LITTLE ROCK AIR FORCE BASE, Ark. --
“I’ve come a long way from picking cotton in the fields with my grandfather. I am 89 years
old. Looking back at my military career, I wouldn’t change the route that led
me to where I’ve been.”
Retired Master
Sgt. Leroy Mazell Smith, has lived a life few could imagine. One could compare the
series of events which sculpted his life to the stanzas of a Delta Blues song.
His birth
on an Arkansas bridge during the Great Mississippi Flood of 1927 foreshadowed Smith’s
life would be anything but usual for a black man living in the 1920’s.
With a
memory stronger than some 40 years his junior, Smith recounts countless
experiences throughout his life from birth to present times.
“I was
born July 14, 1927, on a bridge with thousands of people around,” Smith related.
“A midwife was on the bridge and delivered me. I was on that bridge for four
days before my birth was documented on record; so I have two birthdays: July 14
and July 18,” he said through laughter.
Son of a
logger and farmer, Smith grew up in Pine Bluff, Ark. His mother, who cared for
him and his two siblings, left school at the age of 13. However, he credits his
upbringing to his Baptist grandfather, who he said taught him the value of hard
work.
“I didn’t
have much of a teenage life,” Smith said. “If I wasn’t working at the funeral
home or furniture store, I was picking cotton with my grandfather.”
Smith
graduated from high school in Fordyce, Arkansas, at the age of 16. While there,
he took preflight aeronautical classes, which changed the course of his future.
“I wanted
to be a doctor,” he said, “but the military said they needed black mechanics,
so I was inducted into the U.S. Army Air Corps at 16. Looking back now, they
did me a favor, I’d say.”
Adapt and overcome
Smith
vividly remembers being a scared little black boy from the country in 1943,
riding on a bus from Camp Robinson to Sheppard Field, Texas, for basic
military training and then later to Chinook, Arkansas, for aircraft and engine
training.
“Everything
was segregated,” he said. “The ride to training, the barracks we lived in, even
the hours we had to shop at the base exchange and eat at the mess hall were
separate.
“I
remember (white) people asking us, ‘What are you doing here?’ and assuming we blacks
were the cooks and bottle washers,” Smith recounted.
This
initial introduction into the military while facing segregation did not break
his zeal. Smith charged forward meeting every obstacle with faith and optimism.
He leaned on his Baptist upbringing and grandfather’s lessons about having
strength during the harder days.
“I never
retaliated … even when they would call us monkeys. I just believed those people
were ignorant and someday it would be better. My grandfather always said, ‘There’s
only one race of people: the human race.’”
Becoming “simply a man”
And while
the human race was focused on World War II and which side would prevail, Smith
set course for the European theater. He was assigned to the Tuskegee unit; it
was here all barriers fell away. He was no longer a black mechanic, just simply
an Airman.
“I was
scared and proud when I arrived in Italy,” Smith recalled. “I was with an all-black
crew that I could identify with. I could actually communicate with the pilots;
the officers respected us as the younger members. I didn’t have to just do my job
and shut my mouth. We all had a good relationship; it was one of my best
memories.”
The
Tuskegee Airmen are typically known as an all-black fighter and bomber pilot aircrew
who fought in World War II. However, that name, -Tuskegee Airmen- also
encompassed navigators, mechanics, instructors, crew chiefs, nurses, cooks and
other support personnel for the aircrews.
“I loved
being called a Tuskegee Airman,” he said. “I didn’t know that name would be what it is today, but we sure
had a lot of unit pride, and there was reason for it.”
The crew
was assigned to the 332nd Fighter Group and flew heavy bomber escort missions
with P-47 Thunderbolts and later the P-51 Mustangs. To distinguish themselves,
they painted the tails of their aircraft red, coining themselves the Red Tails.
“We never lost a bomber,” Smith smiled as he
bragged. “Nope, we never lost a plane. It did me proud to say I was a part of
this. We were good, and we were finally recognized for it. I’m a low profile
guy, but the recognition was nice.”
In 1947,
Smith’s tour with the Tuskegee Airmen ended, but the Red Tails’ legend
influenced the integration of races in the armed forces. Smith soldiered on as
he transitioned from the Army Air Corps to the infant Air Force.
He continued
on, also serving in the Korean War and Vietnam Conflict, fulfilling 25 years in
the U.S. Air Force and retiring in 1968 as a master sergeant.
Full circle
“It makes me feel very proud to see what the military
and the world is like now,” Smith said. “We’re doctors and lawyers now. Hey,
look at our president; we’ve come a long way.”
Some would
be stopped by the obstacles of racism and discrimination, others would stumble
if thrown into unfavorable predicaments and expected to thrive. But throughout
his life, like the aircraft and pilots he kept in the sky, Smith never lost his
bomber.
His bomber was resilience.
Birthed in
him on that bridge -- where thousands lost their lives -- was the will to
persevere through any challenge, circumstance or trial.