The Bombing of Boise City

A fledgling from the U.S. Army air base at Dalhart, Tex. last week bungled his navigation by 45 miles: he mistook the lights of Boise City, Okla. (pop: 1,144) for his practice target. Aiming straight at the Baptist church and Forrest Bourk's garage, he loosed six practice bombs (each bomb: 4 lb. of powder, 96 lb. of sand and shell). The noise of the explosions roared through the sleeping town.

Boise City citizens, first in the U.S. to get a real blitzing, acted the way most civilians would act who had never been bombed before. Most of them ran like hell, in no particular direction.

>Fred Kreiger, band director, and also editor, printer and advertising salesman of the Boise City News, had had a hard day at the print shop. He got to bed after midnight. Fred heard the drone of a plane, a whistle, a crash, an explosion. He pulled on his britches and ran for the street. Said he: "My first thought was an enemy plane. Then I thought, why in heck. . . ? After I saw how deep the bombs bored into the pavement, I was glad I hadn't hid under that big paper cutter at the office."

>Night Watchman F. L. Bellew flattened himself on the sidewalk beside the post office, watched the sky narrowly, longed for his high-powered rifle.

>After the last showing of The Forest Rangers, Coleen Jones, daytime soda dispenser at Hall's drugstore, got as far as the courthouse square: "There were five of us girls with soldiers from Dalhart. ... A bomb dropped. I asked a soldier what it was and he said, 'By God, it's bombs!' We ran just as fast as we could."

>Frank Garrett, light and power man, sprinted for the Southwestern Public Service building, pulled the town's master light switch, hoped people would not be mad.

>Pastor R. D. Dodds surveyed his slightly battered, white frame Baptist church, its blown-open door, the broken rainbow-colored windows. Said he, wistfully: "If one-fourth of the people who came to see the hole the bomb made would only attend church. . . ."

>Seven oil company truckers dropped their half-eaten hamburgers in the Liberty Cafe. Their loaded gas trucks were last seen roaring northward out Cimarron Street.

>Air Warden John Atkins' big night had come. He phoned the FBI in Oklahoma City, sent the Adjutant General a cool wire: "Boise City bombed one A.M. Baptist Clurch, garage hit."

Next day Fred Kreiger editorialized in the News: "What this place needs are some searchlights and anti-aircraft guns."

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