Painting Was His Life. And What a Life it Was. BY G E RRY MAN DE L
He was a private man, an unpretentious man, an enthusiastic and fun-loving man. He was also a talented artist, a master with the brush, the pen, the pencil. He was my friend, and the friend of many. One more thing: he was a B-17 pilot during World War II.
G E TAWAYS
I want to tell you about Ed Smith. Full name: George Edward Smith. But he went by the name of Ed, because, as he said, “My mother couldn’t look at me in the cradle and see a George in there. So she used my
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middle name.” Ed was born into an Irish family, in Ft. Wayne, Indiana. His father wanted him to become a doctor, particularly an Ear, Nose and Throat Specialist. Ed had no interest in that. The possibilities of art fascinated him, awakened a spirit in him and carried him through various art schools, eventually into the world of advertising. Which is where I met him. A note about his comments here. In 2004, several years after Ed and I had been “retired” from D’Arcy Advertising, I finally
convinced him to let me shoot a video conversation with him, something he had always been reluctant to do. His memories and thoughts quoted in this article are pulled from that video. Ed died in 2018, and was buried at Jefferson Barracks National Cemetery with full military honors, an interesting contrast for a man who said, “Painting is my life.” Ed played basketball in high school, at six foot three, the tallest one on the team. He stayed active in sports, especially tennis, bowling, and golf. After high school, he went to war. “I wasn’t gung-ho. I didn’t think I’d be a good soldier.” But, motivated by events in Europe, he joined the Army and was assigned to an artillery unit at Ft. Sam Houston. He soon realized he hated the artillery, so he transferred to the Army Air Corps in 1943 and was assigned to a bomber squadron in England, at a base for B-17’s. They made bombing runs over Germany. “If I was going up in a B-17, I didn’t want to be a radio operator or a gunner. I wanted to fly the thing.” Which he did as a co-pilot. “I served with some really neat guys.” He showed me a photo of his crew, and remembered all their names. Life changed for him during a bombing run over Hanover. His plane was crippled by fighter planes and flak. “I told the crew we had to bail out. I was terrified. The plane’s on fire, the German pilots are shooting at us, there’s flak all around. I jumped – the first time I’d ever parachuted from a plane – and floated down between the Messerschmitts and landed unharmed.” Ed was captured and taken to a POW camp, where he remained for one-and-a-half
years, until the end of the war. A telegram was sent to his parents. “My mother fainted after she read it. She figured I was dead.” During his time in the camp, he kept a scrapbook, which he had until he died. The Red Cross sent parcels containing art supplies, so Ed was able to draw planes he saw around him, planes in flight, burning,
