WHITTIER-MARK

 

BOMBER  PILOT  AND  INTELLIGENCE  OFFICER

 

Mark Twain Whittier was born on February 16, 1913, in Rice Lake, Wisconsin.  He attended the University of Minnesota, joined the Navy on August 1, 1937, served during World War II, Korea and Vietnam, and retired with the rank of Captain on June 1, 1969.  As a naval aviator he acquired 4,588 flight hours, made 318 carrier landings and flew a variety of aircraft including the SB2U, SBD, TBF, F6F and FM2.  As a member of Bombing Squadron 2 (VB-2), flying from the USS Lexington (CV-2) on March 10, 1942, then LTJG Whittier flew a Douglas SBD-2 Dauntless dive bomber into battle against the Japanese for which he received the Navy Cross.  In October 1954 he became an Intelligence Officer and the majority of his subsequent assignments were in the Intelligence field.

 

NAVY  CROSS 

The President of the United States of America takes pleasure in presenting the Navy Cross to Lieutenant Junior Grade Mark Twain Whittier, United States Naval Reserve, for extraordinary heroism in operations against the enemy while serving as Pilot of a carrier-based Navy Dive Bomber in Bombing Squadron TWO (VB-2), attached to the USS LEXINGTON (CV-2), in action against enemy Japanese forces over enemy-controlled waters near Lae and Salamaua, New Guinea, on 10 March 1942.  LTJG Whittier pressed home, in the face of heavy anti-aircraft fire, a vigorous and determined dive bombing attack on enemy ships, sinking three of them.  His outstanding courage, daring airmanship and determined skill were at all times inspiring and in keeping with the highest traditions of the United States Naval Service.

 

During an interview following World War II, Whittier is quoted as saying:

 

“For more than four years I had been practicing for this one dive, so it had to be perfect.  Gliding down in a very gradual turn the airspeed indicator began to wind up 240-260-280 knots as my target began to slide under the nose cowl of my plane.  To compensate, my mental checklist began.  ‘Nose over a little more, set props, reduce throttle slightly, adjust gas mixture for lower altitude, carburetor heat, electric bomb releases on and safety off, adjust seat for best comfort with eye up to the bombing telescope, check rear seat man - ready, altimeter now at 12,000 feet - 2,000 feet to go to pushover for the vertical part of the dive.  There it was, 10,000', dive brakes open, goggles down, hood open, push it straight down and even so the airspeed braked back by 120 knots to 250; target now clearly in my telescope sight - making a tight circle and leaving a white wake; 2B2 felt perfect in the dive, trimmed for almost hands off flight as though flying at a level cruise but instead straight up and down; eye to the scope, cross-hairs on the ship (cruiser or large destroyer), estimate ship's speed, allow for the turn, catch a glimpse of the altimeter; see any AA?  The stinging bite of high altitude, cold air now became hot and tropically humid; I'd better release - punch 'the pickle' on the stick, 1000 pounds drop off, and I heave back, tighten gut muscles, yell to keep blood in the head, no blackout on this ride; close the dive flaps - close - close!  They wouldn't!  Windshield, goggles, and hood all steamed over from the rapid temperature change.  Close those flaps!  No, something is wrong!  Instead of enjoying a nice 200-250 knots for a hasty retreat I was having to apply more and more power just to maintain 100 knots!  Altitude 500 feet and just able to hold it.  What's wrong?  AA?  Run out of Fuel?  Cannibals?  Water landing?  All flashed through my mind.  Then I began to simmer down.  'Don't let this plane fly you, Whittier,' I'd said many times.  Now what could be wrong?  The dive brakes open hydraulically, so do the wheels and engine flaps; maybe system pressure from the prolonged dive airlocked the plumbing; try lowering the gear.  Here I am over enemy territory with wheels down, dive flaps open at 100 knots!  Wheels up again.  Try the flaps once more AND THEY CLOSED!  The speed shot up, and I began to climb.  Again, Lucky Whittier!  With the urgency of my pullout predicament, I'd no time to turn and look back to see where my thousand pound bomb had gone.  The dive felt good all the way down, and I didn't see how we could miss.  Planes were all over the sky but way ahead of me, and I didn't try to race for a rendezvous with my own.  Instead I picked out two TBDs lumbering along starting their trip back over 'the hill,' and I joined them as they might need my help.  The return and landing on the carrier were uneventful, and the scene in the ready room was anything but ordinary.  Elation was at an all time high as damage assessments added up from the crew debriefings.  The pilots who had followed me in the dive said my bomb hit the after part of the ship, that the explosion raised the stern out of the water, propellers in the air, only to settle back on her side in the immediate throes of sinking.  Our score that day was: 12 ships sunk, one plane shot down.  So it was.  Our first offensive strike against the Japanese - only the beginning of an atonement that could be claimed, over the next three and one-half years, by many SBD victories.  The air officer of the ship collared me in the wardroom a few days later to say, 'We are recommending you for the Navy Cross, Whittier.'  My reply was to the effect that I couldn't see why.  It was nothing more than I had been trained to do for three years, and it came natural for 2B2, #2106.”

 

The SBD-2 flown by LTJG Whittier was Bureau Number 2106.  Following service aboard the USS Lexington it was flown in June 1942 during the Battle of Midway where it sustained extensive damage but was one of the few American planes to survive the battle.  On June 11, 1943, Number 2106 was ditched in the waters of Lake Michigan during a training accident.  In 1994 it was recovered, underwent extensive restoration and has been placed on permanent display at the National Museum of Naval Aviation at Pensacola.  CAPT Whittier died on May 18, 2005, and was buried at the Golden Gate National Cemetery in San Bruno, California.

 

Submitted by CDR Roy A. Mosteller, USNR (Ret)