Right after we were put on flying status after our harrowing experience, we were called to the flight line and there we were given our first look at our new airplane #41-29386. It had arrived the day before after a flight from Willow Run, Michigan, by Air Transport Command.

There it was; a B-24H with only nine hours of flying time on it. If there was any way in the world that a B-24 could be called beautiful, then this had to be the one! We climbed aboard, each man to his own crew position, and looked and caressed all the shiny knobs and dials and the fresh new paint job and vowed that we would take the best of care of this magnificent machine.

Now came what had become almost a ritual in the Air Corps. We had to give the plane a name. Chuck, before the war, had enlisted in the Army air Corps with another guy from Michigan by the name of Earnest Mosier and they were later sent to Hawaii where they worked on the line on one of the prewar fighter planes, maybe a P-36. Anyway, while they were there they picked up a lot of the local slang before returning to the U.S. and transferred to flying cadets when they both subsequently were graduated as pilots.

When I met Chuck in Boise, Idaho, and became copilot of the crew, of corse we spent most of our time together and in the course of the day he would occasionally give out with some of the slang expressions he had learned in the Islands. Things like, “You look like you have the Chinese Crud” to the “Molokai Rot.” Most at mealtime he would say, “I sure wish they would have some Gerockos.” He said it several times a week and I knew I was being put on. I finally said “Okay, what the hell is a Gerocko?” He told me it was a Chinese a-hole stuffed with rice. We had a good laugh out of it and, whenever we were assigned a new crew member, we would, while eating lunch say something about wishing they would serve Gerockos. When the new crew member would ask about a Gerocko, he was gleefully told what they were.

This ritual carried over until we had a full crew and each one had been given the same treatment. It became our ten men private joke and later we would have fun explaining it to members of other crews. So when the time came to name our new plane, I passed slips of paper and the members would write their suggestions on them and put them in a hat. There was a lot od excited talk and heads put together, and when the slips were all turned in, we dumped them on the table and read them and six of the ten said “Gerocko” so that was its new name. The runner-up name was “Sky Skunk” Solinsky said (My diary says that the first name we chose was “Rave N Beauty” but we wanted it painted in red and they wouldn’t allow it so the second choice was Gerocko).

It was a real thrill to be assigned your new plane. We took it up and test hopped it and found it had little quirks, but all planes are like cars or anything else, even if they come off the same production line, one after another, no two operate or fly exactly alike.

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Two weeks after we arrived in England we had to take Gerocko to Watton, a repair depot, to have the navigtor's windows replaced on both sides of the nose. The original ones were flat against the skin and it had been discovered that hese were not practical because in combat, when the nose tirret was turned, it blocked the navigator's view, so the new bubble type had to be installed. Three planes went down to be repaired at a time and the fourth brought the crews back to Rackheath.

We landed first so 'Gerocko' was first in line followed by Newhouses crews' plane, 'Wallowing Wilbert', then Swearingens' plane 'Little Peach'. When we went down three days later to pick them up, we found that they had installed pieces of armor plate on the outside by both pilot's positions, which was fine with me, except for one thing -- the armor covered up the nose art of the Chinese character, and only the name 'Gerocko' was visible.