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Published Monday, June 02, 2008 in Local

Photo by Megan Almon

Bill Deakins with his “pride and joy,” his wife, Sue. The pair met shortly after Deakins was discharged and married in 1950.

Deakins served in Naval Air Corps during WWII

By Megan Almon

The Times-Herald

Though Newnan's Bill Deakins served in the Naval Air Corps during World War II, his only close shave with death came during a training exercise.

The military was testing a brand new technology called "radar," to see if they could successfully locate other planes in the air.

"I guess the guy behind us was looking at his screen too long," Deakins said. "He was right on our tail. I thought for sure he'd plow into the back of us."

"He dropped his flaps and went right under us," Deakins recalled.

Deakins grew up in Chattanooga, Tenn. The son of a postal supervisor, he excelled at baseball and was the captain of Central High School's ROTC his senior year -- involvement in both extracurricular activities would prove useful during his time in the service.

Half-way through his senior year, Deakins drove to the Biltmore Hotel in Atlanta to be tested for the U.S. Navy. The hotel rooms had been converted into barracks, with bunks to sleep between 20 and 25 men. Of those tested with Deakins, he was one of two to pass with flying colors.

Two months later, Deakins was called to report for duty. The folks at Central High School gave him a diploma when he returned home on "boot leave" after basic training.

"They said I'd be going to school in the Navy," he said.

Deakins reported to "boot camp" at Memphis, Tenn. Because he'd been a ROTC captain, "they made a platoon leader out of me," he said.

Deakins taught his men how to march and perform routine procedures. Having grown up just down the road, his familiarity with Tennessee weather proved advantageous to his men. While other leaders had their platoons dress out in Navy pea coats to ward off the morning chill, Deakins knew "it would warm up quickly." His men wore dungaree jackets, and remained comfortable while others were "sweating it down" during mid-morning exercises.

"It got to where they'd ask me," Deakins said.

His knowledge -- and leadership skills -- earned him the title "Honor Man" of his company.

Deakins was sent to Norman, Okla., to become an aviation machinist mate.

Shortly after arrival, men were asked to "try out" become a "company commander." Several of the men, who'd been with Deakins in Memphis, suggested their superiors "try Bill."

When he called them to attention, they snapped into position. The superior "snapped his fingers" and said, "You're the new company commander."

The position earned Deakins special privileges, including Wednesday evenings and weekends off; but Deakins "wasn't much of a town-goer," so it was rare for him to take advantage of those privileges.

He remembers Oklahoma weather being peculiar.

"We used to joke that when it rained, Oklahoma would wash down into Texas and the next day it would blow back," he laughed.

He recalled torrential downpours flooding the parade grounds. But by the time all 17,000 men assigned to Norman walked on the fields, the last were kicking up dust.

"I played a lot of ball at 'mech' school," Deakins said.

His baseball talent was such that he was actually offered an opportunity to remain in Norman as a physical trainer. But because he would have to serve as such for four years, he declined.

Deakins' next assignment was gunnery school near Jacksonville, Fla.'s main Naval base. He and fellow men were trained to operate 50-caliber machine guns. Their moving targets were flags, driven by a jeep that ran back and forth behind a steep bank.

"We chewed the trees all to pieces behind that," he said. "It looked like a war zone."

After gunnery school, Deakins was assigned to patrol flights up and down the Florida coast from Vero Beach. He served as a gunner aboard Naval TBFs -- torpedo bomber planes -- and SB2Cs -- two-seat planes designed for a pilot and one gunner -- until he overheard, by chance, that a driver was needed to deliver orders by Jeep each day.

Deakins received the keys to the base's Jeep, and became popular with "the boys at the hangar," especially around mealtimes. He made it a habit to drive by his former hangar, pick up all who could hang on and drive them to the chow hall.

"We were always first in line," he joked.

He delivered daily orders until the war ended around nine months later.

Deakins was shipped to the Naval Air Base at North Island, Calif., just across the bay from San Diego.

He traveled by train with several of his comrades from Norman. The trip took a week -- 19 men sleeping on bunks in a hospital car. They were not allowed to exit to their train car, and later found out their confinement was thanks to six cars full of Women's Army Auxiliary Corps (WAACS).

"I guess they didn't want us sailor boys around the ladies," Deakins said with a grin.

Deakins' good buddy, Ray Deason, "loved to gamble," Deakins said.

Prior to their departure from Oklahoma, Deason gave Deakins $20, and told him to hold on to it so he'd at least have that to spend when they reached California.

"Half-way there, he asked for that $20," Deakins said. "I told him, 'Nope.'"

Deason argued that he was on a winning streak, but his friend stood his ground and refused to give up the money Deason had placed in his care.

"It was all he had when we got there," Deakins laughed.

From North Island, Deakins moved to Los Alamitos, Calif., where he waited to receive his discharge. A third class petty officer by that time, he worked in the Chief's Club from 3 p.m. until 11 p.m. each day. He loved the schedule, taking full advantage of it by sleeping in and spending his mornings swimming or playing tennis or basketball. Because of the suntan he maintained, several at the club asked him where he'd been stationed in the South Pacific.

He ventured home once on leave, forgoing the $58 train ticket -- his salary was around $60 per month -- and hitchhiking across the country. He beat the train home, he said.

His parents were afraid he wouldn't make it back to California in time if he hitchhiked back, so they purchased a round-trip ticket to get him back.

When Deakins received his discharge, he decided hitchhiking had worked so well the first time he'd try it again. Because he'd only used half of the round-trip ticket his parents purchased, he sent it to the railroad company with a letter. In return, they sent a refund for half the ticket.

Deakins wore his "travel blues," as was customary. The weather was so hot in Oklahoma, however, that he removed his jersey while walking beside the road. In only a T-shirt, he flagged down a car en-route to Fort Smith, Ark. The driver, a "bird colonel," was kind enough to overlook Deakins' disregard of the dress code, much to Deakins' relief.

Taking the colonel's advice, Deakins took a bus across Arkansas because of an increase in hitchhiker thefts, especially among servicemen. He rode the bus to Memphis, and thumbed rides the rest of the way home.

Deakins met his "pride and joy" -- his wife, Sue -- at a New Years Eve party at church a short time later. He'd gone to the party with Sue's friend, and ended up talking with Sue "the whole time."

Later, Sue confessed to telling her friend, named Charlotte, "If I were you, I'd hang on to him."

"She followed her own advice," Deakins said.

The pair married in 1950, only three days after Sue graduated from high school. They recently celebrated their 58th anniversary.

Deakins became a minister in 1959. He and Sue moved to Newnan in 1984 when he was named director of missions for the Western Baptist Association.

The pair has three daughers, six grandchildren and two great-grands..