The only full blooded American Indian in the 17th Bomb Group was Capt. John White. He was the pilot on one of our first replacement crews.

During the early days in Africa, except for the business at hand, there was no place to go and nothing to do. consequently, when John wasn't flying or eating, he could nearly always be found in the sack; and was, therefore, known as "Horizontal John", or just plain "Horizontal".

The officers' mess tent doubled as their club, and one night after John had a few snorts a newly arrived tall, slender 2nd Lt. made the drastic error of calling him "Horizontal".

John was about five feet nine and strong as a bull. He grabbed the rookie's shirt with his left hand and lifted him so just his toes were touching the floor, slapped the stew out of him, and said "my friends call me 'Horizontal', but you're not a friend."

The Lt. replied "Yes Sir, Capt. White" and John turned him loose.

Thereafter, the rookie met all the new crews and informed the 2nd Lts., "we've got a mean damn Indian named Capt. John White. His friendscall him "Horizontal", but you call him Capt. White."

After a few weeks the rookie had flown several missions and had turned out to be a pretty good pilot.

One night John again lifted him up and drew his hand back, but this time he lowered it and said, "Now you're a friend Now you can call me 'Horizontal'."

The immediate reply was "Yes Sir, Capt. Horizontal," and that's what he called John ever after.

He also continued to tell the new crews that John's name was Capt. White.

Another time John was the last one in his tent to go to bed and he left the light on.- a forty watt bulb hanging down from the top of the tent on a cord. Somebody told him to turn the light out and he did--with his 45. Result: one dead bulb and socket and a big hole in the top of the tent.