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Dr. Federico `Fred' Gonzales: 1921 - 2007
Biophysicist, eternal optimist
Northwestern University medical school professor's WW II crash shattered most of his bones but couldn't scratch his upbeat spirit
By Trevor Jensen
Tribune staff reporter
Published February 12, 2007
By any logic, Federico "Fred" Gonzales' number should have been up Jan. 23, 1945, when the B-17 bomber he was piloting was shot down over Germany and he plunged 27,000 feet without a parachute.
Dr. Gonzales somehow survived, though his dreams of a career as a pilot did not. He changed course and went on to become a biophysicist who taught at Northwestern University's medical school for 23 years.
Dr. Gonzales, 85, died Thursday, Feb. 8, at Evanston Hospital after suffering from cancer and a neurological disease, said his son Laurence. He had lived in Evanston since 1963.
A native of San Antonio, where his Mexican immigrant father ran a barbecue stand, Dr. Gonzales had enlisted in the Army Air Forces in World War II with the hope of flying a fighter plane, his son said.
The Army, however, needed bomber pilots and Dr. Gonzales was assigned to fly 25 missions before he would get a chance to sit in the cockpit of a P-51 Mustang fighter.
His 25th flight came on that January day in 1945. He had already been shot down once. In the first shootdown, he managed to nurse his plane to a rough landing in Belgium for which he received a Distinguished Flying Cross. On this flight, the wing of Dr. Gonzales' B-17 was shot off by German anti-aircraft fire, and the plane went into a spin. Unable to get to his parachute, Dr. Gonzales passed out during the fall. Landing in a farmer's field, still connected to a piece of the plane, he was the only member of the 10-man flight crew to survive. How he did so remains a mystery to his family.
"It was a fluke," his son said.
Though he lived, he was in terrible shape. His feet were shattered and most of his bones were broken. Dr. Gonzales, who was taken prisoner and cared for by German medics, was liberated by U.S. troops April 17, 1945.
He walked with the help of canes for years afterwards, but eventually the only marks from the crash were scars on his legs and screws holding together bones in a right arm that was a bent and had limited movement.
Laurence Gonzales, an Evanston writer, tells his father's story in his book "Deep Survival," which tries to explain how people make it against all odds. In many cases, including that of his father, Laurence Gonzales came to see the answer as one of mind over matter.
"His indefatigable optimism about the world is, I think, what carried him through," Gonzales said of his father. "It's all about attitude. Bad things happen to everybody."
Dr. Gonzales had wanted to fly for a career, but with his injuries that was impossible. He returned to college studies interrupted by the war and received a doctorate in biophysics from St. Louis University in the early 1950s, his son said. He taught in Texas before joining Northwestern's medical school as an associate professor of anatomy in 1963, a school spokeswoman said.
Dr. Gonzales' specialty was histology, the study of cells and tissue. He had a strong visual sense that allowed him to explain complex matters in a comprehensible fashion, said former colleague Al Telser, a retired professor of cell and molecular biology at Northwestern.
"I always understood things better when Fred explained it," Telser said. "He was kind and patient with students; he understood people well."
Endlessly curious, Dr. Gonzales and his sons spent one summer carving boomerangs and studying aerodynamics. He was a photographer who had his own darkroom and an accomplished potter who maintained a studio and kiln. He played piano and sang, built model planes and a stereo and drove his family around the country in a 1956 Volkswagen microbus.
"He taught me the first rule of survival--to believe that anything is possible," Laurence Gonzales wrote in his book.
In addition to his wife, Anna, and son Laurence, Dr. Gonzales is survived by six other sons; Gregory, Michael, Philip, Albert, Stephen and Federico Jr.; a sister, Mary Alice Gomez; and eight grandchildren.
A mass will be said at 8 a.m. Monday at St. Mary Catholic Church in Evanston.
Dr. Gonzales donated his body to Northwestern's medical school, his son said.
----------
Miracles do happen and this man undoubtedly lived through one of those. My salutations to all those who did whatever was needed back then and have carried the marks on themselves ever since.
- R -
Dr. Federico `Fred' Gonzales: 1921 - 2007
Biophysicist, eternal optimist
Northwestern University medical school professor's WW II crash shattered most of his bones but couldn't scratch his upbeat spirit
By Trevor Jensen
Tribune staff reporter
Published February 12, 2007
By any logic, Federico "Fred" Gonzales' number should have been up Jan. 23, 1945, when the B-17 bomber he was piloting was shot down over Germany and he plunged 27,000 feet without a parachute.
Dr. Gonzales somehow survived, though his dreams of a career as a pilot did not. He changed course and went on to become a biophysicist who taught at Northwestern University's medical school for 23 years.
Dr. Gonzales, 85, died Thursday, Feb. 8, at Evanston Hospital after suffering from cancer and a neurological disease, said his son Laurence. He had lived in Evanston since 1963.
A native of San Antonio, where his Mexican immigrant father ran a barbecue stand, Dr. Gonzales had enlisted in the Army Air Forces in World War II with the hope of flying a fighter plane, his son said.
The Army, however, needed bomber pilots and Dr. Gonzales was assigned to fly 25 missions before he would get a chance to sit in the cockpit of a P-51 Mustang fighter.
His 25th flight came on that January day in 1945. He had already been shot down once. In the first shootdown, he managed to nurse his plane to a rough landing in Belgium for which he received a Distinguished Flying Cross. On this flight, the wing of Dr. Gonzales' B-17 was shot off by German anti-aircraft fire, and the plane went into a spin. Unable to get to his parachute, Dr. Gonzales passed out during the fall. Landing in a farmer's field, still connected to a piece of the plane, he was the only member of the 10-man flight crew to survive. How he did so remains a mystery to his family.
"It was a fluke," his son said.
Though he lived, he was in terrible shape. His feet were shattered and most of his bones were broken. Dr. Gonzales, who was taken prisoner and cared for by German medics, was liberated by U.S. troops April 17, 1945.
He walked with the help of canes for years afterwards, but eventually the only marks from the crash were scars on his legs and screws holding together bones in a right arm that was a bent and had limited movement.
Laurence Gonzales, an Evanston writer, tells his father's story in his book "Deep Survival," which tries to explain how people make it against all odds. In many cases, including that of his father, Laurence Gonzales came to see the answer as one of mind over matter.
"His indefatigable optimism about the world is, I think, what carried him through," Gonzales said of his father. "It's all about attitude. Bad things happen to everybody."
Dr. Gonzales had wanted to fly for a career, but with his injuries that was impossible. He returned to college studies interrupted by the war and received a doctorate in biophysics from St. Louis University in the early 1950s, his son said. He taught in Texas before joining Northwestern's medical school as an associate professor of anatomy in 1963, a school spokeswoman said.
Dr. Gonzales' specialty was histology, the study of cells and tissue. He had a strong visual sense that allowed him to explain complex matters in a comprehensible fashion, said former colleague Al Telser, a retired professor of cell and molecular biology at Northwestern.
"I always understood things better when Fred explained it," Telser said. "He was kind and patient with students; he understood people well."
Endlessly curious, Dr. Gonzales and his sons spent one summer carving boomerangs and studying aerodynamics. He was a photographer who had his own darkroom and an accomplished potter who maintained a studio and kiln. He played piano and sang, built model planes and a stereo and drove his family around the country in a 1956 Volkswagen microbus.
"He taught me the first rule of survival--to believe that anything is possible," Laurence Gonzales wrote in his book.
In addition to his wife, Anna, and son Laurence, Dr. Gonzales is survived by six other sons; Gregory, Michael, Philip, Albert, Stephen and Federico Jr.; a sister, Mary Alice Gomez; and eight grandchildren.
A mass will be said at 8 a.m. Monday at St. Mary Catholic Church in Evanston.
Dr. Gonzales donated his body to Northwestern's medical school, his son said.
----------
Miracles do happen and this man undoubtedly lived through one of those. My salutations to all those who did whatever was needed back then and have carried the marks on themselves ever since.
- R -
