“I learned to handle fear,” Nelms, now a centenarian, reflects. In a candid interview with Naveed Jamali on Newsweek’s series “Unconventional,” he recounts a moment that exemplified the constant danger: “We were flying in formation. An 88-millimeter shell probably bursts right in front of us… You hear pieces of flak punching holes through the aluminum skin. A sickening sound.”
In those life-or-death moments, Nelms’s mind could become his worst enemy. He remembers thinking, “If that had gone off a second later, you’d be on your way down.” However, he learned to flip the script on fear. “Everything is okay because it went off when it did,” he would tell himself, a strategy that helped him keep his composure amidst chaos. As a chaplain once told him, “You have no control over where those shells burst, but you do have control of what’s going on up here.” Nelms emphasizes, “Why be scared? You’re making yourself less important to the total operation if you’re going to be terrified.”
Nelms’s journey to the skies began after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor pulled the United States into World War II. At 19, after persistent efforts to persuade his mother to sign his enlistment papers, Nelms joined the Army Air Force aviation cadet corps. He eventually became co-pilot of the formidable B-17 bomber, and later, at just 21 years old, found himself leading a ten-man crew over the treacherous airspace of France and Germany.
Fighter planes, more than the impersonal flak, presented a unique fear due to their accuracy and the personal nature of their threat. “You don’t know where [flak is] going to go off,” Nelms says, but a fighter pilot is “much more personal.”
After surviving 35 combat missions, Nelms and many of his fellow veterans faced a decision: continue with the military or return to civilian life. Choosing the latter, Nelms asked a general if he would still be flying. The response was less than encouraging: “Oh, sure… but probably with a pencil.” Determined not to be confined to a desk job, Nelms pivoted sharply, setting his sights on a new dream—art school.
Nelms moved to Seattle, where he pursued his passion for art, eventually becoming a successful freelance graphic artist. He carved out a new life away from the battlefield, one defined by creativity and independence. “I didn’t want people telling me what to do,” he says of his decision to freelance.
Even in his centenarian years, Nelms continues to serve his community, volunteering nearly every week at The Museum of Flight in Seattle. His advice to those feeling isolated or searching for purpose in later life is simple: “If you get lonesome, volunteer. That’s what saved my life here, these wonderful people that support me.”
As he approaches his 102nd birthday, Nelms remains a vivid storyteller and an embodiment of resilience, reminding us all of the enduring power of facing fears head-on and the value of finding new paths in the wake of old battles.
