The Foreign Service Journal, January 2009

J A N U A R Y 2 0 0 9 / F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L 49 Stuart Mendelsohn, the co-pilot, who also perished when the plane went down. The weather in Brittany at that time can be very unpleasant, but Yves Carnot is always there, along with the mayor of Bannalec, witnesses to the crash, French World War II veterans and resistance members. Often rep- resentatives from the French military and, sometimes, an American from the embassy or American Battle Monuments Commission also attend. After the ceremony, Mr. Carnot and his family always make the 200-mile round-trip pilgrimage to the Brittany American Cemetery to lay flowers on the graves of Hensley and Mendelsohn, who lay alongside the nearly 4,500 American soldiers who lost their lives helping to liberate Europe from the Nazis. A few months later, I received an e-mail from Mr. Carnot; Rich- ard Hensley, his wife and sister were coming to France! “You sim- ply must attend,” he wrote. It was a seven-hour trip by train from Geneva, but I would have traveled twice as far to be a part of this heartwarming experience. So on Dec. 30, 2007, I stepped off a train near Bannalec and shook hands with Richard Hensley, a man who was anxious to gather every mem- ory and experience possible to bring him closer to the father he had never known. He had learned much from Verne Woods, and hoped to find out more in the place where his father fought and died. And he would not be disappointed. Yves Carnot put us all up in an elegant stone farmhouse. First thing the next morning, he pulled up outside the house with a van and announced that we were going to the field where the plane actu- ally went down, a few hundred yards from where the ceremony was to be held. When we arrived, two old men were waiting. They smiled and nodded as the Hensleys got out and immediately started gesturing and talking in French. I fell into the role of unofficial translator and did my best to pass everything along as they told their story. ‘They Went Down Fighting’ The men were brothers and had lived nearby all their life. They were 4 and 6 years old at the time of the crash and had been visiting their grandmother on that day. When they heard the clatter of gunfire, they ran out of the barn where they were playing. They saw two small planes diving on a larger plane, which suddenly lurched and drifted into a slow banking turn, with smoke coming from front. Then they saw small specks falling and sprouting parachutes as the crew bailed out. As the plane dropped and came closer, they saw two forms come from the plane and hit the ground with no parachutes. Their eyes bright with excite- ment, they talked over each other trying to relate the story, as if they were little kids again who had just run into the kitchen to tell their grandmother. They pointed out to the field and beckoned us to follow. Two white objects stuck out of the ground far ahead. As we got closer, we found out what they were: two painted wooden crosses that had been made by the brothers and placed exactly where Richard Hensley, the machine gunner, and Stuart Mendelsohn, the co-pilot, had hit the ground. We all stood by quietly as Richard and DeEtta knelt and touched the cross with their fa- ther’s name. The two men, who had talked nonstop since we got out of the car, stood silently nearby, dabbing at their eyes The brothers then showed us where the bomber had bounced off a hedgerow before finally plow- ing into the ground and bursting into flames. There was a clear dent in the hedgerow and, amazingly, the trees and bushes still hadn’t grown back. As Richard gazed at the sign Carnot had made and posted on the spot, Yves reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of Plexiglas and a couple of empty .50-caliber shell casings he had found the previous spring. The field still yields bits of the B-17 with each yearly plowing, he explained, pressing them into Richard’s hand. “This proves they went down fighting,” he said. “Your father died trying to save his plane and crew.” Our next stop was the Brittany American Military Ceme- tery. Yves had called ahead to the cemetery caretaker, who The brothers then showed us where the bomber had bounced off a hedgerow before finally plowing into the ground and bursting into flames. The Black Swan and its crew. Richard George Hensley (front row, far right) and Stuart Mendelsohn (back row, third from right) died when the plane was shot down. Pilot Verne Woods (back row, fourth from right) and the others survived.