Forgotten Flying Tiger Homeless and Ill

At the center of a quiet neighborhood, the city fathers of tiny Commerce, Tex., erected a monument many years ago to Claire Lee Chennault, the commander of the famous World War II Flying Tigers.

The inscription, almost as an afterthought, also cited the record of Jack Cornelius, another son of the Texas cotton town who served with the Flying Tigers--albeit in a less exalted capacity.

Chennault would become a highly honored lieutenant general after leading the Tigers against the Japanese in China in early 1942.

Cornelius was a simple aircraft mechanic for the Flying Tigers, though a good one by all accounts. After the war, he settled in Los Angeles for 15 years, working for a local aerospace company, and later did three tours in Vietnam as a technical representative for General Electric. He eventually taught at a community college in Hawaii.

And then, Cornelius disappeared.

All but forgotten, Cornelius, 78, has lived most of the last eight years in a Honolulu homeless shelter.

“His health is rather poor,” said Ed Craig, a Honolulu resident who has tried to befriend Cornelius. “He refuses help because he doesn’t want to be seen as incapacitated.”

When the Flying Tigers held their 50th reunion in San Diego last week, 67 survivors attended but Cornelius was not among them. No one seemed to miss him either.

But after the reunion, when news of Cornelius’ plight reached his old friends, some said they would contact him to see if they could help, feeling they should “take care of our own.”

Even Craig, who is unemployed and knows homelessness, was moved to remark:

“It is a pity that someone with such a distinguished background should end up like this.”

Cornelius blames his troubles on a series of medical problems, including a bout with skin cancer. In one of a series of telephone interviews, he refers vaguely to Social Security checks supposedly owed by a bank in Honolulu. All he needs, Cornelius insists, is the help of a good lawyer.

Father Richard Rubie, a Catholic priest in Honolulu, has a different explanation for Cornelius’ slide. “He has an alcohol problem,” Rubie says. “He has been in the mission for eight years. He doesn’t want any help.”

At the Flying Tigers’ reunion last week, few could remember much about Cornelius. He was a short, stocky, friendly man, recalled crack Flying Tigers pilot R. T. Smith. Little more than that.

The Flying Tigers were sent into action against the Japanese in Burma and China after the Pearl Harbor attack on Dec. 7, 1941. The 100 pilots--supported by a ground crew of 200 or so--compiled perhaps the greatest air combat record in history. In six months, they shot down 296 Japanese aircraft. Only four U. S. pilots were lost.

They were heroes back home. John Wayne starred in the movie about their exploits. But the Pentagon always insisted they were volunteers serving a foreign nation. Not until last May did the Pentagon quietly make amends, acknowledging the covert operation and recognizing that the Flying Tigers served “active duty.” That made any who had not served elsewhere in the military eligible for veterans benefits.

The survivors learned of the decision at the reunion. Cornelius was already eligible, owing to other service, though he apparently has not used his benefits much.

Experts aren’t sure why so many veterans end up destitute, like Cornelius. They say a remarkable 30% of the homeless are veterans. Once on the street, they are gone--and usually forgotten.

“We heard that he had passed away,” said Jack Radkey, who worked with Cornelius at Garrett AiResearch in Torrance during the 1950s. “I’m sure happy to hear he is still alive.”

Although Cornelius is old and sick, his memory is as complete as a history book. He recalls obscure details from 1941 and 1942 about his friends in the Flying Tigers:

“When we left San Francisco (for Burma) they gave us $100 each and when we stopped in Honolulu another $100. By the time we got to Java, we were all flat broke. Spent it in the ship’s bar--every last nickel.”

Among his old pals at the reunion was Gerhard Neumann, who also had been a crew chief. Neumann later became an executive vice president of General Electric, overseeing the firm’s worldwide jet engine business.

Neumann said he gave Cornelius the job as a GE technical representative in the 1960s. But Cornelius went his own way, landing in Hawaii after his years in Vietnam for GE.

Although Cornelius said that he would have liked to attend the reunion, he might have found it difficult.

“He can barely walk,” Father Rubie said. “He has sores on his feet. I took him to the hospital twice. I tried to get him into a care home, but he would rather be in the streets. At least he comes every Sunday to church. He is a very religious person.”

Cornelius last traveled to his home town of Commerce--population 6,825--on March 28, 1969, when the city dedicated its monument to Chennault.

Chennault had died 11 years before, in New Orleans. Cornelius says he received one of the last letters written by Chennault.

Cornelius donated the note to the Commerce Public Library.

Like Cornelius, the letter seems to have gotten lost in the shuffle. Nan Clay, the Commerce librarian, said it appears to be missing from the files. But she confirmed that Cornelius donated the materials.

That was the last anybody in town heard from him.