A Veteran of the Greatest Generation

JB Humphrey shares his stories of marriage, fatherhood, war and service with BayouLife. From a bomber pilot to Shriner, his mission has been one of service and love for his country and family.

ARTICLE BY MEREDITH MCKINNIE | PHOTOGRAPHY BY KELLY MOORE CLARK

TOM BROKAW CALLED THOSE WHO grew up during the Great Depression and fought during World War II, “The Greatest Generation.” While these men can’t live forever, their stories survive for generations. One such man, John Benjamin (JB) Humphrey, is still here to tell his.

JB was born Oct. 7, 1920, in Beekman, Louisiana, to Chester and Emma Humphrey. He was the youngest of three children; his sisters Zona Pearl and Eddie Lee were much older. A typical farm boy who daily paced the dirt barefoot and in overalls, JB grew up plowing the fields and riding horses. His father Chester farmed and cut timber, and his mother was a homemaker. When his mother died before he was 10 years old, JB and Chester found themselves alone, his sisters having already married and moved away. JB graduated from Bastrop High School in 1938 and soon enrolled in trade school.

At 19, JB was helping a friend and his wife move into their new place when he took a break on the back of a truck. He spotted a girl walking along the sidewalk and watched her as she entered a boarding house. He made some inquiries and took that girl, Bonnie Williams, to the picture show that very evening. Though both JB and Bonnie were in other relationships, those relationships were soon dissolved, and the new couple instantly focused on one another. They were married nine months later on Feb. 7, 1941. JB describes his wife Bonnie as, “an All-American girl who loved to dance and fish and sew.” She was known for her fierce spirit and never slowing down, having earned the nickname “Cyclone” as a little girl. JB remembers going turkey hunting and dropping Bonnie at the pond so she could fish. When he returned later that day, she had caught 82 white perch. She was vigilant, determined, and quite accomplished on the water. Ironically, she wouldn’t eat fish; she just loved to catch them.

JB accepted jobs in welding and construction, living first in Little Rock, Arkansas, before buying the couple a house in Bastrop. He helped build the ammonia plant in Sterlington. When JB and Bonnie were both just 20 years old, their first son Phillip was born. JB admits he was scared of fatherhood, particularly the responsibility and lifetime commitment of raising a child. He joked, “He’s now 76, and I’m still taking care of him.” World War II had begun in 1939, though the U.S. didn’t enter the fight until 1941. JB enlisted on Oct. 30, 1942, before Phillip’s first birthday. JB says, “Bonnie didn’t like it…she was mad til the day she died.” JB knew he would be drafted and figured he would volunteer for the Air Force, rather than be drafted for infantry and be forced to, “sleep in a hole at night.” Though JB had purchased the house, Bonnie insisted on she and Phillip staying with her mother.

JB’s first stop was Selman Field, his home base, where he spent two weeks before transferring to Gulfport, Mississippi, to learn to fly the B-17 bomber. He then spent six months in Columbus, Ohio, teaching other pilots to fly the B-17, and then went to Sebring, Florida, to learn to fly the B-26 fighter bomber, also called “the widowmaker,” due to the model’s high accident rate. Equipped with two engines and 850 caliber machine guns, the bomber hosted a pilot, waist gunner, top turret gunner, nose gunner, and a tail gunner. JB soon transferred to England, where he flew 20 missions from England to Germany, and then 12 missions from Northern France to Germany. His mission was simple: “go out and shoot.” The length of a mission depended on the route, but frequently averaged about four hours. JB said, “You learned to shoot because they were shooting back at you.” On one mission, he was shot in the hand, and he refused to look at the wound until the mission was over, though the blood was pooling underneath him. Some planes returned to base so destroyed by guns that the soldiers couldn’t bear to look at them.

They attempted to keep crew members together, but casualties and tours of duty ending required substitutions. It took 35 missions for a soldier to serve his time and earn the right to return home. On JB’s 32nd mission, his plane was shot down on the way to Limburg, Germany. He suffered a broken back, and his crew members slid him the 5-10 miles to friendly territory in Belgium. He left the plane with 21 rounds of ammo on his back; he only had 7 rounds left when he crossed the border. Amazingly, all his crew members survived the mission. JB describes the bond between them as more than friendship or brotherhood; they saw death up close, feared for their lives together, and depended on one another. JB described the difference between shooting from the air and shooting from the ground. When you can see who you’re shooting, it makes it harder to pull the trigger, he said. JB spent six months flying missions in Europe before his injuries earned him an honorable discharge. He was shipped back to New York, where he promptly called Bonnie. Her mother reported that she was out fishing.

Back home, the war was rough on everyone. Rations were implemented: 4-5 gallons of gas a week, 1 pound of sugar per person, and only coffee if one could find it. JB had a year of recovery ahead of him, most of it spent in a hospital in El Paso, Texas. He wore a full-body cast for some of it. He didn’t receive most of the daily letters from Bonnie until he returned from overseas. A stack of letters about 10 inches high awaited him. Phillip was three years old when his father returned home. JB went to work at The Louisiana Mill, called “the new mill,” in Bastrop. Their second son Johnny was born later that year. He eventually took a job in Delhi as rural letter carrier, a position he held for the next 27 years.

The return to civilian life was not particularly difficult, from what JB remembers. His spirited wife and young children kept him on his toes, he said. Bonnie and JB loved to dance. They frequented riverboats in Natchez and Vicksburg; and JB admits Bonnie was the better dancer. He doesn’t remember ever learning to dance, just that the inclination came naturally to him and his wife shared the passion. They loved to travel, often visiting the Gulf Coast for deep sea fishing and crabbing. They went to Florida, Little Rock, and Wichita Falls. He believed in vacations being family affairs, taking the kids along whenever possible. He remembers driving back from Seattle, Washington, and stopping in Fort Worth for lunch when the news came through the radio that Elvis Presley had died.

Having never had a daughter of his own, JB was particularly close to his niece. Lou Davenport remembers “Uncle Beeker” as being “so much fun” and easy to talk to. She calls him “the first gentleman she ever met.” He served as her problem solver, a paternal figure who would tell her jokes and sing the hissy song when Lou would throw her tantrums on the floor. She would sometimes cry at night for him to come rock her, and he always did. Lou claims her mother and Uncle Beeker have “earned their wings.” They called Bonnie “Aunt Cy,” a reference to the “cyclone” title of her earlier years. Lou remembers her as “plain-spoken, blunt, and talented.” She would make detailed quilts during the winter, spending her summer months on the pond. She made elaborate wedding dresses, velvet Christmas dresses for Lou and her sister, and Christmas stockings for all the family kids. Lou would play in her costume jewelry, and always felt comfortable at their house.

JB is a mason, a member of a fraternal organization with the intent of “making better men out of good men.” The local chapter would meet every few weeks, some meetings about business, others just social gatherings. To be a master mason, one must attain three degrees: first being entered apprentice, second being fellowcraft, and third being master mason. Once JB became a master mason, he was eligible to join the Shriners, another fraternity built on Masonic principles that worked closely with children’s hospitals. JB remembers taking care of handicapped children, learning the values of benevolence and charity, and he has been a lifetime member since he was 30 years old. He was known as Beeker the Clown at local gatherings, always present at the circus and parades around town. He wore white face makeup and a rainbow wig. He enjoyed the novelty of it all, particularly putting smiles on kids’ faces.

In 1992, Bonnie died of throat cancer. Lou remembers the ornate quilt she’d made that they draped across her coffin. The sight of Bonnie’s work across the wood brought Lou to tears. Bonnie was 72, and she had been sick for some time, though she didn’t want to tell people her diagnosis. JB and Bonnie had always fished in separate boats; he knew it was getting bad when he had to help her back up the bank. The doctor told them to pursue treatment in New Orleans and Texas. When he pulled JB aside, he said it would be a one-way trip. Before they left, Bonnie would invite people over to visit, lying on the couch, her tired body draped with one of her quilts. Lou insists she was telling them goodbye without saying goodbye, more like a “see ya later,” which was Aunt Cy’s style. The couple arrived in New Orleans in February, and she passed in April.

Their son Johnny was a chemical engineer and worked on oil rigs. He was also diagnosed with throat cancer and passed five years ago. He left behind his wife Debbie, and their three children: Benjamin, Jennifer, and John David. Debbie took good care of Bonnie and JB and continues to care for JB to this day. Lou remembers her cousin Johnny as her “Bob Dylan music buddy.” When he was sick, she would send him Bob Dylan videos on Facebook to cheer him up. JB knows loss, and through it all, still retains his vibrant spirit.

JB Humphrey has lived in The Northeast Louisiana War Veterans Home for the past four months. He prefers not having to cook for himself anymore. At 98 years old, he’s still spry and sharp, quick-witted, always smiling. His rapport with the staff is evident, inside jokes abound, and more than one called him a “character.” He is a decorated veteran with a Purple Heart, a Bronze Star, and a Silver Star. When visitors enter the Veterans Home, a monument stands with the following:

The War Veteran, not the Preacher, gave us freedom of Religion.
The War Veteran, not the Reporter, gave us Freedom of the Press.
The War Veteran, not the Poet, gave us Freedom of Speech.
The War Veteran, not the Politician, gave us Freedom to Vote.
The War Veteran, not the Campus Organizer,
gave us Freedom to Assemble.

It is THE WAR VETERAN
Who salutes the Flag
Who serves under the Flag
Whose coffin is draped by the Flag

Old War Veterans never die,
They just fade away

JB’s story will live on longer than he will. He wants all of us to “leave the world better than we found it.” This Independence Day, we salute all the veterans who continue to give us the freedoms we enjoy as Americans, and may we continue to celebrate them and share their stories.