GROUNDSWELL FOR A HERO.

Byline: Susan Palmer The Register-Guard

Richard Andrews of Blue River thinks it's all a nostalgic hullabaloo that will come to nothing in the end.

His friends beg to differ.

As a pilot during World War II, Andrews rescued a fellow airman in such a daring display of valor that he received a Silver Star almost on the spot and was promoted from flight officer to second lieutenant.

But friends would like to see his Silver Star upgraded to a Congressional Medal of Honor, the highest award for bravery in battle that a soldier can receive.

Andrews, now 80, flew a P-38 Lightning during the war. The story of his courage is legendary in the flying community.

Now the P-38 National Association - a group of fans of the deadly World War II fighter plane that outmaneuvered both German and Japanese aircraft - is sponsoring a petition drive in support of a medal review and has contacted U.S. Rep. Peter DeFazio, D-Ore., for assistance.

It's not the sort of request the congressman gets every day, DeFazio spokeswoman Kristie Greco said.

"We're reviewing the procedures and regulations," Greco said. "It's not going to be a quick process, but we're definitely looking into it. Mr. Andrews is truly a hero."

And while he's too reticent to recount what happened on Aug. 4, 1944, plenty of people are more than willing to share the tale.

One of them is Dick Willsie - the man whose life Andrews saved that day.

Willsie, now a retired Air Force colonel, was a veteran flier with plenty of combat missions under his belt in the summer of 1944. As Allied soldiers swept across France, he and his pilots found themselves on sorties attacking the oil refineries and gas tanks in Ploesti, Romania.

The Germans had fortified the Ploesti area with massive anti-aircraft batteries and smoke-generating equipment to obscure the targets.

"It was the No. 1 place for Germans to get fuel," said Willsie, who now lives in California. "If we could knock that out, the war would quit."

Willsie, a major in the 96th Squadron, 82nd Fighter Group, 15th Air Force, was based in Italy. The P-38s couldn't carry enough fuel to make the return flight, so after they hit, they would fly on to a Russian base to refuel. On his second Ploesti mission, Willsie's luck almost ran out when heavy ground fire riddled his aircraft.

"I got shot up pretty badly," he said. His left engine was knocked out and his right engine was leaking coolant, but he made one more strafing run before looking for a spot to crash-land.

He flew another 15 miles before belly-flopping the plane onto a plowed farm field. At some point, his radio crackled to life.

"This young kid called and said, `I'm going to come in and pick you up,' ' he said.

Willsie set his own plane on fire to keep it from German hands, while Andrews, barely 20 and still a cadet, landed his P-38 about 100 yards away. Willsie dashed over to the plane. Above them, other P-38s distracted enemy planes from the rescue effort below.

The single-man cockpit was too small for both Willsie and Andrews, so Andrews threw out the parachute cushioning his seat to make room.

The two of them scrunched together, Willsie in front and Andrews behind him, his right leg over Willsie's shoulder, his left leg down by the landing gear handle.

Willsie was by far the more experienced pilot, so he took the plane's controls. Getting it back in the air was a tricky business complicated by the P-38's tri-wheeled landing gear, Willsie said.

The plane was designed to land and take off on tarmac, not bumpy furrowed fields. "You can lose your nose gear on anything very easily," he said.

But they got the plane off the ground, and Willsie asked Andrews for a map.

The younger pilot confessed that it had blown out of the cockpit, and only the fact that Willsie had run the mission once before saved them. They flew south and then followed the course of a river that led them to their airfield in Russia - 2 1/2 hours of tense, uncomfortable flight through heavy rain.

If Andrews hadn't dropped out of the sky to piggyback Willsie to safety, he would have been shot or taken prisoner. But both men lived to fight another day and, in fact, Willsie fought in two more wars: Korea and Vietnam. And there he saw another pilot pull a similar daring rescue.

This time it was in the northern section of South Vietnam in the A Shau Valley, where a U.S. Army camp was being attacked by North Vietnamese shooting down on them from positions in the surrounding mountains. The cloud cover was so low that the Air Force A1-E Skyraiders sent in to protect the soldiers were flying below the North Vietnamese.

A pilot got shot down and crash-landed on a nearby airstrip, Willsie said. Willsie's World War II rescue was common knowledge among the pilots, he said, and it inspired one of them, Bernard Francis Fisher, to land on the airstrip, pick up the downed pilot and ferry him to safety.

For that rescue, Fisher received the Congressional Medal of Honor.

Now, it's nothing against Fisher, but the P-38 association members think Andrews' rescue 23 years earlier was the more heroic of the two.

The Skyraider set down on an airstrip not a field, for one thing. And it's a two-seater with plenty of room for a passenger, so the pilot didn't have to discard his parachute. Plus the flight back to base was only 35 minutes.

"It was very simple compared to what happened to us," Willsie said.

The story about Andrews' daring rescue has been circulating among P-38 fans for years, said Don Pechous, a member of the national association. When he heard about it, he decided to do something.

So far, he's rounded up more than 600 signatures in a bid to get a congressional review for Andrews. And at least two eyewitnesses, Willsie and another pilot, Ben Mason, can vouch for Andrews' heroics.

At a meeting Thursday of the P-38 National Association, Pechous will ask all 1,400 members to help out with the petition drive and to call on their own congressional delegations to push for the medal.

"I believe if you do something heroic, it should be recognized," he said.

MEDAL OF HONOR 

Guidelines: Awarded to service men and women engaged in military action against an enemy of the United States, in operations involving conflict with an opposing foreign force, or while serving with friendly forces engaged in armed conflict against an opposing armed force in which the United States is not a belligerent party.

Origins: In 1861 and 1862, Congress passed separate acts establishing medals honoring bravery for Navy and Army enlisted men. In 1915, officers became eligible for medals, too. In 1947, the United States created the Air Force, and the first Air Force Medal of Honor was awarded in 1950.

More medals: In 1918, Congress added lesser medals to its roster: the Distinguished Service Cross, the Distinguished Service Medal and the Silver Star. The Medal of Honor goes to those who distinguish themselves "conspicuously by gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of (their) life above and beyond the call of duty." Recommendations for the top medal must be made within two years of the heroic action and awarded within three.

Cash, too: In 1916, medal recipients older than 65 began receiving a $10 monthly pension. In 1964, recipients 50 or older began receiving $100 monthly pensions.

Late recognition: Presidents Bill Clinton and George W. Bush have given medals to veterans for acts of heroism dating back decades to previous wars.

Small society: There are 130 men alive today who have received the medal, one of them an Oregonian who lives in Bend.

More on medals: www.cmohs.org

- The Congressional Medal of Honor Society

CAPTION(S):

Richard Andrews (right) shared a crowded P-38 cockpit with Dick Willsie after rescuing Willsie during air combat over Ploestie, Romania, during World War II. Andrews received the Silver Star medal, but friends and P-38 fans are pushing for an upgrade to the Medal of Honor.