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It has been said that man’s intellectual ability is always more developed than his ability to express himself. The truth of this premise becomes readily apparent when a mere human, with his full complement of inadequate words and platitudes, attempts to capture the living spirit, the driving force, and the warm humanity of a man such as <em>Bob Niemann</em>. To pause at some quiet time, in fond recollection, and to assay the qualities and intangibles that permitted Bob to enrich the lives of us who knew him, is a process which must begin at the beginning, as all things do.</p>
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There is first the city of New Ulm, in the state of Minnesota, where Bob was born. A bit of Old Germany transplanted to the United States, New Ulm is a city of friendly, happy people, proud to welcome the visiting newcomer to the sights of their beautiful community; to their polkas and German bands; to the fine German beer brewed right in New Ulm; to their myriad fraternal associations and societies, which seem to have as their mission the furtherance of good fellowship and camaraderie. Laura and Frank Niemann are major contributors to the truly friendly, relaxed way of life that is New Ulm. The warm, truly genuine principles by which they live were unmistakably passed on to Bob, as a part of his upbringing.</p>
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In New Ulm there is room for a boy to grow, room for the roaming of fields and forests, and room for the dreams that need dreaming. Bob’s dream, conceived in the clear, clean atmosphere of his birthplace, was that of flight. A private pilot’s license, earned while yet in high school by hours of plane washing and airport odd jobs, was an early indicator of this young man’s desire for a future in the skies.</p>
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During a year at the University of Minnesota, studying aeronautical engineering, the chance at an appointment to the Military Academy showed itself and Bob quickly accepted. Right then and there he knew that he could combine his work and his pleasure in one situation—as a pilot in the Air Force. While the close confinement of Academy life was not particularly pleasing to Bob, he accepted it as another step toward his silver wings. Scholastically, Bob could be counted upon to be exactly where he wanted to be at any given time. The ease with which Bob could ascend to the top of any class was a constant source of amazement. Not a scholar for the sake of scholarliness, but a true individual who did well the things that he desired to do, and at the same time had the ability to recognize and relegate to places of lesser priority the unimportant things. Neither the academic grind nor the monastic life of the Academy could, in any measure, reduce or allay the “hail fellow well met” attitude that so well typified Bob Niemann. Through it all, Bob was a man whose company was sought by others, whatever the situation might be.</p>
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Graduation, and within the month another dream come true. His bride, Thelma, provided the rare complement of disposition that made her and Bob such a wonderful pair. Life was good, in the year and a half that followed. Preflight, primary, advanced, transition, gunnery school—all the makings of a first class jet fighter pilot. These things came easily for the man who was, above all, completely at home with his hands on the controls of a high speed aircraft.</p>
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April of 1953, and MIG fighters in the cold North Korean skies. A laughing, blonde guy named Niemann, flying wing on such as Fernandez. Appreciated for his airmanship and excellent combat judgment, it was the one in thousands chance that put Bob Niemann’s Sabre Jet into an enemy pilot’s gunsight. That one freak chance took from us who remain a cherished son, a husband and a father whose loss can never be measured, and a comrade to be remembered always. If it had to be, it was altogether fitting that Bob Niemann should spend his final hour in the center of his elements. He is gone and his passing leaves a gap. We grieve.</p>
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<em>—W. D. Farrington, ‘51</em></p>