THE DOWD FAMILY CHRONICLE

With war looming and Robert facing call-up, the young couple decided to marry in February 1942. Unable to marry in Florida without parental permission (both under 21), they drove to Georgia and found a justice of the peace in a small border town. Robert had no money, so Rosemary paid the $2 license fee. They returned home married, to their parents' surprise. Despite the unconventional start, their marriage lasted over 60 years.

Flying over Stuttgart, Robert's formation encountered Germany's revolutionary ME-262 jet fighter for the first time. The jet burst from the clouds with its 37mm cannon blazing, shooting through the formation and destroying Robert's wingman. The German pilot turned and came back down, crossing directly over Robert's wing. Their wingtips passed within feet of each other, and Robert looked directly into the eyes of the German pilot. Then he was gone. Robert believed the gun must have jammed - otherwise he would have been next. This dramatic encounter was later immortalized in a painting.

From his position as Commander of meteorological services at Cape Canaveral and Kennedy Space Center, Robert was responsible for one of the most critical aspects of America's space program - the weather.

During every Apollo moon flight, he was on duty at NASA's Mission Control Center in Houston with the authority to direct all Department of Defense meteorological support throughout launch, recovery, and contingency abort procedures.

Weather could scrub a billion-dollar mission and put astronauts' lives at risk. Robert's organization, managing 50+ military and 100+ contractor personnel, provided the meteorological data that helped put men on the moon.

He worked with NASA, NOAA, FAA, and coordinated between nine DoD missile ranges. His team processed all meteorological data using a CDC 3600 computer and managed a $3 million annual contract.

The responsibility was enormous - he reported directly to the Kennedy Space Center Director and the Air Force Eastern Test Range Commander.

As Project Officer for the Air Force Cambridge Research Laboratories during Operation Dominic, Robert managed one of the most significant - and dangerous - scientific projects of his career.

He supervised over 100 scientists and technicians operating scientifically instrumented large jet aircraft deployed to six isolated Pacific sites spanning from Hawaii to Fiji Islands.

The mission: coordinate eight major experiments during three nuclear blasts in the atmosphere during the height of the Cold War. The work was classified at the highest levels.

Robert directed the data reduction and preparation of a massive 797-page project report to the Defense Atomic Support Agency (DASA).

Years later, this assignment would have tragic consequences. The radiation exposure from these nuclear test operations contributed to Robert's kidney cancer diagnosis in 1987 and ultimately to his death in 2003 from complications related to service-connected radiation exposure.

Hurricane Edith had intensified to a Category 2 storm with sustained winds of 100 mph - perfect conditions for the atmospheric research team. Robert had already flown three flights into the hurricane gathering critical data.

On the fourth penetration, flying a specially equipped B-29 at 1,000 feet above the ocean, disaster nearly struck.

"As the aircraft penetrated the eye wall of the hurricane at 1,000 feet above the ocean, the intense rain flooded two of the four engines."

Unable to maintain altitude on just two engines, Robert prepared to ditch the aircraft in the violent seas below. He issued a MayDay call over the radio as they continued to lose altitude.

Then, unexpectedly, the aircraft broke through into the clear sky in the eye of the hurricane. With the rain stopped, Robert was able to restart the flooded engines and safely return to base.

A letter of commendation stated: "The element of personal danger was very much a part of this operation. It is not an overstatement to say that these men risked their lives to gather these data. These flights produced the first data which brought meteorologists far along the path of predicting hurricane formation and movement."

The B-29 was stressed beyond economical repair and was scrapped. But the Air Force and Florida State University now had "the most complete scientific information on hurricanes in the world."

The call came in urgently - a man stricken with appendicitis in remote Gulkana, Alaska needed immediate evacuation. This was a time-critical mission requiring hours of flying through unpredictable weather to land on a primitive stone-covered river beach.

After successfully navigating to Gulkana and landing the large aircraft on the rough beach, the patient was loaded aboard. But as they prepared for takeoff, a thick sea fog rolled in over the beach, reducing visibility to near zero.

Robert directed his copilot to step off the width of the makeshift runway and use a powerful searchlight to mark the centerline. The copilot gave Robert two fixes with the light, allowing him to carefully align the gyrocompass.

With the copilot back aboard, Robert set his compass heading selector for the precise course needed to stay aligned with the beach. This heading would be his only guide - visibility would disappear completely as the airplane accelerated to takeoff speed.

The all-weather flying experience he'd gained during the Berlin Airlift became crucial. Using only his instruments and the carefully calculated compass heading, Robert made a successful takeoff through zero visibility conditions.

The patient was successfully treated at the hospital in Anchorage. The Miami Herald reported: "Dare Devil Dowd does it again!"

Driving their 1950 Chevrolet up the Alaska-Canadian Highway (ALCAN) - a legendary rough, challenging drive even in good conditions - the Dowd family was making the long journey from Miami to Anchorage with 3-year-old Robert.

Somewhere along the remote highway, young Robert's treasured teddy bear fell out of the car. The family didn't discover the loss until miles later.

In an era before GPS or cell phones, on a primitive highway through wilderness, finding one small teddy bear seemed impossible. But Robert Harold Dowd wasn't one to give up easily.

He turned the car around and drove back along the highway, scanning carefully. Eventually, they spotted another driver ahead who had stopped. As they approached, they saw he had found the teddy bear lying in the road and picked it up.

The family followed the driver until they could flag him down, and reunited young Robert with his beloved teddy bear.

It was a small victory, but emblematic of Robert's determination and problem-solving approach that characterized his entire career.

During his time stationed in the British Isles before deploying to France, Robert had a terrifying close call while climbing in Scotland.

Losing his footing on a mountainside, he began sliding down the steep slope, unable to stop himself. The cliff face rushed past as he accelerated downward.

At the very edge of a 4,000-foot cliff, he managed to catch his footing and stop - just feet from going over.

It was a moment that stayed with him for life - one wrong move, one second slower to react, and he would never have made it to combat, never flown the 50 missions, never met his grandchildren.

When 16-year-old Robert asked 14-year-old Rosemary out to a youth group outing at Loomis Park, he wanted to make a romantic impression.

While canoeing on the lake, Robert decided to pick a beautiful water lily for Rosemary. He stepped from the canoe to reach the flower.

The soft ground gave way immediately. Young Robert sank knee-deep in mud. His white pants and shoes were turned completely black.

Despite the embarrassing disaster, the outing was a success. Rosemary appreciated the gesture, mud and all.

"This was the beginning of a 65-year romance and 61 years of marriage."

One of Robert's B-26 Marauders had a unique distinction - it was literally two airplanes.

"Half and Half" was the front section of one damaged B-26 bolted to the rear section of another damaged aircraft. The ground crews in France, operating without depot-level maintenance facilities, demonstrated extraordinary ingenuity in keeping the bombers flying.

The aircraft flew numerous combat missions over Germany, a testament to both the skills of the maintenance crews and the pilots who trusted their lives to this improvised machine.

A photo of "Half and Half" with the crew standing beneath it became one of the family's treasured mementoes from the war.

Robert loved football so much that he made an unusual decision - he stayed an extra year at Edison High School (1939-40) to play one more season of football.

This meant graduating in the fall of 1940 rather than spring 1940. But for Robert, the chance to be on the field with his teammates for another season was worth it.

He was a three-letter athlete (football, baseball, track), playing halfback and wearing number 40. One game recap noted: "Edison High halfback Bob Dowd, number 40, scampers 25 yards off tackle to overwhelm Ponce High in season opener."

His dedication to athletics and his teammates shaped his leadership style for life. In 1996, Edison High School inducted him into their Hall of Fame.

After returning from the war, Robert had his heart set on flying for Pan American Airways in Miami. It seemed perfect - he had extensive multi-engine experience, combat flying credentials, and instrument flying skills honed in the worst weather conditions.

He even had a connection - the chief pilot at Pan Am.

But by the time Robert arrived back in Miami and applied, all the flying jobs were filled. Hundreds of pilots were returning from the war, all looking for the same limited number of civilian flying positions.

Instead, Robert found himself working as a letter carrier for the U.S. Post Office (December 1945), then bouncing between short-term flying jobs with non-scheduled airlines before finally settling into insurance sales.

The disappointment of missing that Pan Am opportunity stayed with him, but it ultimately led him back to active duty and a distinguished 30-year Air Force career - a path that turned out far better than civilian aviation could have offered.

When Robert was flying the Berlin Airlift in Germany, Rosemary had tickets booked to sail from New York to Germany to join him. The reservations were made, bags were packed, and she was ready to finally see Europe.

Then the Soviet Union lifted the blockade. The Berlin Airlift ended abruptly.

Rosemary's tickets went unused. Robert came home instead.

Years later, they would finally make it to Germany together - multiple times - as tourists visiting the places Robert had known during the war.

When Robert received orders for an unaccompanied (family not authorized) tour to Korea, he and Rosemary developed a creative plan to stay together.

The official position: Dependents could not accompany him to Korea.
The creative solution: Dependents could live in Japan as tourists.

In November 1959, Robert formally requested authorization for Rosemary, Robert M. (age 12), and James W. (age 6) to reside in Japan as "unauthorized dependents" for the duration of his tour of duty in Korea.

He assured the Air Force the family had sufficient funds for return transportation and their own support while in Japan. The request was approved.

The family drove cross-country, sold their car in San Francisco, flew to Hawaii on a contingency plan (ready to return home if the request was denied), then continued to Japan when the authorization came through.

Robert helped them find a small rental house in a Japanese neighborhood, complete with pear orchard and view of Mt. Fuji. The boys attended Department of Defense school on base.

Every Saturday they went to the Officers Club for dinner and a 3-minute phone call from Dad in Korea via the Military Amateur Radio System (MARS).

Robert was able to fly to Japan at least one weekend per month to maintain flight currency - and see his family.

The year in Japan, living on the local economy and experiencing Japanese culture, had a profound positive impact on the entire family.

During his time with the Alaska Rescue Squadron, Robert had another close call that became legendary among the aircrews.

Landing a C-47 on a remote airfield in marginal conditions, Robert came in short. The aircraft landed in a snow bank before the runway threshold.

The sturdy C-47 broke through the snow bank and continued onto the runway - making it, technically, the shortest landing Robert ever made.

He walked away from it without damage to the aircraft. In Alaska, where dozens of pilots were dying in crashes every summer, it was considered just another day at the office.

Robert wasn't just an athlete - he was also an accomplished actor.

At Edison High, he played the lead role in the thespian production "You Can't Take It With You," showcasing his talent on stage.

When he arrived at the University of Florida in Fall 1941, he immediately joined the Chi Phi fraternity and was elected president of the pledge class.

But he also auditioned for and won the male lead in "Private Lives" by Noel Coward - the Gainesville Little Theater's first major production of the year.

A campus newspaper article featured his selection, noting both his theater achievement and his athletic background from Edison High.

This combination of athletics, academics, leadership, and theater demonstrated the well-rounded character that would serve him throughout his military and civilian career.

Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941 interrupted everything. He would never perform in the play. Instead, he eloped with Rosemary in February 1942 and began his journey toward becoming an Air Force officer.

After graduating from Edison High in Fall 1940, Robert wanted desperately to attend college. But his father, Alvin Dowd (Fire Chief of Miami), couldn't afford to send him. Alvin advised Robert to "find a trade instead."

Robert refused to give up on his dream.

He took a job as a salesman in the men's department at Burdine's, a major department store in downtown Miami. Every paycheck, he saved money for college.

When September 1941 came around, he had saved just enough - combined with a substantial $250 loan from his Burdine's manager - to enroll at the University of Florida.

He moved into Thomas Hall as a General Studies major, joined the Chi Phi fraternity, got elected president of the pledge class, won the lead in a major theater production, and began building the life he'd worked so hard to achieve.

Four months later, Pearl Harbor changed everything.

But that determination to pursue education despite obstacles would resurface later when the Air Force sent him to Florida State University for a meteorology degree - finally completing the college education the war had interrupted.

Robert and Rosemary attended different high schools - Robert at Edison High, Rosemary at Miami High. They saw each other at church and youth group activities, but not during the school day.

Robert wanted to see more of Rosemary. So he convinced her mother, Isabell Hefty, to give Rosemary permission to transfer to Edison High.

It worked. Rosemary transferred schools to be with Robert.

This determination to be together, even as teenagers, characterized their entire relationship - from the elopement to Georgia, to Rosemary following him from training base to training base during the war, to the creative solution to live in Japan during his Korea tour.

They simply refused to be separated.