all wrong. You should fix that."
"On the ground, I always made sure my tailwheel was straight, not castored. You should fix that."
"My ground crew always made sure the screwheads on my engine panels aligned, they weren't all over the place. You should fix that."
Generally, when you're working with a man like this, you want to get everything right because after the piece is done, you're going to get a bunch of them printed and then send to him for signature so you can put them on the market. If he signs it, it's an imprimatur on your work. It's his stamp of approval.
A couple of years ago I was working as a subcontractor to the DOD. The company I was with was digitizing casualty records from WW2 and Korea, the purpose of which was to use the information in the identification of some 77,000 unknowns that are still buried in U.S. cemeteries around the world. As I'd come across a few after-action reports with Colonel Anderson's reports in the casualty files, and as I knew he'd lost at least two very close friends in the war, I contacted him about his thoughts. And he was good enough to address the room in a Zoom call to express his appreciation for our work and the mission of our contract. I think that meant something important to him. I know it did for us.
So Colonel Anderson is interred in Arlington per his wishes, and I hope that someday I will get the opportunity to go out there again. I'd like to visit him. His life offered a glimpse into the best parts of who we are as Americans, I think. But also the best parts of us as human beings.
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