Wilber Miller's story: black air force civilians in World War II - African Americans and World War II

Wilber Britt Miller is an outstanding example of the balck civilians in the American South who helped to "keep them flying" during the Second World War. As one of the few qualified black aircraft mechanics in federal civil service at the start of the war, he was selected in 1942 to lead the cadre of black civilians sent from San Antonio, Texas to establish the Tuskegee Air Depot.

The sone of a Methodist minister, Miller had a rather adventurous youth. He went to France with the U.S. Navy during the First World War, and in the early 1920s he served a "hitch" with the Army's 25th Infantry Regiment. He had always exhibited strong mechanical talents, but when he returned to settle in his native Texas, he found that because of his race he was barred from desirable job opportunities. Then, in 1935, he landed a position as a "helper" at the Army Air Corps' facility for third and fourth echelon aircraft maintenance, the air "depot" at Duncan Field (now Kelly Air Force Base) in San Antonio. In Mr. Miller's words:

It took me three years on the register to get hired. Whenever I'd go out there would be three interviewees; myself and two Whites. They would always call one of the Whites and send me home. Finally, one day I was the only one to report. The man in charge said, "Oh, its you again. Well, I guess I'll have to hire you. Report to the supervisor, and keep your damn mouth shut!"

Now, you need to understand--at that time they didn't even let a black man walk around with a screw driver in his pocket. If they caught you with one they'd fire you. They figured if you used the tools you could become familiar enough to become a "mechanic", and being a "mechanic" was for White men only! We Blacks were all "helpers."

Miller took advantage of every opportunity to demonstrate his intelligence and abilities, eventually winning the respect and support of his supervisors, and mastering the skills of an aviation structural technician. It was not until 1941, however, that he was officially advanced to the rating of junior mechanic.

In July of that year, the first 271 black men graduated from the Army Air Force's enlisted maintenance technician school at Chanute Field, Illinois. Those men were soon transferred to Tuskegee, Alabama, where they serviced training 99th Pursuit Squadron. Within two years most of the enlisted technicians would deploy to the Mediterranean Theater with that squadron as its ground crew members.

Prior to the 99th's departure, it was decided to train a force of black civilian mechanics in San Antonio who would provide ongoing support for the black flight school and service the new air deport at Tuskegee Army Air Field. Accordingly, Wilber Miller was handed his new assignment.

I had five years behind me, he recalls, when they came and asked me to find them 100 men who would make mechanics. I just got them off the street--men who looked like they had potential. I hired them as temporary federal employees at $65.00 a month. I didn't look for skills or experience, but I tried to get high school graduates. That way I knew I couldn't be faulted. A high school graduate had already demonstrated that he could be trained, and they [the Air Force! were going to take care of the training.

the selectees were given up to twelve weeks of basic training at the Duncan Field aircraft mechanic school. It proved to be a very positive experience for all concerned. Despite the low pay, most considered it the opportunity of a lifetime. Racial "integration," however, was not part of the program. Whereas white counterparts might fill billets at facilities in their local communities, the black Texans were obliged to "ship out" for Tuskegee, Alabama, the home for America's "Black Air Force". Mr. Miller continues: "They told me, Take the men to tuskegee--when you get them there we'll advance you to journeyman mechanic. You can come right back, but you have to take them down there and show them around."

Assisted by fellow Duncan employee Ollie Watson, Miller led the first contingent of fifty trainees to Tuskegee in 1942. Included in the group was one young woman, Virginia Porter, a stenographer. "Virginia was only 16, but she wanted to go badly; so we got her parents' permission and she came along. She provided much needed bookkeeping and clerical support to the group. Later on she returned to San Antonio to get married."

The group left Texas with high expectations, but they soon found that the residents of Tuskegee--black as well as white-- were extremely cool toward "outsiders." For Wilber Miller, especially, the reception was exceedingly rude.

We left in an auto convoy, keeping two car lengths apart all the way to Alabama. We were greeted by two White and two Black civilians. One of the Blacks, an official of the Tuskegee Institute, immediately separated me from the others and announced to them that he was now in charge.

Like other institutions in the private sector, Tuskegee had been contracted to conduct the "primary" phase of the Army's pilot training syllabus. While this brought the all-black college considerable prestige in some quarters, there was bitter criticism in others for what amounted to collusion in the armed forces' hated policy of racial segregation. A sometimes bizarre atmosphere prevailed about the school and the military facilities contiguous with its campus. Mr. Miller gives his description:

The repair shops were in large, newly constructed buildings located on the air field which was like part of the Institute. There were a number of local Blacks undergoing training in special programs or working in the shops in non-technical jobs. The Blacks in that place had a real caste system with the faculty and staff of the Institute as the elite. We had come from Texas to fill most of the technical billets, and [the elite Blacks] obviously resented not having complete control over us like they did all the other Black civilians. As for the student pilots, they were quartered nearby, and they would drill around our buildings; but we generally had no direct contact with them.

After we arrived a few other experienced Black technicians came in from Dayton, Ohio...places in Oklahoma and elsewhere. Each took one look at the tuskegee set up, turned around and left. They were permanent civil service like I was and were supposed to help get things going. But they wanted no part of Tuskegee--they had 'real' jobs back where they'd come from. I had to take a back seat, but I didn't complain...I was there to do a job. My rating as journeyman came through, but after about four months they switched me over to "inspector."

[Meanwhile] the men were receiving "advanced" training in their assorted specialties under White instructors. There were about 12 of these guys whose attitude [like many officials in the flight training program] often seemed to be that we Blacks could not or should not be doing the work. They would show the men something and tell them to do it on their own--expecting (if not hoping) the worst would happen. It was learn-by-doing--on the airplanes.

We had the job, and of course the Black student pilots and instructors were riding on our work. Since it was a training experience, three or four men might be at work on any one job-- all were eager to get the experience, to qualify and to advance in their ratings. I'm happy to say that the men supported one another, worked together and in all cases got the job done.

As in the typical wartime boomtown, conditions at Tuskegee were hectic, and overcrowding prevailed in 1942. The Texas men boarded in private homes and had little money to spend on social life or luxuries. As "temporaries" earning $65 a month, they could hardly afford to buy lunch in the Institute cafeteria. Wilber Miller was lucky in having a higher pay scale, but like the others he often felt isolated and homesick.

"As an inspector I'd go over the airplanes, determine what work was necessary and 'red line' them--as you can imagine they took a beating from those student pilots. I worked alone, but I was still liaison for the others; and every few weeks I would drive back to San Antonio to report on conditions and pick up orders, procedure changes...whatever needed to be brought back."

By 1944 the operational squadrons formed at Tuskegee were deployed elsewhere, and the pace of activities began to slow. At the same time, work from other facilities was being consolidated at the San Antonio Air Depot and Duncan/Kelly Field. As Miller's men rotated home, they found a busy workforce of over 40,000 government employees, with some 7,000 African Americans among them. Wilber describes what awaited him on his last liaison trip from Alabama:

It so happened they had a job and a desk all ready for me. I continued inspecting for a while, but they told me, Your main job will be "counselro" for your people. We have so many new Negroes here who need someone to tell them what to do--not a boss, but somebody to advise and help them.... If a man has trouble, or you suspect he has trouble, you go to him or his supervisor and rectify it. You'll be the authority... If you can't get cooperation we'll back you up. At that time my salary increased from $2,200 to $4,400 a year.

With so much stress and strain on all the employees, the government saw a need for morale programs catering to the racial communities: Anglo-, Mexican-, and Afro-American. As "Employee Counselor for Negroes" I organized and became chairman of the Negro Morale Committee; and I'm proud to say our efforts reached heights not achieved by the others. We organized baseball games, barbecues, dances, etc. and had a very memorable program.

Naturally, Mr. Miller prefers to recall the more pleasant aspects of the job, but the counselor position placed him in a real "hot seat." New policies initially produced much interracial friction and conflict. Miller's personal experiences included having his discrepancy markings erased by resentful White co-workers who would apparently have preferred to see an airplane crash rather than have a black man demonstrate his skills in a responsible position. But some of his most difficult challenges involved pressures from members of his own race, who were far from satisfied with the pace of reform in hiring, promotions, etc. As Mr. Miller explains:

There were fifteen or sixteen Blacks who made my job as hard as did any of the Whites. They said of me, "He can't do anything for us! What we need to do is riot--tear up these airplanes and burn the place down! They may kill one or two of us, but we'll accomplish [this or that]." These included some Kelly employees and others from outside--telling them what they ought to do and demanding conferences with the chief of civilian personnel.

I'd set up meetings with them myself, and they'd tell me, "You ain't nobody...You didn't go to college...You can't do anything!" I'd say, "Hell, I can handle it! But you have to back off and let me. We'd lose too much if we rioted. We're in the minority here--we can't win that way. I need your cooperation. Let me work with these people."

The main grievance was that so many were applying for jobs at Kelly and getting small jobs because they weren't found qualified for the better positions.

As one who had come up the hard way, Wilber Miller, like the other African Americans from the Tuskegee group, knew what "qualified" meant and enjoyed a certain prestige among African Americans and whites alike for having earned that status under trying circumstances. He knew African Americans could handle any position with training and experience, but he was unwilling to support a waiver of standards which would compromise the prestige of the positions they sought.

I told them, A "shade tree" mechanic won't make it here. You have to start at the bottom, despite how good you think you are. Study hard, learn and outsmart the White man. You'll get your chance to prove what you can do. If you work with me, we'll take it step by step. Of course, I got called a "White man's nigger" and so forth--some had no use for the gradual approach. But the majority backed me up, and before long we had blacks in every phase of work at Kelly Field.

In recognition of his successful work during the war years, Wilber Miller was given an Award of Merit on May 15, 1946 by the Commanding General of Kelly Air Force Base. By the time of his retirement in 1970, as an aerospace engineering technician, he could boast of twenty citations for outstanding service--a record unsurpassed by any Kelly employee.

Of Miller's 1942 Tuskegee cadre, most went on to successful post-war careers; many, like Wilber himself, completing thirty or more years of service as Air Force civilians.

COPYRIGHT 1993 Association for the Study of African American Life and History, Inc.
COPYRIGHT 2004 Gale Group