KF32P
Contributed by Mrs Tim Hurley, who’s
husband had been in 19th BG at March Field in 1938 and knew Frank
Kurtz. DL 02-02-97
Frank Kurtz 1935
LARGER THAN LIFE
War hero Frank Kurtz lived to excel –
and did
He
was, in his day, a storied figure -- Olympic medalist, renowned aviation
pioneer and World War II combat hero. Frank Kurtz was blessed with that rare
combination: remarkable gifts and unquenchable drive. "The essence of the
man was his setting these incredible goals for himself to reach and never
looking back," says his daughter, actress Swoosie Kurtz. "He never
sat on his laurels even for a second." At his death on Oct. 31, at 85, of
a head injury suffered a year before in a fall, time had reduced him to little
more than a historical footnote. But in that footnote reside the details of an
amazing -- and instructive -- life.
“He always looked ahead and never
looked back”, says wife of 57 years, Margo shown with Kurtz and the Swoose II
at Lakeland, FL, AAF in 1943
Kurtz's
childhood provided some lessons in raw self-reliance that, while painful, would
in many ways serve him well. He was born in Davenport, Iowa, the third child of
Frank Kurtz Sr., an insurance salesman, and his wife, Dora. As a boy, Frank Jr.
moved to Kansas City, Mo., where his parents divorced. At 12, he left home,
mostly to escape beatings by his stepfather. To make a living, he sold
newspapers. "From an early age, Frank had a formula," his widow,
Margo, 81, recalls. "If he was going to do something, he was going to be
the best."
Kurtz left with reporter on the Swoose
in 1942.
He
rarely failed. Soon the brash youngster was being featured in the Kansas City Star as one of its top
newsboys. But his enthusiasms reached beyond business. As a small boy he had
once visited a swimming pool and decided to try the diving board. The fact that
he didn't know how to swim didn't deter him. By his teens he had grown so
accomplished that he impressed Olympic champion swimmer Johnny Weissmuller. The
future Tarzan encouraged Kurtz to head to Los Angeles to train with famous
diving coach Clyde Swendsen.
Kurtz
promptly hitchhiked to L.A. and met Swendsen, who took such a liking to the boy
that he virtually adopted him. After finishing Hollywood High School, Kurtz
went on to join the diving team at USC. At the 1932 Olympic Games in Los
Angeles, he won a bronze medal. Shortly after the Games, though, he won
something more precious: his future wife, Margo Rogers, a fellow student at
USC. Courtship was the one thing in his life that gave the usually audacious
Kurtz second thoughts, perhaps because it was the one thing that could put his
sense of independence in jeopardy. "We fell in and out of being engaged
for four or five years," says Margo. "But we got rid of all our problems
before we were married."
Swoosie posing with her dad in Miami
Beach in 1948
Kurtz
went on to be a member of the Olympic diving team in 1936 and 1940 (though the
Games were canceled that year because of World War II). But his new passion had
become flying, which he'd taken up at 16. By his 20s, he was busy setting speed
records, vying with such aviation legends as Charles Lindbergh and Amelia
Earhart. Flying an open cockpit plane in 1935, he set a record from Los Angeles
to Mexico City to Washington and back to L.A.
Far
from being a daredevil, Kurtz prided himself on being almost obsessive about
preparation and safety. That attention to detail served him especially well at
the outbreak of the war. Stationed at Clark Field in the Philippines, Kurtz,
who had taken the trouble to dig himself a foxhole, was one of the handful of
American pilots who survived the devastating Japanese attack on the base two
days following Pearl Harbor. After helping rescue scores of men from Java, he
made his way to Australia, where he rebuilt his B-17 bomber out of parts
salvaged from planes destroyed in the Philippines. The jury-rigged aircraft,
dubbed the Swoose (as in part swan,
part goose), provided a handy symbol of American determination in the war, not
to mention an exotic name for Kurtz's future daughter. During his service in
Australia, Kurtz brushed up against several future notables, among them a young
junketing congressman from Texas, Lyndon Baines Johnson, who reportedly became
panic-stricken during an emergency landing in the Outback aboard the Swoose, and a 10-year-old named Rupert
Murdoch, on whom Kurtz bestowed his pilot's wings during a chance meeting.
In
1944, Kurtz volunteered for service in Italy, where the young colonel flew 60
bombing missions and impressed men in his squadron with both his flying skills
and his perfect sangfroid. (He liked to sit in the cockpit of his B-17
devouring biographies and works of history while en route to targets.) One who
particularly admired the dashing officer was a 20year-old radio operator and
gunner named Norman Lear, who would later find his own fame in Hollywood.
"He was a charismatic leader," says Lear. "He had an enormous
reputation, and we knew we were led by the best."
Within
months his superiors transferred the highly decorated Kurtz stateside. He was
put in charge of Kirtland Air Base in Albuquerque, and the planes under his
command were used for air support on the Manhattan Project and the development
of the atomic bomb. After the war, Kurtz returned to L.A. and worked for two
companies, including General Electric. But he was a .restless, driven man who
had trouble adjusting to a relatively mundane existence. "The little
things in life were hard for him," says Swoosie, 52. "Going to the
grocery store was hard for him." He did, however, find enormous joy in his
family, especially his only child, who was born in 1944. "That's rare of
heroes," says Lear, who became friends with Kurtz in Hollywood. "They
usually succeed as heroes at the expense of their families."
Swoosie with Dad, 1994
Yet
for all his accomplishments, and the pride he took in his daughter's success as
an actress, Kurtz never entirely lost the dark streak that had marked him since
childhood. "I wouldn't say he was a happy man, no," says Swoosie.
"I think because of the way he grew up, he felt like the world was his
enemy in some ways. He was always fighting his own war."
A
year ago, while taking his customary 5:30 a.m. walk in his Toluca Lake
neighborhood in L.A., Kurtz slipped and hit his head on the pavement. Despite
operations and physical therapy, he never fully recovered. On Halloween, while
sitting in his favorite chair in his living room, he finally found peace.
"He just turned his head," says Margo. "It looked like he
decided to take a nap, and he was gone. It was like he wanted to make this
trip."
On behalf of Olympic athletes, Kurtz
thanked President Reagan in 1982
***O***
Col.
Frank Kurtz, Olympic medalist diver and the most decorated Army Air Corps pilot
in World War 11 known for flying the last surviving B-17 Flying Fortress, has
died Nov 7, 1996. He was 85.
Col Frank Kurtz 1985
The legendary
hero died Thursday at his Toluca Lake home from complications after a fall,
said his wife, author Margo Kurtz.
An
Army pilot on duty in the Philippines when the Japanese drew the United States
into the war, Kurtz flew the last of the 35 planes stationed in the Pacific.
When the plane was chewed up in combat, Kurtz and his crew dubbed it "part
swan and part goose -- the Swoose." It has been called the most famous
plane in the Pacific except for the Enola Gay, which carried the atom bomb
dropped on Hiroshima.
After
flying the big plane home, Kurtz went to the European theater where he headed
"the Swoose Group" and personally flew more than 60 missions over
Italy and Germany. In 1949, he was given the honor of flying the Swoose to the
Smithsonian.
When
Kurtz's only child was born in Los Angeles during the war, news media
immediately nicknamed her the second Swoose and the name stuck. She grew up to
be the actress Swoosie Kurtz.
Kurtz's
wartime exploits earned him, an international reputation and the Croix de Guerre, three Distinguished
Flying Crosses, three silver stars,
three air medals and five presidential citations. His remarkable story was
detailed in a book by W.L. White titled "Queens Die Proudly."
His
wife told their personal story in a best-selling book titled "My Rival,
The Sky."
One
of Kurtz's most celebrated postwar flights was crash-landing a Swoose in the
Australian bush with no injury to his passengers then Sen. Lyndon B. Johnson
and a congressional committee.
Kurtz
came from Missouri, and at the age of 14, hitchhiked to Los Angeles seeking top
diving coaches. He developed as an athlete at Hollywood High School and USC.
When Los Angeles hosted the Olympics in 1932, Kurtz competed in high platform
diving. He won a bronze medal.
Kurtz
also competed in the 1936 Olympics in Berlin and qualified for the games in
1940, which were canceled because of the war. Years later he served on the
Olympic Committee and helped bring the 1984 games back to Los Angeles.
Anticipating
a career in commercial aviation, Kurtz joined the Army to train as a pilot.
Before the war, he held the national junior transcontinental speed record and
established half a dozen other speed marks for light planes.
When
he retired from the military, Kurtz became a top executive at the William May
Garland development firm.
Survivors
include his wife and daughter, who have requested that, any memorial donations
be made to the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum.