THIS week we have a story 
by the prolific O.B. Myer’s! Myers was a pilot himself, flying with the 147th Aero Squadron and carrying two credited victories and awarded the Distinguished Service Cross. The story this week is the first Myers had published in the pulp! Printed in the pages of the January 1929 issue of War Birds, it’s “No Heroes Allowed.”
“Pop” was training these fledglings of his to be careful. He didn’t want any heroes whose medals and extra breeches are sent home through the mail.
A Letter from O.B.
As a bonus we have a letter O.B. wrote home to his folks during The Great War that was shared in his hometown paper, the MOUNT VERNON ARGUS. The letter was written on October 11th, the day after he lost two of his pals—Lt. Wilbert White who went down and Billy Brotherton who failed to return from his solo flight. Events described in “No Heroes Allowed” seem reminiscent of events in O.B.’s letter.
Published in the MOUNT VERNON ARGUS, November 13th, 1918:
Dr. S Oscar Myers, of this city, has received the following letter under date of October 11, at the front, from his son First Lieutenant O.B. Myers, of the aviaition section:
“Not only do things happen pretty fast around here, but they happen so fast that you can’t keep your letters even with ’em. Enough comes off most every day to fill an ordinary epistle, but for that very reason, one can’t write every day, nor anywhere near it. Here goes to tell something about yesterday, anyway.
The things which seem to stand out most prominently are that I participated—more actively this time—in shooting down a Hun, and that two pilots from my flight—my ‘buddies,’ as we call ’em—were lost.
Three of us. “White-ee,” Ken Porter and myself, went out on a voluntary patrol about noon; we found a single two-seater way up high just over the lines and attacked. Ken Porter waited to one side to look out for others or to come to our assistance if necessary; White dived first and fired a few bursts, but his guns jammed and he drew off. Then I dived on him and fired quite a burst; just as I dove past his tail and started to pull around on him again, I noticed that the right gun was Jammed. Then the motor quit going (found later than an air pressure lead from the gas tank had broken off), and I noticed that one of the sheet metal handhole covers on the side of the hood had come off and wrapped itself around one of the wires. That made me think that the motor had been hit (I had seen the boche observer shooting at me and his tracer bullets going past as I was diving on him) so I kept right on diving out of the fight, and eventually glided back and made a landing about five kilometres behind our lines. Ken Porter reported that he saw the Hun falling, apparently out of control, directly after and took a few shots at long range, but couldn’t follow him down because others were approaching. So I think my bullets were the ones that got him this time, all right. It took me all the afternoon to get a telephone call through to the aerodrome, to get a car sent up after me, and when I got back about 9:30. I found that White had gone out on another patrol later In the afternoon, got into a fight and ran head-on into a Hun, both going down out of control completely, of course, Besides that, Brotherton, the other chap from our flight went over on a strafing trip, alone and never came back. The tough part is that ’White-ee.” having been on the front here for several months, was slated to be sent back to the states—his orders were on the way through in fact. Also, he is married and has two children at home. He was about 27, I think. We go right on though: only made one patrol today, but that was on account of the punk weather. My machine Is being carried in from the field where I lit; was unbroken, but couldn’t possibly take off there, as it was full of barbed wire.
Mail is still conspicuous by Its absence. It’s getting too dark to write—I’ll send love instead.
And if that wasn’t enough…
For all his many published stories, 
O.B. Myer’s didn’t really have any series characters. The few recurring characters he did have in the pages of Dare-Devil Aces, we’ve collected into a book we like to call “The Black Sheep of Belogue: The Best of O.B. Myers” which collects the two Dynamite Pike and his band of outlaw Aces stories and the handful of Clipper Stark vs the Mongol Ace tales. If you enjoyed this story, you’ll love these stories!
by the prolific O.B. Myer’s! Myers was a pilot himself, flying with the 147th Aero Squadron and carrying two credited victories and awarded the Distinguished Service Cross. Following up his first story last week, we have his second published story. “Pip” Preston brings down the great von Stangel. But von Stangel turns out to be an undercover agent…. From the pages of the January 31st, 1929 issue of War Stories it’s O.B. Myer’s “The Buzzard’s Guest!” Well, I’ve got a bit of real news that may be of interest. Your boy is “flying very high these days’’ I bumped into another old Mount Vernonite, old Oscar Myers, who is first lieutenant in the aviation. We sat around and talked for awhile and he said if the weather was fine the following day he would give me the flight or fright of my life. You can bet I was Johnny Thomson on hand—and up we went. Holy smoke! I thought for sure I was straight on my way to meet St. Peter. The earth soon faded beneath us and I found myself passing as Myers called it, through cloud banks. Gee! but it sure was a funny feeling. We dropped down a few hundred feet, about 600 or 700 and gradually mother earth hove into view. Then he thought he would pull a few stunts as he called it, and so he looped the loop, glided, banked and a few others which I forgot in the excitement and then we made a beautiful volplane to the sod. Well, I Just can’t begin to explain or express the feeling one has while in the air, or while doing some of those things, but one thing I can say is this. Before going up we were strapped into the seats with a big strap across our chest and when doing the loop, the machine is turned completely upside down and there we were out of our seats and lying flat on this belt face to earth. Boy, oh boy! that’s the only time I said good-bye to friends so dear, to home and mother in fact everything, but it was only for a moment for he again righted her and it was over. I’ve given you but a vague description, Mother and Dad, but I guess you can get some idea as to what we did. Just as soon as I have a chance again and it’s a fine day, I’m going to bring Mac over and the three of us are going up.
