Stories from the Wall: John Neil Gilchrist

(Editor's note: the following was submitted by Kathy Emanuel in memory of her grandfather, who will be honored with a tile in the Snellville Veterans Memorial. 

For more information on the Snellville Veterans Memorial, visit their website or Facebook page. If you would like to share your story through this column, contact Crystal.Huskey@patch.com.)

A morning mist drifted over the frigid English countryside as dawn broke on the morning of February 14, 1917. The Royal Canadian Air Force squadron fired up their “crates” preparing to take off for another day over France. As they formed up and flew low over the English Channel, the sea was gray and uninviting. Going “feet dry” over the coast of France, Captain John N. Gilchrist scanned the skies for enemy planes, totally unaware that this was the day he would meet the blazing gun of the Albatross (biplane) flown by the most infamous of all the aces, the German Baron von Richthofen. As was his custom, the Red Baron attacked the squadron by flying out of the sun and caught Gilchrist “with his pants down”. (A direct quote from Gilchrist.) Gilchrist was shot down and although he walked away from the crash, he had a fractured skull that required a metal plate to be inserted in his head and ended his WWI flying career.

Born in Scotland in 1883 into a family of shipbuilders, Gilchrist immigrated to the United States in 1907 over the strenuous objections of his family. At the onset of WWI, he joined the Royal Canadian Air Force, ending his WWI career as a Captain officially credited with 28 enemy “kills”, although Gilchrist vocally claimed 32 enemy kills until his dying day. He was awarded the Great Britain’s Distinguished Service Order for one action when he brought down four confirmed kills in one day. He returned to the United States with a $22,000 award from the Canadian government and a knighthood and settled in Chicago, Illinois. Family legend has him doing his stint as a barnstormer before he became a real estate developer until loosing his money in The Great Depression. He also was a pilot for Wayne King, known as the “Waltz King”, and his orchestra. In 1933 he was invited to be a guest at the Chicago Worlds Fair for an exhibit of famous aviators, and was featured in a newspaper article with Charles Lindbergh, the first person to fly the Atlantic solo; David Atcherley, Royal Air Force Air Vice Marshal; Dorset, a French WWI ace and Colombo, a WWI Italian Ace. 

During WWII, while his son was a Marine in the South Pacific, Gilchrist was known as being “the best unofficial Air Force recruiter in Chicago”. Revered for his flying stories from WWI, the Chicago paper featured an article in September 1942 attributing Gilchrist with 78 recruits for the U.S. Air Force in the short time since Pearl Harbor. Eyeing with envy the modern aircraft of WWII, Gilchrist recounted a story of a day he was painting the squadron insignia on an old de Havilland, already an antique in 1916. He was called away and placed his brush down on some old newspapers. When he returned the paint had soaked the paper and turned it a dark brown with a strong odor. He walked out of the hanger to examine it more closely and it burst into flames. Somehow the enemy had replaced the squadron’s paint with inflammable paint. Knowing that a large number of the squadron’s planes had been painted, Gilchrist immediately pushed out the de Havilland (the only plane available) and took off to warn his buddies. He was able to reach the squadron and warn most of the pilots, however four planes caught fire before he could make himself understood. Returning to base in the old plane, which had a top speed of 60 mph, he was overtaken and engaged by the enemy, but managed to shoot down four enemy planes before making it back to base. For this action, Gilchrist was promoted to Captain. 

He also liked to tell of the day he shot down a German “Giant Gotha” (the Flying Fortress of WWI) by flying in from the sun and diving and firing repeatedly until the plane went down. 

Captain John Gilchrist died of a heart attack in Chicago in 1944 at the age of 61, and was survived by a daughter Ruth, 17; a son Harold, 22, a private in the U. S. Marine Corp.; and a yet unthought-of granddaughter Kathy Gilchrist Emanuel of Snellville, Georgia.

I never knew my Grandfather, but I know he would be proud of the tile commemorating his military service on the soon-to-be spectacular Snellville Veteran’s Memorial.  I think it would appeal to his personal sense of grandeur. 

Many accounts of his tales are from newspaper articles written about him during the 1930s and 40s and stories passed down through my father, who was well known for having a way with a story, but enough factual documentation exists to illustrate his exemplary military service and I am very proud of him. 

And as for some of the more spectacular parts of his story, I’ve decided to just lean back and enjoy them.