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| Lt Grant M Turley P-47D KIA |
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War always takes its toll on a nation’s best and brightest. In times of crisis they are always the
first to step up and volunteer for military service, the first to take on the most dangerous
assignments. They go off to fight for their country for the noblest of reasons, and all too often they
give their lives in the service of their country while still in the flower of youth.
Among those was Grant Turley of Aripine. He grew up on a small cow ranch in the Mogollon Rim.
Carefree summer days were spent working cattle and wrangling dudes. He learned about family
values in the close-knit Mormon community where he was raised. In school he was an
outstanding student athlete. He had a high school sweetheart and a bright future ahead. Then
came the war.
War changed forever, the lives and dreams of millions of young people like Grant Turley. A few
weeks after Pearl Harbor, he was in Phoenix taking flying lessons at Sky Harbor. At the age
of 20 he volunteered for the Air Corps and trained to become a fighter pilot. He and his high
school sweetheart Kitty Ballard were married just before he shipped out. He went into action
in the fall of 1943 and in just ten days of action over the skies of Europe became Arizona’s first
World War II Ace.
Ace is the coveted word for a pilot who shoots down at least five enemy planes in aerial combat.
Grant flew nearly 50 missions out of England, including the first raid on Berlin. According to his
fellow fighter pilots, the Arizona cowboy with the family ranch brand painted on the side of his
plane was fearless. On one mission he came upon a flight of ten German ME-109’s. With
dauntless daring he dove his P-47 Thunderbolt into the group of German fighter planes shooting
down two before the air battle ended. For this intrepid bravery he was awarded the Silver Star.
He shot down a total of seven confirmed German planes and destroyed two more on the ground
giving him just one short of being a double ace.
Grant’s poignant letters to his wife and family, along with his personal diary provide a window into
the heart and soul of a young man who was a product of what Tom Brokaw called, “The
Greatest Generation.” They reveal a strong sense of patriotism, courage and devotion to duty
that was so characteristic of those turbulent times. They also reveal the deep love and devotion
of a young man for his family and religion.
Grant was part of that generation of young people who spent their adolescence growing up in the
throes of worst economic depression this nation has ever seen. They reached maturity during a
period when America and the rest of the free world faced its greatest crisis. The Nazi Germany
occupied most of Europe and the Japanese Imperial Army appeared unstoppable as they swept
across Southeast Asia and the Pacific.
Their personal lives were put on hold, in many instances permanently, when they answered their
country’s call to arms. They said goodby to sweethearts, family, and friends, rolled up their
sleeves and did what they had to do in the hope that their sacrifice would make this world a better
place. “Grant was very patriotic,” his brother Stan Turley recalls. “He truly believed in what he
was fighting for. He was confident, quiet and studious but he was also stubborn, determined and
very competitive.”
Grant was the son of Fred and Wilma Turley, and the younger brother of Stan Turley, who later
served the state legislature as Speaker of the House and President of the Senate. They grew up
on the family’s Sundown Ranch at Aripine in Navajo County. Grant was born at the ranch on a
Sunday morning, June 18, 1922. A neighbor Aunt Elsie Flake delivered him. He descended
from a long line of frontier stock. His great-grandfather, William J. Flake donated land from his
ranch to found the town of Snowflake, and along with Erastus Snow, lent his name to the
community. Flake a cattleman of renown, was the first Arizonan enshrined in the National Cowboy
Hall of Fame in Oklahoma City, OK.
His brother Stan was just 16 months older and as youths they were inseparable. Wherever Stan
went his brother was on his boot heels. “Every time I turned around I nearly bumped into him,”
Stan says. The Turley boys attended the small grade school at Aripine and when it came time to
go to high school they moved into Snowflake and lived with relatives. Their summers were spent
on the Sundown Ranch. Besides working cattle, the Turley’s ran a boy’s camp for youngsters
from back east.
Grant was a good student and was valedictorian of the Class of 1940 at Snowflake High School.
His favorite subjects were math and science. He was also an outstanding athlete. It ran in the
family. Two years earlier Stan had been the first athlete from northern Arizona to be named to the
Arizona All-State Football Team. In high school Grant was a strapping 6’2” and weighed 180
pounds. His proudest sports achievement was being named captain of his football team. He was
also on the varsity basketball team was captain of the track team his junior and senior years.
During his senior year Grant was selected to the All-Northern Arizona Football Team.
World War II weighed heavy on the members of Snowflake High School’s 1939 football team.
Twenty of the twenty-three members of the team went into the service and six or 30% were killed
before the war ended. In the fall of 1940, Grant went off to Brigham Young University where he
joined his brother Stan. Both were on football scholarships. Grant didn’t care for the damp climate
at Provo, UT and he missed the ranch and his horse, Comet.
Following a serious knee injury he returned home and enrolled for the spring semester at Eastern
Arizona Jr. College. The following fall he attended Arizona State Teachers College at Tempe, AZ.
Knee surgery had ended his football career so he took up boxing and did pretty well. He had a
match in Phoenix one night, won on a decision and was paid $3.00 prize money.
Meanwhile his high school romance with Kathleen “Kitty” Ballard, the younger sister of one of his
teammates at Snowflake High, was turning into a serious love affair. In February 1941 he started
ground school at Phoenix Sky Harbor in preparation to becoming a pilot. He took to the sky
naturally and soon was as comfortable in an airplane as he was riding Comet. A letter home
mentioned how crowded the skies over Sky Harbor were. Sometimes there were, “as many as ten
or twelve planes circling at the same time.”
By late March he was flying solo and when he took his flight test in May he finished at the top of
his class. Orders came in early August to report to the Air Corps Classification Center in
Nashville,TN. the next week. He and Kitty decided to get married before he left so on August 4th
1942 they were joined in wedlock at Holbrook, AZ. The next day he boarded the train for
Nashville.
The next weeks were lonely. His letters professed a deep love for his new wife, his family and his
faith. Over the next few months he went through basic and advanced flight training. Because of
his size Grant was assigned to twin-engine planes at first but he wanted to be a fighter pilot and
he eventually was re-assigned to fighters.
On March 25, 1943, Grant was awarded his wings and the gold bar of a second lieutenant. He
also received an expert rating on aerial gunnery. Following graduation he was given a ten-day
leave to return to Kitty and Arizona for a brief honeymoon. Most of his leave was spent on a
passenger train. While he was home, the two traveled to Mesa, AZ. where they had their
marriage vows sealed in the Mormon Temple. A couple of days later he boarded the train for
Florida where he would await assignment as a pilot. His diary for April 6, 1943: “I have never had
a more empty, lost feeling than I have right now. It is really tough leaving Kitty.”
In Tallahassee, FL, he was assigned to fly the P-47. His first time up in the plane was April 20. In
his diary he wrote: “Gee, it was a thrill to open up 2,000 horses on a 13,000 crate. The day
I have been dreaming about.”
On May 19, 1943 Kitty arrived to stay with him until he shipped out for Europe. She remained until
July 23 when orders came for him to pack his gear. He took her to the train station where they
shed tears and said good-by. He wrote in his diary: “A good-by and Kitty was gone, taking most
of me with her. It gave me the most empty feeling I have ever had.” Kitty later wrote of the
poignant parting: “Just as we were pulling out of the station I looked up and there he was walking
down the aisle of the train. The conductor had asked him if he would like to ride as far as the
base. Who would have ever thought they were to be the last few minutes of our lives together.”
A week later Grant was in New Haven, Connecticut. With a few hours to kill before reporting he
headed to New York City where Stan was serving his Mormon mission. “The last time I saw
Grant,” Stan says, “was in New York City. He looked real sharp in his Air Corps uniform. I was
still on my mission, wearing a pair of old trousers with the seat badly worn. He said, ‘No brother of
mine has to wear a pair of pants like that,’ and he bought me a new suit. We said ‘good bye’ and
I never saw him again.”
On August 4, 1943 he arrived in Scotland. It was also his and Kitty’s first anniversary. On August
5 he wrote from “Somewhere in England.” He was at Duxford Air Force Base, north of London. It
was a former Royal Air Force base that had been turned over to the Americans. Because of
wartime restrictions every letter was censored. Servicemen couldn’t give details of where he was
or his activities. At home the headline above an article in the Holbrook newspaper said: “Grant M.
Turley Now In England As U.S. Fighter Pilot.” The article went on to say, “Second Lt. Grant M.
Turley, 21, son of Mr. and Mrs. Fred Turley of Snowflake, has arrived at an Eighth Air Force
fighter station “somewhere in England” according to information received in Holbrook this week.
In May, 1942, Grant decided to give up broncho bustin’ and cattle raising (and dude wrangling)
for another active career.”
Bad weather and a shortage of fighter planes kept him grounded the first few weeks. Most of the
time was spent attending lectures, ground school and aircraft recognition classes. In a letter
dated August 16, 1942 he wrote: “You can’t realize how “shut off” from home I feel. We are kept
fairly busy and so one just doesn’t get homesick. …I certainly miss the ranch. Would give
anything to drop in for a couple of weeks. Ride Comet for me. Tell all the folks hello.”
On the 27th he wrote again, “I miss the ranch a lot—the horses meant more to me than anything, I
guess.” To help overcome the loneliness he put photos of Kitty, Comet and the ranch near his
bunk. He was also getting restless. He wrote in his diary on September 1: War entering its 5th
year. Prospects rather bright. This waiting around is bad. I have gone to school all my life.
Even though the classes here are relatively important. I can’t help but be impatient. I WANT TO
FLY.” On the 23rd he wrote: Am all set to go into enemy territory now. All they have to do is
ASK ME. (tell me really)”
Grant’s wish came true on October 9 when he flew his first combat mission over Belgium. It was
routine and he didn’t see any action. He didn’t have his own plane and crew yet so the missions
were infrequent. On November 3rd he made his first flight over Germany.
Bad weather kept the fighters grounded much of the time. Still he was able to complete ten
combat missions by November 9 to qualify for the Air Medal. A few days later he had his own
P-47 Thunderbolt. The Republic P-47 was a great fighter plane. It was powered by a 2,000 hp
Pratt-Whitney Double Wasp engine and its maximum speed was 433 mph. It’s effective operating
radius with extra gas tanks was 475 miles. It was equipped with eight-.50 caliber Browning
machine guns and bombs could be carried under the fuselage or wings.
He inscribed “Kitty” in bold letters just below the cockpit. Next to her name was a painting of the
family ranch crest, a cow’s head over a pattern of Turley family brands. Next to the brands were
small swastikas signifying the number if German fighters he’d shot down in combat. Rows of small
bombs were painted next to the swastikas, one for each combat mission, most as cover for the
American B-17 Flying Fortress bombers and B-24 Liberators flying missions over France and
Germany.
The range of the P-47’s didn’t allow them to fly cover for the bombers all the way into the heart of
Germany. One group escorted them out so far then returned to England while another went out to
escort them home. It between they were on their own against the preying German ME 109’s.
Grant wrote in his diary on November 13th: “The Jerry had 200-300 planes over the target
(Bremen). Pretty tough I guess. Don’t know how many Forts (B-17 Flying Fortresses) made out—
probably suffered quite a bit. Lost 15 fighters—destroyed 9. Not a very good ratio. I wish that we
would get larger belly tanks and get in on some of the fun. Our Group didn’t even see any fighters.
Haven’t fired my guns in combat, but haven’t been fired at either.”
On November 30th he made his 21st sortie (combat mission) qualifying him for an Oak Leaf
Cluster for his Air Medal. Another article in the Holbrook newspaper called the former Navajo
County cowboy, “A member of the oldest operational Thunderbolt fighter group in England—
excepting a unit composed of a few former Eagle Squadron fliers—Lt. Turley 21, has been flying
regularly this fall and winter over here in the so-called “Big Leagues” of fighters.”
He had the fighter pilot’s admiration for a good plane, no matter who was flying it. When he first
saw the German ME109 (Messerschmitt) and 190 Focke-Wulf up close, as near as 200 yards he
had this to say, “They are beautiful planes and really fly.
Grants letters to his parents frequently mentioned how he was holding the line against alcohol.
Each time a flyer went out on a mission there was always the possibly he wouldn’t make it back.
Pilots lived as if there was no tomorrow and for many there wasn’t. They lived fast and drank a lot
in between. Grant’s religion opposed drinking and despite the temptation, he resisted. In his
diary he wrote: “No Flying. Big party last night, but I didn’t go. They really got drunk.” In a letter
to Kitty he wrote: “All the parties here are drunken brawls. I can’t go to them and not drink, and so
I just don’t go. I have your picture before me and that helps.”
His fighter group flew in a “four ship flight” where each plane is able to cover the other. “They
say,” he wrote, “that no one has ever been shot out of a ‘four ship flight’ (in this group), and our
losses are very low compared to other groups.” He went on to write: “The old timers still maintain
that a fellow can never be shot down if he sees his opponent. As long as four ships stay together
and give each other cross cover, there is no reason to be surprised. It is the stragglers who ‘get
it.’ ”
For good luck he carried a picture of Kitty in the cockpit and a lock from Comet’s mane. He would
need all the luck he could get because when Grant finally got in the dogfights with German
fighters, it came fast and furious. On January 31, 1943 he wrote in his diary: “First time to drop
live bombs. Bombed Glispy Field in Holland. We plastered the field pretty good. Dived from
15,000 to 5,000 feet before releasing bombs. The flak was thick, really was a thrill.”
Although he’d flown many missions, Grant still hadn’t fired his guns at an enemy plane. Then on
February 10 he shot down his first enemy plane. He came upon a flight of ten German fighters
and plunged into battle “We were bounded at 26,000 feet by these jokers. Well, yours truly and
his wingman got on their tails finally and followed them down. I shot three bursts on the way
down, then when their leader leveled off on the deck got a second burst from dead astern. He
blew up and went into the deck from 300 feet. Looked like one big splash of flames when he hit
the ground. I then got on the tail of the second and he crash-landed in flames.” On the way home
he encountered another German fighter. Once again Lady Luck smiled on Grant. “Saw one 109
coming out, but he didn’t see us. I was out of ammo by this time. Boy was I glad to see England.”
Lt. Grant Turley had bagged his first two kills. A United Press communiqué out of London had
this to say about the February 10 sortie: “Smashing through savage attacks by German planes,
American airmen yesterday left the German aircraft manufacturing city of Brunswick in flames and
won a heroic victory against overwhelming odds in a blazing air battle in which at least 84 Nazi
planes were shot out of the sky. In probably the hardest fought sky encounter of the war, United
States pilots chalked up a new record by shooting down 55 Nazi planes while bomber gunners
bagged 29.”
Grant had mixed feelings about his two aerial victories: “Right now it worries me that I have
caused the death of one man and probably another. War is Hell. I guess I’ll get callused.
However, it is nicer to say ‘ships destroyed’ and not think of the pilots.”
In a letter home February 10, he described the battle and like a bronc-riding rodeo cowboy
praising the horse he rode rather than boast about his own abilities he wrote, “We are flying a
wonderful plane.” Then he wrote prophetically, “With spring on the way, the air war should
intensify.”
The next day over France he bagged another. “I bounced a 109 and got a good burst, saw strikes
all over the cockpit and wing roots and a lot of smoke. He went straight down and out of control. I
am sure the pilot had had it.” He pulled back through some clouds and got into a dogfight with a
German squadron commander, but neither pilot could get the advantage and they broke it off. “He
was plenty good,” he wrote, “I only got a couple of 90 degree deflection shots at him.” On the
way home, and low on gas he shot down a FW190 on take off. Tracer and flak were all around
but he managed to escape unscathed, arriving home with only 17 gallons of gas left in his tanks.
The next day they escorting some B-17’s over France. The mission was uneventful and on the
way home Turley and seven other pilots strafed a German airfield. He opened fire from about
250 yards out destroying a plane as it was taking off. They also destroyed two other fighter
planes on the ground.
By this time the media was getting interested in the tall, rugged Arizonan. A correspondent from
NBC interviewed him. He modestly shrugged off the publicity saying “it was all in a day’s
work.” On Sunday, March 26, 1944 the headline in an article in the Arizona Republic referred to
him as the, “Snowflake Storm.” The story read: “A tall, raw-boned ex-cowboy who used to punch
cows on a ranch near Snowflake, but who now is “punching” Hitler Airmen shot down four
German planes on two successive days during missions to Brunswick and Frankfort.”
Tragically, a few days before the article appeared, Grant Turley had been reported missing in
action. Grant Turley flew his last mission on March 6, 1944. He was in a flight with three other P-
47’s escorting some bombers when German fighter planes attacked. Turley and some other
fighters peeled off to intercept them. A furious dogfight ensued and everyone became separated.
Grant and his wingman chased three German 190’s down to the deck. Grant got on the tail of
one and shot it down. He’d turned his attention to another but a third German had positioned
himself behind Grant’s plane and opened up with his guns. Grant’s wingman last saw him as
he dove into some clouds in pursuit of a German fighter plane with another enemy plane on his
tail.
Lt. Grant Turley became an ace in just ten days. He shot down his first two German planes on
February 10. He got two more the next day. His fifth kill, making him an Ace came on February 20.
Four days later he got another. He got his last one on March 6 although it wasn’t credited to his
record because there was no film confirmation. A small camera was mounted on the P-47 that
kicked on when the guns fired. This was to confirm kills and was also used to enable pilots to
know which part of the enemy plane was most vulnerable. Since Grant’s plane was shot down
that same day, it was impossible to check the camera for the confirmation. His wingman did,
however, confirm the kill.
A few days later, on March 17 Kitty received a telegram informing her that her husband was
missing in action. She received another telegram several months later, on September 23rd,
confirming her husband’s death on March 6, 1944. After Grant was shot down, the Germans
pulled his body from the wreckage and gave him a burial. After the war he was re-buried in a
military grave in Liege, Belgium.
Grant’s brother Stan was on a mission for the Mormon Church when the war broke out. As soon
as his mission was completed he rushed home and enlisted. Stan was in basic training at Amarillo,
Texas when word came his brother had been killed in action. Up to then he’d kept his faith that
Grant was only missing in action and would come home safely.
Kitty, only twenty when she lost her husband would eventually re-marry. She remained in
Holbrook where she later served as mayor of the town.
In addition to his Air Medal, Grant was awarded the Purple Heart and Distinguished Flying Cross.
In November 1945 Grant was awarded the Silver Star posthumously “For gallantry in action
against the enemy….”
In 1983 Stan visited his brother’s grave at the Ardennes Cemetery in Belgium. “We searched over
thousands of white crosses,” he said, “before finding Grant’s. At the very moment we found his
grave a flight of NATO aircraft flew over. The timing couldn’t have been more symbolic.”
first to step up and volunteer for military service, the first to take on the most dangerous
assignments. They go off to fight for their country for the noblest of reasons, and all too often they
give their lives in the service of their country while still in the flower of youth.
Among those was Grant Turley of Aripine. He grew up on a small cow ranch in the Mogollon Rim.
Carefree summer days were spent working cattle and wrangling dudes. He learned about family
values in the close-knit Mormon community where he was raised. In school he was an
outstanding student athlete. He had a high school sweetheart and a bright future ahead. Then
came the war.
War changed forever, the lives and dreams of millions of young people like Grant Turley. A few
weeks after Pearl Harbor, he was in Phoenix taking flying lessons at Sky Harbor. At the age
of 20 he volunteered for the Air Corps and trained to become a fighter pilot. He and his high
school sweetheart Kitty Ballard were married just before he shipped out. He went into action
in the fall of 1943 and in just ten days of action over the skies of Europe became Arizona’s first
World War II Ace.
Ace is the coveted word for a pilot who shoots down at least five enemy planes in aerial combat.
Grant flew nearly 50 missions out of England, including the first raid on Berlin. According to his
fellow fighter pilots, the Arizona cowboy with the family ranch brand painted on the side of his
plane was fearless. On one mission he came upon a flight of ten German ME-109’s. With
dauntless daring he dove his P-47 Thunderbolt into the group of German fighter planes shooting
down two before the air battle ended. For this intrepid bravery he was awarded the Silver Star.
He shot down a total of seven confirmed German planes and destroyed two more on the ground
giving him just one short of being a double ace.
Grant’s poignant letters to his wife and family, along with his personal diary provide a window into
the heart and soul of a young man who was a product of what Tom Brokaw called, “The
Greatest Generation.” They reveal a strong sense of patriotism, courage and devotion to duty
that was so characteristic of those turbulent times. They also reveal the deep love and devotion
of a young man for his family and religion.
Grant was part of that generation of young people who spent their adolescence growing up in the
throes of worst economic depression this nation has ever seen. They reached maturity during a
period when America and the rest of the free world faced its greatest crisis. The Nazi Germany
occupied most of Europe and the Japanese Imperial Army appeared unstoppable as they swept
across Southeast Asia and the Pacific.
Their personal lives were put on hold, in many instances permanently, when they answered their
country’s call to arms. They said goodby to sweethearts, family, and friends, rolled up their
sleeves and did what they had to do in the hope that their sacrifice would make this world a better
place. “Grant was very patriotic,” his brother Stan Turley recalls. “He truly believed in what he
was fighting for. He was confident, quiet and studious but he was also stubborn, determined and
very competitive.”
Grant was the son of Fred and Wilma Turley, and the younger brother of Stan Turley, who later
served the state legislature as Speaker of the House and President of the Senate. They grew up
on the family’s Sundown Ranch at Aripine in Navajo County. Grant was born at the ranch on a
Sunday morning, June 18, 1922. A neighbor Aunt Elsie Flake delivered him. He descended
from a long line of frontier stock. His great-grandfather, William J. Flake donated land from his
ranch to found the town of Snowflake, and along with Erastus Snow, lent his name to the
community. Flake a cattleman of renown, was the first Arizonan enshrined in the National Cowboy
Hall of Fame in Oklahoma City, OK.
His brother Stan was just 16 months older and as youths they were inseparable. Wherever Stan
went his brother was on his boot heels. “Every time I turned around I nearly bumped into him,”
Stan says. The Turley boys attended the small grade school at Aripine and when it came time to
go to high school they moved into Snowflake and lived with relatives. Their summers were spent
on the Sundown Ranch. Besides working cattle, the Turley’s ran a boy’s camp for youngsters
from back east.
Grant was a good student and was valedictorian of the Class of 1940 at Snowflake High School.
His favorite subjects were math and science. He was also an outstanding athlete. It ran in the
family. Two years earlier Stan had been the first athlete from northern Arizona to be named to the
Arizona All-State Football Team. In high school Grant was a strapping 6’2” and weighed 180
pounds. His proudest sports achievement was being named captain of his football team. He was
also on the varsity basketball team was captain of the track team his junior and senior years.
During his senior year Grant was selected to the All-Northern Arizona Football Team.
World War II weighed heavy on the members of Snowflake High School’s 1939 football team.
Twenty of the twenty-three members of the team went into the service and six or 30% were killed
before the war ended. In the fall of 1940, Grant went off to Brigham Young University where he
joined his brother Stan. Both were on football scholarships. Grant didn’t care for the damp climate
at Provo, UT and he missed the ranch and his horse, Comet.
Following a serious knee injury he returned home and enrolled for the spring semester at Eastern
Arizona Jr. College. The following fall he attended Arizona State Teachers College at Tempe, AZ.
Knee surgery had ended his football career so he took up boxing and did pretty well. He had a
match in Phoenix one night, won on a decision and was paid $3.00 prize money.
Meanwhile his high school romance with Kathleen “Kitty” Ballard, the younger sister of one of his
teammates at Snowflake High, was turning into a serious love affair. In February 1941 he started
ground school at Phoenix Sky Harbor in preparation to becoming a pilot. He took to the sky
naturally and soon was as comfortable in an airplane as he was riding Comet. A letter home
mentioned how crowded the skies over Sky Harbor were. Sometimes there were, “as many as ten
or twelve planes circling at the same time.”
By late March he was flying solo and when he took his flight test in May he finished at the top of
his class. Orders came in early August to report to the Air Corps Classification Center in
Nashville,TN. the next week. He and Kitty decided to get married before he left so on August 4th
1942 they were joined in wedlock at Holbrook, AZ. The next day he boarded the train for
Nashville.
The next weeks were lonely. His letters professed a deep love for his new wife, his family and his
faith. Over the next few months he went through basic and advanced flight training. Because of
his size Grant was assigned to twin-engine planes at first but he wanted to be a fighter pilot and
he eventually was re-assigned to fighters.
On March 25, 1943, Grant was awarded his wings and the gold bar of a second lieutenant. He
also received an expert rating on aerial gunnery. Following graduation he was given a ten-day
leave to return to Kitty and Arizona for a brief honeymoon. Most of his leave was spent on a
passenger train. While he was home, the two traveled to Mesa, AZ. where they had their
marriage vows sealed in the Mormon Temple. A couple of days later he boarded the train for
Florida where he would await assignment as a pilot. His diary for April 6, 1943: “I have never had
a more empty, lost feeling than I have right now. It is really tough leaving Kitty.”
In Tallahassee, FL, he was assigned to fly the P-47. His first time up in the plane was April 20. In
his diary he wrote: “Gee, it was a thrill to open up 2,000 horses on a 13,000 crate. The day
I have been dreaming about.”
On May 19, 1943 Kitty arrived to stay with him until he shipped out for Europe. She remained until
July 23 when orders came for him to pack his gear. He took her to the train station where they
shed tears and said good-by. He wrote in his diary: “A good-by and Kitty was gone, taking most
of me with her. It gave me the most empty feeling I have ever had.” Kitty later wrote of the
poignant parting: “Just as we were pulling out of the station I looked up and there he was walking
down the aisle of the train. The conductor had asked him if he would like to ride as far as the
base. Who would have ever thought they were to be the last few minutes of our lives together.”
A week later Grant was in New Haven, Connecticut. With a few hours to kill before reporting he
headed to New York City where Stan was serving his Mormon mission. “The last time I saw
Grant,” Stan says, “was in New York City. He looked real sharp in his Air Corps uniform. I was
still on my mission, wearing a pair of old trousers with the seat badly worn. He said, ‘No brother of
mine has to wear a pair of pants like that,’ and he bought me a new suit. We said ‘good bye’ and
I never saw him again.”
On August 4, 1943 he arrived in Scotland. It was also his and Kitty’s first anniversary. On August
5 he wrote from “Somewhere in England.” He was at Duxford Air Force Base, north of London. It
was a former Royal Air Force base that had been turned over to the Americans. Because of
wartime restrictions every letter was censored. Servicemen couldn’t give details of where he was
or his activities. At home the headline above an article in the Holbrook newspaper said: “Grant M.
Turley Now In England As U.S. Fighter Pilot.” The article went on to say, “Second Lt. Grant M.
Turley, 21, son of Mr. and Mrs. Fred Turley of Snowflake, has arrived at an Eighth Air Force
fighter station “somewhere in England” according to information received in Holbrook this week.
In May, 1942, Grant decided to give up broncho bustin’ and cattle raising (and dude wrangling)
for another active career.”
Bad weather and a shortage of fighter planes kept him grounded the first few weeks. Most of the
time was spent attending lectures, ground school and aircraft recognition classes. In a letter
dated August 16, 1942 he wrote: “You can’t realize how “shut off” from home I feel. We are kept
fairly busy and so one just doesn’t get homesick. …I certainly miss the ranch. Would give
anything to drop in for a couple of weeks. Ride Comet for me. Tell all the folks hello.”
On the 27th he wrote again, “I miss the ranch a lot—the horses meant more to me than anything, I
guess.” To help overcome the loneliness he put photos of Kitty, Comet and the ranch near his
bunk. He was also getting restless. He wrote in his diary on September 1: War entering its 5th
year. Prospects rather bright. This waiting around is bad. I have gone to school all my life.
Even though the classes here are relatively important. I can’t help but be impatient. I WANT TO
FLY.” On the 23rd he wrote: Am all set to go into enemy territory now. All they have to do is
ASK ME. (tell me really)”
Grant’s wish came true on October 9 when he flew his first combat mission over Belgium. It was
routine and he didn’t see any action. He didn’t have his own plane and crew yet so the missions
were infrequent. On November 3rd he made his first flight over Germany.
Bad weather kept the fighters grounded much of the time. Still he was able to complete ten
combat missions by November 9 to qualify for the Air Medal. A few days later he had his own
P-47 Thunderbolt. The Republic P-47 was a great fighter plane. It was powered by a 2,000 hp
Pratt-Whitney Double Wasp engine and its maximum speed was 433 mph. It’s effective operating
radius with extra gas tanks was 475 miles. It was equipped with eight-.50 caliber Browning
machine guns and bombs could be carried under the fuselage or wings.
He inscribed “Kitty” in bold letters just below the cockpit. Next to her name was a painting of the
family ranch crest, a cow’s head over a pattern of Turley family brands. Next to the brands were
small swastikas signifying the number if German fighters he’d shot down in combat. Rows of small
bombs were painted next to the swastikas, one for each combat mission, most as cover for the
American B-17 Flying Fortress bombers and B-24 Liberators flying missions over France and
Germany.
The range of the P-47’s didn’t allow them to fly cover for the bombers all the way into the heart of
Germany. One group escorted them out so far then returned to England while another went out to
escort them home. It between they were on their own against the preying German ME 109’s.
Grant wrote in his diary on November 13th: “The Jerry had 200-300 planes over the target
(Bremen). Pretty tough I guess. Don’t know how many Forts (B-17 Flying Fortresses) made out—
probably suffered quite a bit. Lost 15 fighters—destroyed 9. Not a very good ratio. I wish that we
would get larger belly tanks and get in on some of the fun. Our Group didn’t even see any fighters.
Haven’t fired my guns in combat, but haven’t been fired at either.”
On November 30th he made his 21st sortie (combat mission) qualifying him for an Oak Leaf
Cluster for his Air Medal. Another article in the Holbrook newspaper called the former Navajo
County cowboy, “A member of the oldest operational Thunderbolt fighter group in England—
excepting a unit composed of a few former Eagle Squadron fliers—Lt. Turley 21, has been flying
regularly this fall and winter over here in the so-called “Big Leagues” of fighters.”
He had the fighter pilot’s admiration for a good plane, no matter who was flying it. When he first
saw the German ME109 (Messerschmitt) and 190 Focke-Wulf up close, as near as 200 yards he
had this to say, “They are beautiful planes and really fly.
Grants letters to his parents frequently mentioned how he was holding the line against alcohol.
Each time a flyer went out on a mission there was always the possibly he wouldn’t make it back.
Pilots lived as if there was no tomorrow and for many there wasn’t. They lived fast and drank a lot
in between. Grant’s religion opposed drinking and despite the temptation, he resisted. In his
diary he wrote: “No Flying. Big party last night, but I didn’t go. They really got drunk.” In a letter
to Kitty he wrote: “All the parties here are drunken brawls. I can’t go to them and not drink, and so
I just don’t go. I have your picture before me and that helps.”
His fighter group flew in a “four ship flight” where each plane is able to cover the other. “They
say,” he wrote, “that no one has ever been shot out of a ‘four ship flight’ (in this group), and our
losses are very low compared to other groups.” He went on to write: “The old timers still maintain
that a fellow can never be shot down if he sees his opponent. As long as four ships stay together
and give each other cross cover, there is no reason to be surprised. It is the stragglers who ‘get
it.’ ”
For good luck he carried a picture of Kitty in the cockpit and a lock from Comet’s mane. He would
need all the luck he could get because when Grant finally got in the dogfights with German
fighters, it came fast and furious. On January 31, 1943 he wrote in his diary: “First time to drop
live bombs. Bombed Glispy Field in Holland. We plastered the field pretty good. Dived from
15,000 to 5,000 feet before releasing bombs. The flak was thick, really was a thrill.”
Although he’d flown many missions, Grant still hadn’t fired his guns at an enemy plane. Then on
February 10 he shot down his first enemy plane. He came upon a flight of ten German fighters
and plunged into battle “We were bounded at 26,000 feet by these jokers. Well, yours truly and
his wingman got on their tails finally and followed them down. I shot three bursts on the way
down, then when their leader leveled off on the deck got a second burst from dead astern. He
blew up and went into the deck from 300 feet. Looked like one big splash of flames when he hit
the ground. I then got on the tail of the second and he crash-landed in flames.” On the way home
he encountered another German fighter. Once again Lady Luck smiled on Grant. “Saw one 109
coming out, but he didn’t see us. I was out of ammo by this time. Boy was I glad to see England.”
Lt. Grant Turley had bagged his first two kills. A United Press communiqué out of London had
this to say about the February 10 sortie: “Smashing through savage attacks by German planes,
American airmen yesterday left the German aircraft manufacturing city of Brunswick in flames and
won a heroic victory against overwhelming odds in a blazing air battle in which at least 84 Nazi
planes were shot out of the sky. In probably the hardest fought sky encounter of the war, United
States pilots chalked up a new record by shooting down 55 Nazi planes while bomber gunners
bagged 29.”
Grant had mixed feelings about his two aerial victories: “Right now it worries me that I have
caused the death of one man and probably another. War is Hell. I guess I’ll get callused.
However, it is nicer to say ‘ships destroyed’ and not think of the pilots.”
In a letter home February 10, he described the battle and like a bronc-riding rodeo cowboy
praising the horse he rode rather than boast about his own abilities he wrote, “We are flying a
wonderful plane.” Then he wrote prophetically, “With spring on the way, the air war should
intensify.”
The next day over France he bagged another. “I bounced a 109 and got a good burst, saw strikes
all over the cockpit and wing roots and a lot of smoke. He went straight down and out of control. I
am sure the pilot had had it.” He pulled back through some clouds and got into a dogfight with a
German squadron commander, but neither pilot could get the advantage and they broke it off. “He
was plenty good,” he wrote, “I only got a couple of 90 degree deflection shots at him.” On the
way home, and low on gas he shot down a FW190 on take off. Tracer and flak were all around
but he managed to escape unscathed, arriving home with only 17 gallons of gas left in his tanks.
The next day they escorting some B-17’s over France. The mission was uneventful and on the
way home Turley and seven other pilots strafed a German airfield. He opened fire from about
250 yards out destroying a plane as it was taking off. They also destroyed two other fighter
planes on the ground.
By this time the media was getting interested in the tall, rugged Arizonan. A correspondent from
NBC interviewed him. He modestly shrugged off the publicity saying “it was all in a day’s
work.” On Sunday, March 26, 1944 the headline in an article in the Arizona Republic referred to
him as the, “Snowflake Storm.” The story read: “A tall, raw-boned ex-cowboy who used to punch
cows on a ranch near Snowflake, but who now is “punching” Hitler Airmen shot down four
German planes on two successive days during missions to Brunswick and Frankfort.”
Tragically, a few days before the article appeared, Grant Turley had been reported missing in
action. Grant Turley flew his last mission on March 6, 1944. He was in a flight with three other P-
47’s escorting some bombers when German fighter planes attacked. Turley and some other
fighters peeled off to intercept them. A furious dogfight ensued and everyone became separated.
Grant and his wingman chased three German 190’s down to the deck. Grant got on the tail of
one and shot it down. He’d turned his attention to another but a third German had positioned
himself behind Grant’s plane and opened up with his guns. Grant’s wingman last saw him as
he dove into some clouds in pursuit of a German fighter plane with another enemy plane on his
tail.
Lt. Grant Turley became an ace in just ten days. He shot down his first two German planes on
February 10. He got two more the next day. His fifth kill, making him an Ace came on February 20.
Four days later he got another. He got his last one on March 6 although it wasn’t credited to his
record because there was no film confirmation. A small camera was mounted on the P-47 that
kicked on when the guns fired. This was to confirm kills and was also used to enable pilots to
know which part of the enemy plane was most vulnerable. Since Grant’s plane was shot down
that same day, it was impossible to check the camera for the confirmation. His wingman did,
however, confirm the kill.
A few days later, on March 17 Kitty received a telegram informing her that her husband was
missing in action. She received another telegram several months later, on September 23rd,
confirming her husband’s death on March 6, 1944. After Grant was shot down, the Germans
pulled his body from the wreckage and gave him a burial. After the war he was re-buried in a
military grave in Liege, Belgium.
Grant’s brother Stan was on a mission for the Mormon Church when the war broke out. As soon
as his mission was completed he rushed home and enlisted. Stan was in basic training at Amarillo,
Texas when word came his brother had been killed in action. Up to then he’d kept his faith that
Grant was only missing in action and would come home safely.
Kitty, only twenty when she lost her husband would eventually re-marry. She remained in
Holbrook where she later served as mayor of the town.
In addition to his Air Medal, Grant was awarded the Purple Heart and Distinguished Flying Cross.
In November 1945 Grant was awarded the Silver Star posthumously “For gallantry in action
against the enemy….”
In 1983 Stan visited his brother’s grave at the Ardennes Cemetery in Belgium. “We searched over
thousands of white crosses,” he said, “before finding Grant’s. At the very moment we found his
grave a flight of NATO aircraft flew over. The timing couldn’t have been more symbolic.”
From Arizona Military Museum Courier, Arizona National Guard Historical Society, Inc. Fall 2009
Issue 36 Marshall Trimble
Issue 36 Marshall Trimble
WWII ace’s crash site discovered in Germany after 69 years
By Grant Olsen, ksl.com Contributor
SALT LAKE CITY — My great-uncle Grant Turley was a fighter pilot during World War II. I’m
named after him, and he has always been my hero. At the age of 21, Grant went on a 10-day
tear over the skies of Europe and became Arizona’s first ace. Newspapers dubbed him the
“Snowflake Storm,” and writer H.I. Phillips dedicated these lines to him in a classic wartime
poem: “Snowflake — there’s one that is new to you —It’s only a whistle-stop, But from it Grant
Turley is with a crew That’s making those Berlin hops.”
Grant took part in the first daylight raid on Berlin on March 6, 1944. He was also one of the
hundreds of U.S. airmen who perished during that mission. Amidst the chaos of war, my family
never knew many crucial details of his death, including where his plane crashed.
Nearly 70 years later, the key to solving these mysteries came in the form of a soft-spoken
German aviation expert named Werner Oeltjebruns. This is the story of Grant’s life and how the
quest to uncover the truth about his death led me to scuba dive in a lake in northern Germany.
Born to fly
Grant was born in Aripine, Ariz., on June 18, 1922, to Fred and Wilma Turley. As a boy, he was
captivated by the exploits of pilots like Charles Lindbergh. “Grant’s earliest desire was to be a
flier,” his mother later said. “I think he was born to fly! It seemed to be his only interest in early
childhood, as he was always drawing planes, and as he grew older, he spent long hours
meticulously making delicate models. He knew the names of them all.”
This love of aviation continued to burn bright, and as a teenager, Grant sent a letter to the
commander of the Air Corps inquiring as to which college courses would best prepare him to be
a pilot. Grant excelled at Snowflake High School and was valedictorian of his class and captain
of the football team. He earned a scholarship to play football at Brigham Young University.
Grant’s college years were interrupted on Dec. 7, 1941, when Japanese forces attacked Pearl
Harbor. Feeling a strong desire to join the cause, Grant signed up for private flying lessons in
Arizona in preparation for volunteering with the Air Corps. On March 1, 1942, his dream came
true when he piloted a plane for the first time.
Two months later, Grant took his high school sweetheart, Kitty Ballard, to the local airport to
watch planes come in for landings. As they talked and laughed, he surprised her by pulling an
engagement ring from his pocket and placing it on her finger. They were married on Aug. 4,
1942, just three days before he shipped out for training in Alabama with the Air Corps. Kitty
stayed behind in Arizona.
By Grant Olsen, ksl.com Contributor
SALT LAKE CITY — My great-uncle Grant Turley was a fighter pilot during World War II. I’m
named after him, and he has always been my hero. At the age of 21, Grant went on a 10-day
tear over the skies of Europe and became Arizona’s first ace. Newspapers dubbed him the
“Snowflake Storm,” and writer H.I. Phillips dedicated these lines to him in a classic wartime
poem: “Snowflake — there’s one that is new to you —It’s only a whistle-stop, But from it Grant
Turley is with a crew That’s making those Berlin hops.”
Grant took part in the first daylight raid on Berlin on March 6, 1944. He was also one of the
hundreds of U.S. airmen who perished during that mission. Amidst the chaos of war, my family
never knew many crucial details of his death, including where his plane crashed.
Nearly 70 years later, the key to solving these mysteries came in the form of a soft-spoken
German aviation expert named Werner Oeltjebruns. This is the story of Grant’s life and how the
quest to uncover the truth about his death led me to scuba dive in a lake in northern Germany.
Born to fly
Grant was born in Aripine, Ariz., on June 18, 1922, to Fred and Wilma Turley. As a boy, he was
captivated by the exploits of pilots like Charles Lindbergh. “Grant’s earliest desire was to be a
flier,” his mother later said. “I think he was born to fly! It seemed to be his only interest in early
childhood, as he was always drawing planes, and as he grew older, he spent long hours
meticulously making delicate models. He knew the names of them all.”
This love of aviation continued to burn bright, and as a teenager, Grant sent a letter to the
commander of the Air Corps inquiring as to which college courses would best prepare him to be
a pilot. Grant excelled at Snowflake High School and was valedictorian of his class and captain
of the football team. He earned a scholarship to play football at Brigham Young University.
Grant’s college years were interrupted on Dec. 7, 1941, when Japanese forces attacked Pearl
Harbor. Feeling a strong desire to join the cause, Grant signed up for private flying lessons in
Arizona in preparation for volunteering with the Air Corps. On March 1, 1942, his dream came
true when he piloted a plane for the first time.
Two months later, Grant took his high school sweetheart, Kitty Ballard, to the local airport to
watch planes come in for landings. As they talked and laughed, he surprised her by pulling an
engagement ring from his pocket and placing it on her finger. They were married on Aug. 4,
1942, just three days before he shipped out for training in Alabama with the Air Corps. Kitty
stayed behind in Arizona.
On this page you will find the MACR for Lt.Turley, newspaper articles, a link to a book about him,
a 2009 article from the Arizona Military Museum Courier, Arizona National Guard Historical
Society, Inc. and an article about finding the location of his plane crash in Germany.
a 2009 article from the Arizona Military Museum Courier, Arizona National Guard Historical
Society, Inc. and an article about finding the location of his plane crash in Germany.
In the letters he sent home to Kitty during flight training, Grant continually marveled that he
was living his dream as a pilot and getting paid to do it. He was assigned to fly the P-47
Thunderbolt. Nicknamed the “Flying Jug,” the P-47 weighed 14,500 pounds — nearly twice
the weight of some of the German Luftwaffe planes it would face in combat — and was
heavily armed with eight .50 caliber Browning machine guns.
In May of 1943, Kitty traveled to Florida to stay with Grant while he awaited orders. After
spending only two months together, the young couple faced a crucial decision. As an officer,
Grant was given the option to remain in the States and serve as a flight instructor, or go into
combat overseas. Although devastated by the idea of leaving his sweetheart, Grant chose
combat. He later told Kitty in a letter:
“My every desire is to be with you, yet there is a something within me which urges me to
defend and protect what I know is right. I am defending everything you mean to me.”
On July 23, Grant and Kitty shared a tearful farewell at the train station. Grant wrote in his
diary: “A good-bye and Kitty was gone, taking most of me with her. It gave me the most empty
feeling I have ever had.”
Grant arrived in Europe on his one-year wedding anniversary. Given the opportunity to
choose which fighter group he wanted to join, Grant chose the 78th Fighter Group based in
Duxford, England, which was comprised of some of the Air Corp’s most talented veterans and
dubbed by one newspaper as the “Big Leagues of Fighters.” Grant’s main role would be as
an escort over enemy territory, protecting the massive B-17 Flying Fortress and B-24
Liberator bombers from the Luftwaffe’s brutally efficient warplanes.
Grant named his P-47 “Kitty” and had the name painted just below the cockpit, along with the
coat-of-arms from the Sundown Ranch, where he grew up in Arizona. He was anxious to get
into combat, but the next three months brought bad weather, canceled missions and
frustration. He had never even fired his guns. So when the winter weather finally began to
clear in February 1944, Grant took full advantage.
The “Snowflake Storm”
On Feb. 10, Grant was on an escort mission over Germany when 20 German fighters rushed
in to attack the bombers. Despite being outnumbered, Grant fearlessly plunged into the fray
and zeroed in on a diving Messerschmitt 109. As the plane leveled off, he struck it with a
solid burst from his guns. The German plane burst into flames and plunged into the ground.
Grant then got on the tail of a second plane and sent it flaming out of the sky.
was living his dream as a pilot and getting paid to do it. He was assigned to fly the P-47
Thunderbolt. Nicknamed the “Flying Jug,” the P-47 weighed 14,500 pounds — nearly twice
the weight of some of the German Luftwaffe planes it would face in combat — and was
heavily armed with eight .50 caliber Browning machine guns.
In May of 1943, Kitty traveled to Florida to stay with Grant while he awaited orders. After
spending only two months together, the young couple faced a crucial decision. As an officer,
Grant was given the option to remain in the States and serve as a flight instructor, or go into
combat overseas. Although devastated by the idea of leaving his sweetheart, Grant chose
combat. He later told Kitty in a letter:
“My every desire is to be with you, yet there is a something within me which urges me to
defend and protect what I know is right. I am defending everything you mean to me.”
On July 23, Grant and Kitty shared a tearful farewell at the train station. Grant wrote in his
diary: “A good-bye and Kitty was gone, taking most of me with her. It gave me the most empty
feeling I have ever had.”
Grant arrived in Europe on his one-year wedding anniversary. Given the opportunity to
choose which fighter group he wanted to join, Grant chose the 78th Fighter Group based in
Duxford, England, which was comprised of some of the Air Corp’s most talented veterans and
dubbed by one newspaper as the “Big Leagues of Fighters.” Grant’s main role would be as
an escort over enemy territory, protecting the massive B-17 Flying Fortress and B-24
Liberator bombers from the Luftwaffe’s brutally efficient warplanes.
Grant named his P-47 “Kitty” and had the name painted just below the cockpit, along with the
coat-of-arms from the Sundown Ranch, where he grew up in Arizona. He was anxious to get
into combat, but the next three months brought bad weather, canceled missions and
frustration. He had never even fired his guns. So when the winter weather finally began to
clear in February 1944, Grant took full advantage.
The “Snowflake Storm”
On Feb. 10, Grant was on an escort mission over Germany when 20 German fighters rushed
in to attack the bombers. Despite being outnumbered, Grant fearlessly plunged into the fray
and zeroed in on a diving Messerschmitt 109. As the plane leveled off, he struck it with a
solid burst from his guns. The German plane burst into flames and plunged into the ground.
Grant then got on the tail of a second plane and sent it flaming out of the sky.
While thrilled to finally contribute to the war effort by knocking out enemy fighter planes, Grant
took no joy in the loss of life. “It worries me that I have caused the death of one man and
probably another,” he wrote in his diary that night. “War is hell.”
The following day, Grant scored two more aerial victories on a mission over occupied France.
His four aerial victories in two days put him on the verge of becoming an ace. To qualify as an
ace, a pilot needed five victories that could be verified by film. Fighter planes like Grant’s P-47
had cameras in the wings, which activated whenever the pilots fired their guns. Officials
watched these films after each mission to confirm victories (pilots tended to be overzealous in
their reports) and to analyze combat situations.
The press got wind of Grant’s remarkable two-day tally, and he became a sensation back
home. A headline in the Arizona Republic dubbed him the “Snowflake Storm,” and he was
featured by NBC and other news outlets.
Grant shot down his fifth German fighter on Feb. 20. Only 10 days since first firing his guns, he’
d become Arizona’s first ace. He was promoted four days later, and on his first mission as flight
leader he shot down a sixth German plane. His commanding officers now considered him one
of the most fearless pilots in the 78th Fighter Group.
Bombs over Berlin
In March 1944, Grant was called up as a bomber escort for the first daylight raid over Berlin. At
the time, Berlin was the heart of the Nazi war effort and home to a dozen aircraft assembly
plants. With the planned Allied invasion of France only months away, crippling the dangerous
planes of the Luftwaffe was a critical objective.
Grant and 59 other fliers from the 78th Fighter Group were assigned to protect the 1st Bomb
Division on its approach to the German capital.
As dawn broke on March 6, airfields across England came alive with the roar of engines from
814 heavy bombers and 644 fighter escorts. Once assembled, the bomber stream stretched
nearly 100 miles from the first plane to the last. One of the largest air raids of the war was
underway, headed into the fiercest air and ground defenses Germany could muster. And
leading the way was the 1st Bomb Division, protected by Grant and his fellow P-47 pilots.
Grant was in formation with three other P-47s when they saw several enemy planes headed
for the bombers and rushed to intercept them. The German planes dived evasively and Grant
pursued. Three more enemy planes then pounced on Grant and his wingman. Grant and his
wingman split up, each targeting one of the fighters. Grant shot down the Focke-Wulf 190 he’d
followed, but in the meantime, the third plane positioned itself behind Grant and let loose with
its guns. Grant’s plane was hit several times and he was last seen diving rapidly with the
Focke-Wulf 190 on his tail.
Following the dogfight, Grant’s wingman rejoined the formation. Captain May, who was serving
as flight leader, later reported that neither he nor the other pilots ever saw Grant’s plane again.
March 6 proved to be the costliest day of the entire war for the 8th Air Force. Along with Grant,
more than 230 U.S. airmen lost their lives in the raid.
Aftermath
Back in Arizona, Kitty received a telegram on March 17 notifying her that Grant was missing in
action. For six grueling months, the family waited for more news.
took no joy in the loss of life. “It worries me that I have caused the death of one man and
probably another,” he wrote in his diary that night. “War is hell.”
The following day, Grant scored two more aerial victories on a mission over occupied France.
His four aerial victories in two days put him on the verge of becoming an ace. To qualify as an
ace, a pilot needed five victories that could be verified by film. Fighter planes like Grant’s P-47
had cameras in the wings, which activated whenever the pilots fired their guns. Officials
watched these films after each mission to confirm victories (pilots tended to be overzealous in
their reports) and to analyze combat situations.
The press got wind of Grant’s remarkable two-day tally, and he became a sensation back
home. A headline in the Arizona Republic dubbed him the “Snowflake Storm,” and he was
featured by NBC and other news outlets.
Grant shot down his fifth German fighter on Feb. 20. Only 10 days since first firing his guns, he’
d become Arizona’s first ace. He was promoted four days later, and on his first mission as flight
leader he shot down a sixth German plane. His commanding officers now considered him one
of the most fearless pilots in the 78th Fighter Group.
Bombs over Berlin
In March 1944, Grant was called up as a bomber escort for the first daylight raid over Berlin. At
the time, Berlin was the heart of the Nazi war effort and home to a dozen aircraft assembly
plants. With the planned Allied invasion of France only months away, crippling the dangerous
planes of the Luftwaffe was a critical objective.
Grant and 59 other fliers from the 78th Fighter Group were assigned to protect the 1st Bomb
Division on its approach to the German capital.
As dawn broke on March 6, airfields across England came alive with the roar of engines from
814 heavy bombers and 644 fighter escorts. Once assembled, the bomber stream stretched
nearly 100 miles from the first plane to the last. One of the largest air raids of the war was
underway, headed into the fiercest air and ground defenses Germany could muster. And
leading the way was the 1st Bomb Division, protected by Grant and his fellow P-47 pilots.
Grant was in formation with three other P-47s when they saw several enemy planes headed
for the bombers and rushed to intercept them. The German planes dived evasively and Grant
pursued. Three more enemy planes then pounced on Grant and his wingman. Grant and his
wingman split up, each targeting one of the fighters. Grant shot down the Focke-Wulf 190 he’d
followed, but in the meantime, the third plane positioned itself behind Grant and let loose with
its guns. Grant’s plane was hit several times and he was last seen diving rapidly with the
Focke-Wulf 190 on his tail.
Following the dogfight, Grant’s wingman rejoined the formation. Captain May, who was serving
as flight leader, later reported that neither he nor the other pilots ever saw Grant’s plane again.
March 6 proved to be the costliest day of the entire war for the 8th Air Force. Along with Grant,
more than 230 U.S. airmen lost their lives in the raid.
Aftermath
Back in Arizona, Kitty received a telegram on March 17 notifying her that Grant was missing in
action. For six grueling months, the family waited for more news.
Kitty was working at the county assessor’s office one day in September when a Western Union
representative called to notify her of a telegram. When she asked if they could please deliver it to
her, the man said no. They didn’t deliver death messages. Heartbroken, Kitty walked to the
Western Union office to pick up the official telegram informing her of Grant’s death.
In January 1946, nearly two years after Kitty first learned Grant was missing in action, news
arrived that U.S. military personnel had translated captured German records and located Grant’s
body in a prisoner of war cemetery in northwest Germany. Then, in April 1947, Kitty received
word that his remains had been transferred to Belgium and interred in the Ardennes U.S. Military
Cemetery. His final resting place was Plot D, Row 14, Grave 23.
While Kitty and the Turley family were thrilled to have a permanent grave marker for Grant, the
ambiguity surrounding his death gave some a nagging feeling that maybe it wasn’t him in Grave
23. The answer to that question, and many others, was buried in a mountain of military
documents.
Finding the lost
World War II aviation has long been a part of the Oeltjebruns family’s lives because they live in
Wardenburg, Germany. The region had multiple Luftwaffe airfields and was also on the bombing
corridor that thousands of Allied planes followed during the war, setting the stage for a stunning
amount of combat and carnage.
Thirty years after the war, 15-year-old Oeltjebruns stumbled upon wreckage from a crashed
German fighter plane in a swampy area near his home. He also found the remains of the pilot.
The idea of pilots being lost to their loved ones struck him as tragic, and he has since dedicated
his life to finding the war’s lost airmen.
representative called to notify her of a telegram. When she asked if they could please deliver it to
her, the man said no. They didn’t deliver death messages. Heartbroken, Kitty walked to the
Western Union office to pick up the official telegram informing her of Grant’s death.
In January 1946, nearly two years after Kitty first learned Grant was missing in action, news
arrived that U.S. military personnel had translated captured German records and located Grant’s
body in a prisoner of war cemetery in northwest Germany. Then, in April 1947, Kitty received
word that his remains had been transferred to Belgium and interred in the Ardennes U.S. Military
Cemetery. His final resting place was Plot D, Row 14, Grave 23.
While Kitty and the Turley family were thrilled to have a permanent grave marker for Grant, the
ambiguity surrounding his death gave some a nagging feeling that maybe it wasn’t him in Grave
23. The answer to that question, and many others, was buried in a mountain of military
documents.
Finding the lost
World War II aviation has long been a part of the Oeltjebruns family’s lives because they live in
Wardenburg, Germany. The region had multiple Luftwaffe airfields and was also on the bombing
corridor that thousands of Allied planes followed during the war, setting the stage for a stunning
amount of combat and carnage.
Thirty years after the war, 15-year-old Oeltjebruns stumbled upon wreckage from a crashed
German fighter plane in a swampy area near his home. He also found the remains of the pilot.
The idea of pilots being lost to their loved ones struck him as tragic, and he has since dedicated
his life to finding the war’s lost airmen.
Werner Oeltjebruns
To broaden the impact of his work and to network with other aviation experts, Oeltjebruns helped
found an organization called Flieger, Flugzeuge, Schicksale (roughly translated to Pilots, Planes,
Fates) in 1992. Over the course of his career, he and his colleagues have located more than 250
crash sites and conducted 35 excavations. Most importantly, they have found 20 lost World War II
airmen who went down with their planes, helping to bring peace and closure to their families.
Oeltjebruns' research and accomplishments have been featured on the BBC and in countless
magazines and newspapers.
Oeltjebruns first learned of my great-uncle Grant in the late ’80s, while studying the March 6 raid
on Berlin. He was intrigued by the story of the young American ace and began tracking down
declassified German military records on Grant and cross-referencing them with Grant’s Individual
Deceased Personnel File from the U.S. Army.
One of Oeltjebruns' earliest discoveries was that Grant’s plane had crashed into a lake in
Aumuehle, a town in northwest Germany. Documents revealed that it was a full month before a
German salvage team removed the plane and took Grant’s body to the prisoner of war cemetery.
According to Army files, when U.S. officials found Grant’s body in the cemetery following the war,
they initially misidentified it as another pilot named Turley. This unfortunate mix-up explained why
Kitty had to wait so long to receive word on the location of Grant’s remains. The files explained
that in 1946, officials were finally able to conclusively identify Grant’s remains based on dental
records.
Oeltjebruns had now confirmed that the body buried in the prisoner of war cemetery and later
transferred to Belgium was indeed Grant Turley. But he still didn’t know where the lake was in
Aumuehle where Grant’s P-47 had crashed.
The big break came when an eyewitness to the crash read a newspaper article about Oeltjebruns'
efforts to find lost pilots and contacted him in 1994. The man took Oeltjebruns to a privately
owned lake in Aumuehle and showed him where Grant’s plane had struck an island at one end.
He said that Grant was attempting an emergency landing on the lake, but had too much speed
and his P-47 plowed into the mud at the base of the island. Oeltjebruns then found Luftwaffe
records confirming this eyewitness account.
Another discovery came in 2012, when Oeltjebruns studied Luftwaffe air victory records and found
that Lt. Rolf Hermichen had shot down a P-47 on March 6 near Aumuehle at the time of Grant’s
death. Cross-referencing this information with Grant’s Individual Deceased Personnel File
confirmed that Hermichen had been the pilot who shot Grant down. One of the Luftwaffe’s great
aces, Hermichen had commanded the initial force of fighters that attacked the American planes on
March 6. He finished the war with 64 air victories.
As Oeltjebruns searched online for additional information on Grant, he came across "Lt. Grant M.
Turley: Ace Fighter Pilot World War II," a biography compiled by Wanda Smith (Grant’s sister and
my great-aunt). Oeltjebruns contacted Wanda and told her about his research. My great-aunt was
stunned by the wealth of information this stranger in Germany had uncovered about her brother.
“You cannot know how pleased I am to receive the emails of your interest and research regarding
locations of American planes that went down during WW II and of your kindness in helping
families’ hearts heal,” she wrote to Oeltjebruns. “Of course, we always have wondered just where
and how it was that day 6 March, 1944.”
Wanda sent him a signed copy of her book. Reading about Grant’s ranch upbringing and how
much he loved horses, Oeltjebruns was reminded of his own family hero, his uncle Heinrich. Like
Grant, Heinrich grew up on a large family property with horses. He became an accomplished rider
and won many championships. Drafted into service in the German Army, Heinrich was part of a
cavalry brigade and was killed in Russia in 1943.
“I must say that I felt emotional when I saw Grant as a little child and with the knowledge that such
a nice person was killed during the terrible War,” Oeltjebruns wrote to Wanda after seeing family
photos in the book. “It is so good to know that our two countries now are in good friendship and
that you, Wanda, and I came in contact with each other and build new bridges over the past!”
Oeltjebruns provided Wanda with all the research he had gathered, including the document
reporting Rolf Hermichen as the pilot who downed Grant’s plane. Wanda shared this information
with her three siblings — Stan, Monita and Marilyn — explaining that she felt more at peace as
she learned the details of Grant’s death and hoped it could do the same for them.
Despite Oeltjebruns' meticulous research, one major question remained — was wreckage from
Grant’s plane still in the lake? The Germans had removed the plane in 1944, but the engine and
other large pieces might have sheared off during the crash. And perhaps the impact had
deposited debris on the shore of the island.
Rallying the troops
I’ve dreamed of finding Grant’s plane since I was a boy and first heard the stories of his bravery. I
became fascinated with World War II aviation and the pilot I was named after. The first plane
model I ever built was a P-47 Thunderbolt; and at the age of 8, I won a statewide art contest with
a drawing of “Kitty” in flight. Grant’s plane became a symbol of the man I never knew — a
connection to the past.
My wife, Jennifer, and I first learned about Werner Oeltjebruns’ discoveries and the location of the
crash site from my grandmother (Grant’s sister Monita). It was October 2012, and we were visiting
family in Park City. My grandmother had printouts of Oeltjebruns' research and we read through
them in amazement. Jennifer and I love exploring new places, and I’ve been a certified scuba diver
for more than a decade, so by the time we’d finished the last pages, we both knew that a search
of the lake was on the horizon.
We contacted Oeltjebruns, who eagerly offered the full support of his team for the search. My
younger brother Jon lives in Frankfurt with his family and also volunteered to assist in the project.
I then began the process of assembling my search equipment. I chose to use Minelab’s Excalibur
II metal detector because its coil has an extra boost that could pick up faint signals from the lake’s
deep mud. It also features broadband spectrum technology for more accurate readings, which was
important to me because this would be my first underwater search.
Meanwhile, Oeltjebruns and his research partners from Flieger, Flugzeuge, Schicksale conducted
interviews and rounded up every scrap of information that could aid our search. They met with the
owner of the lake to seek permission for us to access it. The man was familiar with the story of
Grant’s crash and expressed excitement about our project. He granted us unlimited access to the
lake and even provided a rowboat to go to and from the island.
To broaden the impact of his work and to network with other aviation experts, Oeltjebruns helped
found an organization called Flieger, Flugzeuge, Schicksale (roughly translated to Pilots, Planes,
Fates) in 1992. Over the course of his career, he and his colleagues have located more than 250
crash sites and conducted 35 excavations. Most importantly, they have found 20 lost World War II
airmen who went down with their planes, helping to bring peace and closure to their families.
Oeltjebruns' research and accomplishments have been featured on the BBC and in countless
magazines and newspapers.
Oeltjebruns first learned of my great-uncle Grant in the late ’80s, while studying the March 6 raid
on Berlin. He was intrigued by the story of the young American ace and began tracking down
declassified German military records on Grant and cross-referencing them with Grant’s Individual
Deceased Personnel File from the U.S. Army.
One of Oeltjebruns' earliest discoveries was that Grant’s plane had crashed into a lake in
Aumuehle, a town in northwest Germany. Documents revealed that it was a full month before a
German salvage team removed the plane and took Grant’s body to the prisoner of war cemetery.
According to Army files, when U.S. officials found Grant’s body in the cemetery following the war,
they initially misidentified it as another pilot named Turley. This unfortunate mix-up explained why
Kitty had to wait so long to receive word on the location of Grant’s remains. The files explained
that in 1946, officials were finally able to conclusively identify Grant’s remains based on dental
records.
Oeltjebruns had now confirmed that the body buried in the prisoner of war cemetery and later
transferred to Belgium was indeed Grant Turley. But he still didn’t know where the lake was in
Aumuehle where Grant’s P-47 had crashed.
The big break came when an eyewitness to the crash read a newspaper article about Oeltjebruns'
efforts to find lost pilots and contacted him in 1994. The man took Oeltjebruns to a privately
owned lake in Aumuehle and showed him where Grant’s plane had struck an island at one end.
He said that Grant was attempting an emergency landing on the lake, but had too much speed
and his P-47 plowed into the mud at the base of the island. Oeltjebruns then found Luftwaffe
records confirming this eyewitness account.
Another discovery came in 2012, when Oeltjebruns studied Luftwaffe air victory records and found
that Lt. Rolf Hermichen had shot down a P-47 on March 6 near Aumuehle at the time of Grant’s
death. Cross-referencing this information with Grant’s Individual Deceased Personnel File
confirmed that Hermichen had been the pilot who shot Grant down. One of the Luftwaffe’s great
aces, Hermichen had commanded the initial force of fighters that attacked the American planes on
March 6. He finished the war with 64 air victories.
As Oeltjebruns searched online for additional information on Grant, he came across "Lt. Grant M.
Turley: Ace Fighter Pilot World War II," a biography compiled by Wanda Smith (Grant’s sister and
my great-aunt). Oeltjebruns contacted Wanda and told her about his research. My great-aunt was
stunned by the wealth of information this stranger in Germany had uncovered about her brother.
“You cannot know how pleased I am to receive the emails of your interest and research regarding
locations of American planes that went down during WW II and of your kindness in helping
families’ hearts heal,” she wrote to Oeltjebruns. “Of course, we always have wondered just where
and how it was that day 6 March, 1944.”
Wanda sent him a signed copy of her book. Reading about Grant’s ranch upbringing and how
much he loved horses, Oeltjebruns was reminded of his own family hero, his uncle Heinrich. Like
Grant, Heinrich grew up on a large family property with horses. He became an accomplished rider
and won many championships. Drafted into service in the German Army, Heinrich was part of a
cavalry brigade and was killed in Russia in 1943.
“I must say that I felt emotional when I saw Grant as a little child and with the knowledge that such
a nice person was killed during the terrible War,” Oeltjebruns wrote to Wanda after seeing family
photos in the book. “It is so good to know that our two countries now are in good friendship and
that you, Wanda, and I came in contact with each other and build new bridges over the past!”
Oeltjebruns provided Wanda with all the research he had gathered, including the document
reporting Rolf Hermichen as the pilot who downed Grant’s plane. Wanda shared this information
with her three siblings — Stan, Monita and Marilyn — explaining that she felt more at peace as
she learned the details of Grant’s death and hoped it could do the same for them.
Despite Oeltjebruns' meticulous research, one major question remained — was wreckage from
Grant’s plane still in the lake? The Germans had removed the plane in 1944, but the engine and
other large pieces might have sheared off during the crash. And perhaps the impact had
deposited debris on the shore of the island.
Rallying the troops
I’ve dreamed of finding Grant’s plane since I was a boy and first heard the stories of his bravery. I
became fascinated with World War II aviation and the pilot I was named after. The first plane
model I ever built was a P-47 Thunderbolt; and at the age of 8, I won a statewide art contest with
a drawing of “Kitty” in flight. Grant’s plane became a symbol of the man I never knew — a
connection to the past.
My wife, Jennifer, and I first learned about Werner Oeltjebruns’ discoveries and the location of the
crash site from my grandmother (Grant’s sister Monita). It was October 2012, and we were visiting
family in Park City. My grandmother had printouts of Oeltjebruns' research and we read through
them in amazement. Jennifer and I love exploring new places, and I’ve been a certified scuba diver
for more than a decade, so by the time we’d finished the last pages, we both knew that a search
of the lake was on the horizon.
We contacted Oeltjebruns, who eagerly offered the full support of his team for the search. My
younger brother Jon lives in Frankfurt with his family and also volunteered to assist in the project.
I then began the process of assembling my search equipment. I chose to use Minelab’s Excalibur
II metal detector because its coil has an extra boost that could pick up faint signals from the lake’s
deep mud. It also features broadband spectrum technology for more accurate readings, which was
important to me because this would be my first underwater search.
Meanwhile, Oeltjebruns and his research partners from Flieger, Flugzeuge, Schicksale conducted
interviews and rounded up every scrap of information that could aid our search. They met with the
owner of the lake to seek permission for us to access it. The man was familiar with the story of
Grant’s crash and expressed excitement about our project. He granted us unlimited access to the
lake and even provided a rowboat to go to and from the island.
The Expedition Team
On our first day in northern Germany, we met with Oeltjebruns and three other aviation experts —
Hermann Wilke, Volker Urbansky and Christian Klaiss. After a warm greeting, we made the drive
to the crash site.
A large archway greeted us as we exited the highway and drove down the tree-lined lane leading
to the lake. After a short distance, we veered right and followed a dirt road through a grove of
towering trees. The lake slowly came into view. Surrounded by lush, moss-covered trees, it was
roughly the size of three football fields end-to-end. A handful of old farmhouses were visible
through the trees at the far end.
Oeltjebruns and Wilke led the way down a path to the water’s edge. Directly in front of us was the
island where Grant’s plane had crashed. It was smaller than I’d imagined. A family of ducks swam
past us, seemingly unaware of our presence. I paused and listened to the aspens sway in the
breeze. It occurred to me that although this had been enemy territory, there couldn’t have been a
more beautiful, calm place for my hero to spend his final moments.
As we discussed our plans for starting the underwater search the next morning, I was touched by
how much Oeltjebruns and his friends cared. It had been 69 years since my great-uncle’s plane
was lost, and although none of these men had a direct connection to him, they‘d dedicated
hundreds of hours to helping my family find answers. To help us find peace.
I turned to Oeltjebruns and again thanked him for all he’d done. “It is our pleasure,” he said.
“Perhaps tomorrow we will find a piece from Grant’s plane that you can take home to your family!”
The Search
In the morning, temperatures dipped into the low 40s and a steady drizzle dimpled the surface of
the lake. Hauling my scuba equipment from the car, each exhale was clearly visible in the cold air.
I sat on the bank and dipped my feet in the water, thankful for my 5-millimeter wetsuit. I’d
considered using something lightweight for increased mobility during the search, but luckily I
found a hefty wetsuit made by SUBGEAR that also offered flex panels to allow free movement in
the water.
I plunged into the lake and the shock from the brisk water felt like a prolonged slap to the face. As
I descended to the bottom, a cloud of silt swirled around me. I switched on my Excalibur II metal
detector and the dull, tedious hum filled my ears.
On our first day in northern Germany, we met with Oeltjebruns and three other aviation experts —
Hermann Wilke, Volker Urbansky and Christian Klaiss. After a warm greeting, we made the drive
to the crash site.
A large archway greeted us as we exited the highway and drove down the tree-lined lane leading
to the lake. After a short distance, we veered right and followed a dirt road through a grove of
towering trees. The lake slowly came into view. Surrounded by lush, moss-covered trees, it was
roughly the size of three football fields end-to-end. A handful of old farmhouses were visible
through the trees at the far end.
Oeltjebruns and Wilke led the way down a path to the water’s edge. Directly in front of us was the
island where Grant’s plane had crashed. It was smaller than I’d imagined. A family of ducks swam
past us, seemingly unaware of our presence. I paused and listened to the aspens sway in the
breeze. It occurred to me that although this had been enemy territory, there couldn’t have been a
more beautiful, calm place for my hero to spend his final moments.
As we discussed our plans for starting the underwater search the next morning, I was touched by
how much Oeltjebruns and his friends cared. It had been 69 years since my great-uncle’s plane
was lost, and although none of these men had a direct connection to him, they‘d dedicated
hundreds of hours to helping my family find answers. To help us find peace.
I turned to Oeltjebruns and again thanked him for all he’d done. “It is our pleasure,” he said.
“Perhaps tomorrow we will find a piece from Grant’s plane that you can take home to your family!”
The Search
In the morning, temperatures dipped into the low 40s and a steady drizzle dimpled the surface of
the lake. Hauling my scuba equipment from the car, each exhale was clearly visible in the cold air.
I sat on the bank and dipped my feet in the water, thankful for my 5-millimeter wetsuit. I’d
considered using something lightweight for increased mobility during the search, but luckily I
found a hefty wetsuit made by SUBGEAR that also offered flex panels to allow free movement in
the water.
I plunged into the lake and the shock from the brisk water felt like a prolonged slap to the face. As
I descended to the bottom, a cloud of silt swirled around me. I switched on my Excalibur II metal
detector and the dull, tedious hum filled my ears.
Grant Olsen
Back on shore, Jennifer documented the expedition with photographs, while Jon ferried metal
detectors and other equipment to the island and helped Urbansky and Klaiss start the land
search. They focused their efforts on the shoreline where the P-47 crashed.
I’d been underwater for about 30 minutes when my metal detector picked up a signal from deep
in the mud. I honed in on the source and anxiously dug down into the darkness. My fingertips
scraped metal and I slowly cleared the mud from around a 2-by-3-foot piece of corroded metal
and lugged it to the surface.
Bursting from the water, I excitedly lifted the object over my head and called out to Urbansky.
He took a quick look at it and said it was part of a wheelbarrow.
“Are you sure?” I asked. But as I stared at the object, it became clear that he was right. Over
the next hour I found more metal garbage, which I loaded into the boat so that Jon could take it
to shore and dispose of it. The property owner had been so gracious, cleaning his lake was the
least I could do.
With only garbage to show for thus far, I gradually narrowed my search until I was in the shallow
water of the crash site. Submerged tree branches repeatedly snagged my diving equipment and
the thorns left some nasty scratches.
Just as I was beginning to wish I were done and back at the hotel, a commotion above the
surface caught my attention and I raised my head from the water. “Volker found something!”
Jennifer shouted from the shoreline. “He found a pipe from the plane!”
Shifting my gaze to the island, I saw Urbansky triumphantly holding a thin copper pipe about
four feet long. Moments later, he located a handful of aluminum aircraft bolts. We rendezvoused
on the shore and Oeltjebruns inspected the pipe and bolts and determined they were from a
World War II aircraft. He later consulted a detailed parts list and stated conclusively that they
matched parts from a P-47.
We all took turns examining the items and it felt surreal to be holding the relics in my hands. I
thought of Kitty and other family members who had lived through the tragic years following
Grant’s death. Memories flooded back to me from my childhood — the hours I’d spent
speculating on the whereabouts of my hero’s plane. Throughout this expedition, I’d had my
doubts as to whether we’d be successful. And now a 69-year-old mystery had been solved, and
we had a tangible piece of history to bring home to my family.
The following day, we finished our search by comprehensively scanning the area around the
crash site one last time. Urbansky and Klaiss returned to the island to ensure they hadn’t
missed additional remnants. Oeltjebruns and Jon used a military-grade metal detector in the
boat to scan the bottom of the lake. Each time they registered a signal, I dived to the bottom to
investigate. No further pieces from Grant’s plane were found.
Our search conclusively verified the eyewitness accounts and wartime documents. Grant’s
entire plane had been hauled out of the lake by the German military in April 1944. All that
remained were the small pieces we found and the legacy he’d left with my family, Oeltjebruns
and countless others.
Conclusion
It was a strange experience leaving the lake. The place edified me in ways that I could never
have anticipated. As Jennifer and I drove to the airport, I felt a sense of loss. I wasn’t missing
Grant — I’d never felt closer to him. I missed our new friends and the camaraderie we shared
while searching the lake.
Back on shore, Jennifer documented the expedition with photographs, while Jon ferried metal
detectors and other equipment to the island and helped Urbansky and Klaiss start the land
search. They focused their efforts on the shoreline where the P-47 crashed.
I’d been underwater for about 30 minutes when my metal detector picked up a signal from deep
in the mud. I honed in on the source and anxiously dug down into the darkness. My fingertips
scraped metal and I slowly cleared the mud from around a 2-by-3-foot piece of corroded metal
and lugged it to the surface.
Bursting from the water, I excitedly lifted the object over my head and called out to Urbansky.
He took a quick look at it and said it was part of a wheelbarrow.
“Are you sure?” I asked. But as I stared at the object, it became clear that he was right. Over
the next hour I found more metal garbage, which I loaded into the boat so that Jon could take it
to shore and dispose of it. The property owner had been so gracious, cleaning his lake was the
least I could do.
With only garbage to show for thus far, I gradually narrowed my search until I was in the shallow
water of the crash site. Submerged tree branches repeatedly snagged my diving equipment and
the thorns left some nasty scratches.
Just as I was beginning to wish I were done and back at the hotel, a commotion above the
surface caught my attention and I raised my head from the water. “Volker found something!”
Jennifer shouted from the shoreline. “He found a pipe from the plane!”
Shifting my gaze to the island, I saw Urbansky triumphantly holding a thin copper pipe about
four feet long. Moments later, he located a handful of aluminum aircraft bolts. We rendezvoused
on the shore and Oeltjebruns inspected the pipe and bolts and determined they were from a
World War II aircraft. He later consulted a detailed parts list and stated conclusively that they
matched parts from a P-47.
We all took turns examining the items and it felt surreal to be holding the relics in my hands. I
thought of Kitty and other family members who had lived through the tragic years following
Grant’s death. Memories flooded back to me from my childhood — the hours I’d spent
speculating on the whereabouts of my hero’s plane. Throughout this expedition, I’d had my
doubts as to whether we’d be successful. And now a 69-year-old mystery had been solved, and
we had a tangible piece of history to bring home to my family.
The following day, we finished our search by comprehensively scanning the area around the
crash site one last time. Urbansky and Klaiss returned to the island to ensure they hadn’t
missed additional remnants. Oeltjebruns and Jon used a military-grade metal detector in the
boat to scan the bottom of the lake. Each time they registered a signal, I dived to the bottom to
investigate. No further pieces from Grant’s plane were found.
Our search conclusively verified the eyewitness accounts and wartime documents. Grant’s
entire plane had been hauled out of the lake by the German military in April 1944. All that
remained were the small pieces we found and the legacy he’d left with my family, Oeltjebruns
and countless others.
Conclusion
It was a strange experience leaving the lake. The place edified me in ways that I could never
have anticipated. As Jennifer and I drove to the airport, I felt a sense of loss. I wasn’t missing
Grant — I’d never felt closer to him. I missed our new friends and the camaraderie we shared
while searching the lake.
“It was good that a part of your family was here at the crash place of Grant M. Turley,”
Oeltjebruns wrote to Wanda. “And I felt that your brother was with us at the search all the time.”
My wife and I brought the relics from the plane home and gave Grant’s siblings a full report of our
experiences. Notably absent from our family visits was Kitty, who passed away in 2004. I carefully
cut the 4-foot pipe from Grant’s plane into pieces so that each of his siblings could have one to
remember him by. They insisted that I keep a small piece as well, which is now a treasured
possession.
Jennifer and I hope to one day return to the special place where we connected with Grant’s
legacy. Several members of my family plan to visit the lake in the future, and we are currently
planning a memorial plaque that will be placed near the crash site.
Wanda accurately summed up our family’s emotions when she wrote these words to Oeltjebruns:
“ ‘Missing’ leaves so many unanswered questions and a loss that never heals. I cannot tell you of
the peace it has brought to my heart to know just where his final moments on this earth were
spent.”
Oeltjebruns wrote to Wanda. “And I felt that your brother was with us at the search all the time.”
My wife and I brought the relics from the plane home and gave Grant’s siblings a full report of our
experiences. Notably absent from our family visits was Kitty, who passed away in 2004. I carefully
cut the 4-foot pipe from Grant’s plane into pieces so that each of his siblings could have one to
remember him by. They insisted that I keep a small piece as well, which is now a treasured
possession.
Jennifer and I hope to one day return to the special place where we connected with Grant’s
legacy. Several members of my family plan to visit the lake in the future, and we are currently
planning a memorial plaque that will be placed near the crash site.
Wanda accurately summed up our family’s emotions when she wrote these words to Oeltjebruns:
“ ‘Missing’ leaves so many unanswered questions and a loss that never heals. I cannot tell you of
the peace it has brought to my heart to know just where his final moments on this earth were
spent.”
Updated May 7, 2020