Arnett soldier's actions leave an indelible impression

SISTERS Winona Derrick and Pat Gann learned their first lesson in self-sacrifice on a cold winter's day in 1944 when a postal car turned onto the red dirt road that led to their grandparents' two-room farmhouse northeast of Arnett.

That day they saw their usually stoic grandfather weep like a newborn.

Joseph Gott, the family patriarch, had just received a telegram that detailed the death of his son, 1st Lt. Donald Joseph Gott, in the battlefields of France. Gott's death would earn him the Congressional Medal of Honor — the highest military honor in the land — and the everlasting respect and admiration of those who heard his story.

"I was there that day,” Derrick recalled this week with a mixture of pride and sorrow. "I remember seeing Grandad cry at the table.”

Derrick and her sister grew to understand the impact of that historic family moment in the decades that followed as they learned about the unselfish wartime deeds of their Uncle Donald. The importance of Gott's memory would make greater sense on days like Saturday, when Arnett celebrated the renaming of a 14-mile stretch of U.S. 60 to the town of Harmon in his honor.

"I want to tell the story to my children and my grandchildren,” said Derrick, now 69 and still living in Arnett. "It's a sad story, but one worth remembering.”

Gott enlisted in the U.S. Army Air Corps on Sept. 24, 1942. By October 1944, he was promoted to first lieutenant and was piloting a nine-man crew that already had logged 20 missions.

He was 21 years old.

On the morning of Nov. 9, 1944, Gott climbed into the cramped cockpit of his four-engine B-17 "Lady Jeannette” for a bombing run against German installations. Simultaneously, Gen. George Patton's tank forces were grinding across France for the final invasion of Germany.

"We were having fun until they started shooting back,” recalled Gott's flight engineer, Russell Gustafson, now 85 and living in Oklahoma City. "I remember we received some heavy fire, and almost immediately we had lost one of our engines.

"Then we were hit again.”

Shrapnel tore through Gustafson's right leg just above the ankle, and severed the arm of Gott's radio operator, who now sat unconscious.

Flames leapt through the plane from three damaged engines.

Gott dropped his bombs on the designated target with one remaining engine, and then told his co-pilot, 2nd Lt. William E. Metzger Jr., to order the crew to bail out.

"One guy got nervous and released his parachute while still in the plane. He bundled up his chute in arms and jumped.

"Of course, as soon as he got out the door the wind caught it and he got hung up on the rear tail. He went down with the plane.”

Gustafson floated to safety in a neutral zone with a broken leg.

Metzger, meanwhile, refused to abandon Gott and the wounded radio operator. The two men agreed to crash land the plane, concluding it was the only way to save their unconscious crew mate.

Moments later, as the plane dropped to the altitude of 100 feet, it suddenly exploded, shredding tree tops before finally crashing in the woods and disintegrating.

"All three crew members were instantly killed,” Gott's Congressional Medal of Honor citation read. "Lieutenant Gott's loyalty to his crew, his determination to accomplish the task set forth to him, and his deed of knowingly performing what may have been his last service to his country was an example of valor at its highest.”

President Harry S. Truman signed the citation, which instantly became a family heirloom. So, too, did a letter from Gott's regular co-pilot, Lt. Jerry Collins, who penned these words to his parents in Arnett:

"I found out that Don had sacrificed his life trying to land the plane, after the others had bailed out.

"The radio man was unconscious and couldn't get out, so Don with his great devotion to his crew tried to land the burning plane to save the radio man.”

Metzger, like Gott, also earned the Congressional Medal of Honor posthumously for his valor.

"I remember riding in the backseat of our car to the funeral,” recalled Pat Gann, now 63 and living in Woodward. "Mother was crying, and I remember asking her why. She said, ‘Someday you will understand.'”

The understanding came soon thanks to her grandmother, Mary Gott — a woman she and her sister affectionately referred to as "Gammy.”

"I would ask Gammy if I could look at the stuff,” Gann said. "The stuff was Uncle Don's medals and pictures and things. She would spread them out of the floor, sit down next to me, and tell me about each item.

"I don't remember her ever crying, but I just remember being sad for Gammy and Grandad. I know Grandad was just devastated when Uncle Don was killed. He never got over it, either.”

In the ensuing years, Gott's name cropped up at various ceremonies. His name was considered for the new air force base in Enid.

Military officials instead chose to honor Lt. Col. Leon R. Vance. A boulevard at Vance Air Force Base now bears Gott's name, as does a gate at Tinker Air Force Base in Midwest City.

"As a child, I didn't fully understand the importance of what Uncle Don did,” Gann said. "I do now. He gave his life so others could get out of that plane. He gave his life to try to save that radio operator.

"That's what kind of person he was.”

In 2002, Washington author Willis "Sam” Cole Jr. traveled to France to find the wreckage of the "Lady Jeannette.” He succeeded and, in doing so, unearthed Gott's bone fragments and military dog tag.

The bone fragments were cremated and scattered over his grave and those of his parents at a lonely cemetery in Harmon.