Wilbur Jackson Thomas was born October 29, 1920 in El Dorado, Kansas, to Edgar J. and Mabel Thomas.  According to 1920 census records, he had an older sister, Margaret, and an older brother, Edgar.

The family lived at 211 West 1st Avenue, and then moved later to 516 N. Washington, in El Dorado, Kansas.

Blond, blue-eyed Jack was known to be soft-spoken, forthright, and dependable; friendly yet serious in his ways, with a determination to succeed.  Always having a passion for airplanes and the art of flying, he developed his abilities rapidly when opportunity for training came.  Later superior officers were quoted as saying that Jack took to flying naturally, with a “feel” for planes and an intuitive understanding of air technique.  There is little wonder he became proficient in the air, performing with a certain dash and boldness.

During college, Jack was active in DeMolay, an organization dedicated to preparing young men for successful and productive lives by developing civic awareness, personal responsibility and leadership skills.  Notable DeMolay alumni included Walt Disney, John Wayne, and Walter Cronkite.      Thomas was cited for the DeMolay Legion of Honor, the organization’s highest tribute.  The degree, however, was never conferred on him, as he became a marine flyer before the ceremony was held.

During a trip back home to the states at the end of 1943, Jack met Adele Kelly; they were married on Easter Sunday, 1944, in Glendale, California.  The couple had six months together before Jack was shipped out on his third tour of duty.

Some knew him as Bill. Others knew him as Jack or as “Gopher Gus”, the Frank Miller cartoon character painted on the side of his plane.  This character was the sidekick of “Barney Baxter”, from Denver’s Rocky Mountain News comic strip about a young teen with a burning interest in airplanes who became a flying hero.

A quiet person, not one to go out drinking and getting into trouble, those who did not personally know Thomas knew him by reputation.  He was known to be a superb pilot, one who was steady under fire and highly respected.

While serving on Guadalcanal, Thomas came down with malaria, as did most of the squadron’s personnel.  A corpsman usually stood at the head of the chow line dispensing quinine tablets to the men.

Much of the men’s lives in the Solomons were spent sandwiching activities between daily rain showers.  When it wasn’t raining, the hot tropical sun baked them.  They lived with the ever-present mud, mosquitoes, giant fruit bats, and nightly air raids, as well as septic sores, hookworm and malaria.  The only radio program coming in clear was provided by Radio Tokyo, full of misinformation concerning American forces.

Between strikes, the men found ways to relieve the boredom.  On rare occasions, they obtained movies; other days they had horseshoe tournaments.  Sometimes they practiced their marksmanship, firing “paint bullets” at a long “sock” pulled by one of the other pilots.  One morning they played a double header of softball against the VMSB-132 and a Negro AA crew.  They defeated the first team but lost to the second.

Compiling a record in the South Pacific that received national attention, Thomas first zoomed into the public eye when he downed five Japanese Zeros in the space of forty minutes.  He was promoted to 1st Lieutenant in May of 1943, and rose to the rank of Captain in February of 1944.

Before the end of the war, between “hitches” in the Pacific (probably early in 1944), Thomas spent some time testing planes in the Mojave Desert with Charles Lindbergh.

During a routine mission in January of 1947, Thomas was ferrying a plane from the Naval Air Station North Island to the Marine Corps Air Station El Toro, California.  There was a severe winter rainstorm and his plane crashed into Saddleback Peak, about thirteen miles east of the base.  Also killed in the crash was Master Sergeant Morgan W. Hopwood.

Weather, with low visibility, was almost certainly a factor in the accident, as local newspapers reported the violent storm as having extraordinarily high winds.  Contributing to the accident was the lack of radar approach at El Toro; also, Thomas’s plane lacked onboard radio navigation equipment.  Thomas would have had to use a combination of timing, dead reckoning, and rapid back-and-forth tuning of his range receiver to determine his position.

It was accidents like this that prompted the Marine Corps to totally revamp instrument training and improve its navigation aids.  During the war, 565 Marine aviators were killed in action, while 1,050 were killed in accidents, many weather-related.  From these tragedies came the radar talk-down ground controlled approach (GCA) and the ultra-high frequency Tacan, still in use today.