| Finding The Life of Riley |
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Because of the lack of information within Moore's family, the rumors about Uncle Billy abounded. Some said he was a fighter pilot, and some insisted that he was a foot soldier. But no one knew for sure.
9 crew members aboard, two less than what is officially mandated to fly the giant aircraft.
The wild stories about Billy that Moore's family recounted for him over the years left him with more questions than answers. "As a kid, it upset and deeply perplexed me that a family member of whom everyone spoke so highly could abruptly disappear, and no one could tell me where or why," Moore says.
While thumbing through stacks of first
generation documents, deeply immersed in a term paper on the
History of U.S. Economic Involvement in Southeast Asia, fighting
feelings of despair, unable to buy the type of gift he felt his mother
deserved, Moore recognizes that the patch on the shoulder of a photo of a U.S.
servicemen who according to the caption, flew in the CBI (China, Burma, India
theatre ) during WWII, was the same as the one Moore wore as a kid playing in
his backyard, pretending to be Uncle Billy. Because of his course of
study, Moore had access to do in-depth
research. He realized that his talents as a
researcher gave him the opportunity to provide his mother the most unique gift
of all--a documented history of what
really happened to her brother.
Poking through files at the National Archives in Washington, D.C., decades before personal computers and the internet, Moore learned about the Pacific war's "CBI." Skipping class, he hitch-hiked from his rented condo in Virginia, to Alabama's Maxwell Air Force Base where he found his uncle's M.A.C.R. or Missing Air Crew Report, dated March 25, 1945. On it was the nickname of the aircraft Uncle Billy piloted, "The Life of Riley." Continuing his search, a few years later Moore found a second M.A.C.R., tucked inside a booklet of official Air Force documents. The second stood in sharp contrast to the one he'd given his mom. Contradicting Government Records The identities and number of crew listed aboard The Life of Riley, its departure time and its fuel allocation varied widely between each report. "As a student of government, what I found appalled me," Moore says. "I knew immediately I was no longer on the trail of an aircraft that disappeared under normal combat conditions." According to this second official government report, The Life of Riley disappeared along with its entire 11-man crew. But other records show the rear tail gunner and the radar operator were reassigned three days after the plane was reported missing. That meant there were only nine men aboard The Life of Riley on March 24, 1945, even though standard operating procedure requires an 11-man crew to fly a B-29 for any lengthy trip -- especially the 3,500 mile round-trip mission into enemy territory which was listed as its last. Despite the discrepancies, Moore's mom was thrilled to know a little more about what happened to her brother and was pleased with her birthday present.
After the Freedom of Information Act passed, Moore discovered that there had been radio contact with The Life of Riley on the evening of March 24. In part, the crew reported an "engine on fire" and "we'll keep you informed." At the time of the report, the craft was an estimated 28 miles southeast of Guguan Island, which is located within a string of islands 1,600 miles off the coast of Japan. With only one engine out and a mere 184 miles away from base, there was no reason why The Life of Riley didn't make it back. "There are documents showing that miraculously one B-29 flew 1,800 miles with one engine," Moore says. "It didn't add up."
Spread Public Awareness by Wearing Marauder Merchandise
That was until he found Billy's surviving widow, Patricia Lane, in the spring of 1989. While they were visiting, Lane recounted an enlightening story about The Life of Riley: It was December 1944, and Billy and Lt. Col. Jack Riley, The Life of Riley namesake and commanding officer, were in Kansas getting ready to transport their newly assembled B-29 halfway around the world to its new home on Tinian, in the Mariana Islands. Plane Had a History of Engine Trouble
After saying
good-bye to Billy in Kansas, Lane
caravaned with the wives
of fellow B-29 crew members. Pooling their ration coupons, they
sped to Mather
AFB near San Francisco, California where they
hoped for one last farewell before their men took off. Along the way the wives
stopped at the Howard Johnson's in Albuquerque, N.M., to get a bite to eat.
Walking through the lobby to a room "awash in a dingy orange haze," Lane ran
right into her husband. He and Riley had been grounded in the tiny town because
one engine had been "fluttering and failing" since Kansas.
Last Moments Recorded The first radio transmission, archived at Maxwell AFB, was tape recorded--the second was not. It took Moore seven years to uncover four radio-operators' hand-written notes recounting The Life of Riley's second distress call. Each operator had written the same thing: "Headed home" and then in parenthesis, a single word, "inaudible." Given the airspeed, coordinates, and timing of The Life of Riley's distress calls, the military had launched rescue attempts searching Anatahan and Farallon De Medinilla islands, 78 and 58 miles respectively from Tinian. But they found nothing: No burning debris, no bodies and no oil slick. To Moore that meant only one thing-- the military had been looking in the wrong place. Detective Work Provides New Leads After analyzing the data, Moore reworked the events of the evening of March 24, rearranging the information from the military documents to come up with a more plausible scenario. What if one engine aboard The Life of Riley was "on fire" from enemy artillery and the defective one was breaking down on the same side of the aircraft at the same time? Based on these conclusions, Moore reversed the flight pattern flown by The Life of Riley and assumed that Uncle Billy had backtracked after the first contact to find a place to ditch his aircraft safely. Moore's hypothesis was entirely possible, according to 20th Air Force Historian, Fiske Hanley. But it still didn't explain one issue that had bothered Moore from the beginning.
The question that was so easy to ask took more than 20 years of research to answer. Scouring records at Maxwell AFB, the Marine Corps library, the National Archives, the federal depository in College Park, Md., the Army's personnel records center in St. Louis, and military intelligence records then held at Fort Huachuca in Arizona, Moore finally found what he was looking for.
At the time of the first transmission, the craft's speed was slowing to 130 miles per hour, according to Dave Braden, a prominent Dallas-Ft.Worth architect and former B-29 Navigator. A B-29 stalls at 110 miles per hour. Soon after that first transmission, the other "defective" engine started to give them trouble, and The Life of Riley was in danger of stalling and dropping into the Pacific. Still 184 miles away from Tinian, a life-saving decision had to be made. It was. The Life of Riley and its crew doubled back and headed north to Alamagan's lagoon on the island's western tip, the perfect place to land and scuttle a plane with a 142-foot wingspan. Determined to Find the Plane Upon these conclusions, Moore decided it was time to find The Life of Riley and Uncle Billy, and he scheduled his second trip to the Marianas in 1999 with the intent of exploring Alamagan's lagoon and finding the plane. Hiring a group of professional divers, boatsmen and adventurers, Moore assembled a team of 10 men including himself. Having spent more than $200,000 between both trips to the Marianas, Moore was determined to get some answers.
There was only one thing that
could stop him: the head of the Mariana Historical Preservation Office.
The man didn't want Moore doing his work of finding American World War II MIAs.
In fact, the Mariana museum, which was supported by wealthy Japanese
businessmen, had only one American artifact prior to Moore's arrival.
Moore had
knocked his head up against many brick walls in the past 28 years while trying
to find out what happened to his uncle, but this was too much. With local
elections just months away, Moore was concerned about ruining the campaigns of
local officials who had diligently supported his efforts. "I'm not going to do
this. I'm not going to provide the ammunition for their defeat," Moore said.
"The first flight to Guam, I'm taking it. I'm sorry."
A Spiritual Coincidence Renews Moore's Resolve With Moore now on the ropes, Palacios had one more catalyst to persuade Moore to stay. "Stay right here," Palacios said as he ran out of the room.
As Moore rolled the bottle in his hand and brought it closer to his eyes, there in raised glass was stamped "3-45," the same month and year The Life of Riley disappeared. Touched by the spiritual coincidence, Moore wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. Raising his head, he confirmed out loud what he already knew in his heart. "We're going," he said.
The Life of Riley Found. Serial Numbers Verified. Though local police did show up on the docks as Moore's Marauders prepared to leave for Alamagan Island, they were only there to wish the group Godspeed. By 7:30 a.m. on April 29, 1999 (18 hours later), Moore's Mauraders dropped anchor just outside the Alamagan lagoon. Breaking off in two teams, Moore led a group of men ashore while the rest dove below. Though no artifacts were found on land, the divers identified and photographed a B-29 pilot seat, several radios, a Browning M-2 50-caliber machine gun and a Gibson Girl emergency radio.
Sitting
on a rock outcropping overlooking the Alamagan lagoon, perhaps the same
outcropping where his uncle once sat, Moore looked out on the expansive Pacific
Ocean. In that spot at that moment, civilization seemed frighteningly far away.
So too did the innocent days he spent as a boy playing Army when he felt as
close to his mysterious uncle as he was to the Army Air Corps patch, which now
was once again stitched to the sleeve of his T-shirt. Editor's Note: Ken Moore is currently writing a book, The Hunt for the Life of Riley, in which he reveals the fate of the crew of The Life of Riley. About Moore's Marauders...
Subsequent to the writing of this story, Moore's Marauders has evolved into a global organization of nearly 200 members, comprising doctors, scholars, retired military men, filmmakers and various support personnel, who give their time and take extraordinary risks so that so that families and comrades of WWII MIAs can get the closure they so greatly deserve. Moore's Marauders is a non-profit organization that receives no government funding. We rely solely on your contributions to help us locate the 35,000 WWII MIAs the U.S. government maintains are still recoverable. For as little as 30 cents a day, you can help us bring home the thousands who made the ultimate sacrifice so that we could live in freedom. Donate today. |
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The Life of Riley and its nine crew members left
on a solo flight on the afternoon of March 24, 1945, leaving behind their rear
tail gunner and radar operator. They completed their top-secret mission,
dropping bombs on Pagan Island but in the process were hit by enemy fire,
possibly from an anti-aircraft gun that still stands on Pagan Island today. As
The Life of Riley headed south back to Tinian, the crew called in their "engine
on fire" and told base "we'll keep you informed." 
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