New information sheds light on local hero’s final flight

ORIGINALLY WRITTEN DON RATZLAFF
More than 57 years after his Navy torpedo plane disappeared in the dark of night in the Pacific war zone, the fate of Lt. Alfred Schroeder, one of Hillsboro’s World War 2 heroes, is now more fully understood.

Information that the Navy Department could not or would not disclose to Schroeder’s family has come to light from someone most likely to know: a bunkmate and fellow pilot who shared the air with Schroeder that fateful night of March 29, 1945.

Sam Stovall, now a retired county agent living in Ashland, Ore., sent a letter in this past March to longtime Hillsboro resident and car dealer Dean Schroeder, who, unbeknownst to Stovall, had died several years earlier.

“I do wish I had told these people earlier,” Stovall said in a recent interview. “Certainly his brother would have enjoyed knowing.”

Stovall said until relatively recently, he didn’t know where his buddy Al Schroeder was from. The breakthrough came when Stovall received from a crewman in their same squadron a copy of the Newton Kansan that mentioned the renaming of Hillsboro’s airport as “Alfred Schroeder Field.”

The main text of the letter is reprinted at the end of this article.

* * *

Alfred “Al” Schroeder was the third of four children born into the Otto Schroeder family. His father was a dealer and jobber for the Sinclair Oil Co. in Hillsboro for many years, and also maintained a Pontiac agency for some time.

It was the latter endeavor that hooked Dean, the youngest child. But it also provided some advantages for Al, recalls Ray Funk, his classmate from the Hillsboro High School Class of 1941.

“I think he was a little ahead of his peers,” Funk recalled with a smile. “His dad was a car dealer, so he had transportation when the rest of us didn’t.”

Funk remembered Schroeder as “a high-spirited Hillsboro High School Trojan” who played sports and excelled at football. He also enjoyed hunting and having a good time.

“We were all in sort of the same gang, but he had two closer friends and sort of went his own way,” Funk said.

Funk and Schroeder shared a Mennonite upbringing, though in different congregations. Funk was raised in the rural Bruderthal congregation northeast of Hillsboro and Schroeder in “First Church” within the city.

The two went their own way when it came time to consider their response to the raging war overseas. Funk chose Civilian Public Service, an alternative provided by the government for those who adhered to the traditional pacifist stance of the Mennonites, while Schroeder chose to enlist in the Navy Air Force.

Their choices illustrated the division that Funk said characterized the local Mennonite community in those days.

“I remember there were distinctly different ways (to respond),” Funk said. “It seemed to me at the time that you sort of broke off your friendship when that happened. You went your way, and they went their way.”

Funk recalled that Schroeder enrolled in the air corps shortly after they graduated.

“He was sort of an aggressive type of fellow,” Funk said.

* * *

Stovall has fond memories of Schroeder as a “fun guy” with a wry sense of humor.

“He and I joined the VC-13-the fighter squadron we were in-about the same time, so we were thrown together quite a bit,” Stovall said.

But Schroeder’s fun-loving nature didn’t exempt him being what Stovall called “kind of a doomed guy.”

He said Schroeder survived two close calls before his final tragedy in 1945. Once, while flying a mission during a bleak, foggy, November night over the North Atlantic, Schroeder was forced to ditch his plane.

“It wasn’t a good place to be,” Stovall said. “But he was found the next day, so he survived that.”

The second close call came while the two were stationed near Norfolk Bay, Va. One night, Schroeder and Stovall were landing and taking off in an effort to gain night-carrier qualifications.

“Al caught a wire, flipped over the side (of the carrier) and crashed into the water,” Stovall said. “So this was the second mishap that could have killed him.

“The third (incident) finally got him,” he added. “He just seemed destined for difficulty.”

* * *

Even in the midst of raging war-or perhaps because of it-the pilots aboard the aircraft carrier Anzio in spring 1945 rarely if ever discussed the danger inherent to their duty.

“We just did it,” Stovall said. “It wasn’t something you dwelled on.

“I’ve often told people since then that I think the reason you were doing things that no man in his right mind would do was to gain the respect of your peers. You’d do almost anything to gain that.”

Stovall said Schroeder had earned that respect.

“He was a good pilot-he was respected in that regard,” he said. “He was well liked by everybody. He was a friendly guy that everyone enjoyed and liked, and we missed him very much when he was lost.”

* * *

Though Schroeder’s plane disappeared in March, word of his fate didn’t reach home until May.

The May 17, 1945, issue of the Hillsboro Star passed on the details as they were received from the Navy Department via Schroeder’s young widow, who was living in North Carolina.

After describing some details from that night, Schroeder’s commanding officer ended his message with this cryptic conclusion: “Any explanation of what happened must be pure conjecture. All we know is that he was flying over an area where enemy air and surface craft were to be expected. If he was shot down, it is possible that he made a water landing and reached shore safely. In fairness to you, however, I can no longer hold out much hope for Al’s survival.”

The was essentially the last official word the family received.

* * *

Stovall said he has been “overwhelmed” by the response he’s received after writing his letter earlier this year.

“I’ve gotten letters from (Schroeder’s) family and friends, and all of them appreciate it so much,” he said. “I didn’t expect that when I wrote it.”

But he said he understands how a letter like this could bring a measure of closure to a difficult situation, even after so many years.

“They never knew what happened,” he said. “I’m sure I was the last person to ever talk to him-except for the (two-man) crew that was flying with him.”

REMEMBERING AL

EDITOR’S NOTE: Following is Sam Stovall’s account of his time with Lt. Alfred Schroeder and of the night of March 29, 1945, when Schroeder’s plane was lost at sea. The information is reprinted here with Mr. Stovall’s permission.

“We both joined (Navy Sqadron) VC-13 about the same time-February 1944-at Fentris Field in Virginia. We made a cruise on the Tripoli and returned to Norfolk to be trained to fly night anti-sub search, equipped with a special searchlight. Al went back to Kansas and got married during the leave we had between these assignments.

“At the end of this training period, six of our pilots were detached from VC-13 and assigned to another squadron so that two carriers could be operating with searchlight capabilities.

“Our skipper assigned five of the pilots and crew to be detached. He then had Al and I roll one dice each to determine who would go and who would stay. The high dice won and mine was the higher. This could have been a near life-ending stroke of fate for Al, for he was nearly lost after a night-water landing.

“The squadron was assigned to a ship bound for the Pacific, and a few months later we were on the Anzio (CVE-57) bound for the Okinawa invasion.

“We flew air support missions for the landings of the first day or two when someone in the top decided that a night search should be made along the north eastern and western sectors of Okinawa. We were to report and intercept any enemy surface vessels that attempted to enter the area.

“It seemed like a futile mission-what could two TBMs do against an invading ship?

“Al was assigned the northwest side and I had the northeast. These were around five- to six-hour flights-ours launched at midnight and were to land at sunrise.

“Somewhere during the night, Al’s generator began to fail. We were in radio contact with our control director at all times, who would give us various instructions through the flight.

“I was in a position to hear Al’s transmissions as his generator lost power and would relay messages back and forth. His radio power continued to fade until I could no longer reach him.

“At about this time, I received some heavy fire from the island and left my station in a hurry. The flight control picked me up on their radar and vectored me back to my search position.

“During this time I had to pass over several U.S. destroyers, and had them all fire on me. The ships were all at battle stations and ready due to tile threat of a kamikaze attack.

“We will never know exactly what happened to Al and his crew that night, but this is what I think. We were equipped with a devise known as IFF-identification, friend or foe -that let a ship or shore station know whose side you were on. With the generator failure his IFF would stop transmitting. He would look like the enemy and would draw fire from all sides on that particular night.

“If this was not what took place, it could be that, without electrical power and therefore no instruments to fly by, he could have become lost or crashed. I don’t think so. He was too good a pilot for either of those to have happened. Considering my experience that night, and that we lost another plane and crew the next night-also for unknown cause-I believe he was shot down, possibly by friendly fire.

“The next day several of us were sent on a search of the area where he and his crew might have gone down. There were four of us flying, probably around a few hundred yards apart. We searched for around four hours without any trace of a downed plane.

“Al slept in the bunk just above me. I got the lower because I outranked him by a few months-that’s the way the Navy does things. We were good friends and had shared a lot together. I miss him and I still think of him as a friend that may have been unnecessarily lost.

“I’m sorry that this has come after so many years. It may not give you much comfort; however, I wanted you to know what happened as best I can describe the events of that night.”

Al’s friend and bunkmate,
Sam Stovall

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