‘A true hero’: State College man, WWII pilot honored with France’s highest medal
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- State College crowd honored 101-year-old John Homan with France’s Legion of Honor.
- Homan flew 34 combat missions in 1944 and published a 384-page memoir.
- Community, historians and French officials used ceremony to honor veteran sacrifice.
John F. Homan, a World War II bomber pilot, spent the better part of his life insisting he was no hero. Others flew the same missions, he told his children. Others showed more bravery, sacrificed more or paid the ultimate price, he told others.
But, during a public ceremony Wednesday in State College, his insistence was finally no match. One well-dressed speaker after another took turns commending the 101-year-old Homan as “a true hero,” before he was formally awarded the French Legion of Honor — the highest decoration in France that recognizes exceptional service in civil or military fields for both citizens and foreigners alike.
Homan flew 34 combat missions in 1944 for the U.S. Army Air Forces, witnessed hell in Europe and returned home to raise a family. While he quietly looked on from his seat inside the auditorium at Foxdale Village Retirement Community, his eldest daughter stood at the podium and lovingly said — after reminding him he always refused to call himself a hero — that, “He was always a hero to us.”
The Legion of Honor was pinned to his lapel by Caroline Monvoisin, a Consul General of France who works under the ambassador. He was introduced afterward as “Sir” John F. Homan.
“These commemorations remind us that people like you once risked everything for a country that was not your own, and France has never forgotten — and will never forget,” she told Homan and a crowd that numbered more than a hundred. “We owe you our deepest gratitude, so may your story continue to inspire future generations and remind them of the price paid for freedom.”
Homan did not often talk about the war with his family. His eldest daughter, Kimberly, said that he only once obliquely referred to the horrors of war — when he joked the only thing more nerve-wracking was teaching his children how to drive.
But the native of Maine was lauded by historians and advocates alike for his unflinching honesty and directness without glorifying war. During speaking engagements and in his memoir, titled “Into the Cold Blue: My World War II Journeys with the Mighty Eighth Air Force,” Homan relived a close brush when machine-gun fire knocked out one of his B-24 engines and another memory when a man’s blood painted a plane red.
Both of those scenes played out on Homan’s second combat mission. At that point, he still had 32 to go — and went on about two missions a week, a lot even for back then.
“They endured the Depression. They flew for hourlong missions in unpressurized aircraft at over 30,000 feet and temperatures well below zero,” said Charles Dalgleish, son of a bombardier who worked alongside Homan. “They often came under enemy fire. But, when they went home, they didn’t brag. They simply rebuilt their families and their communities.”
He continued, choking back a lump in his throat: “They were — and remain — the greatest generation we have ever known.”
It was difficult to see if any emotion was building behind Homan’s thick glasses. For much of the 90-minute ceremony, he sat attentively and gave slight nods to acknowledge the nice words.
Homan, who will turn 102 next month, isn’t as spry as he once was. But he’s been said to still enjoy 18-year-old Jameson whiskey. And, in a brief interview with the Centre Daily Times, he acknowledged the award was “a big surprise, a big surprise” because, he said with a laugh, it “happened 80 years ago!”
After the Consul General pinned the Legion of Honor to Homan, the veteran who flew combat missions at the age of 20 spoke into the microphone. “First of all, I’d like to say I hope I live long enough to carry out all of these compliments,” he said with a slight laugh.
He went on to dedicate the medal to the nine other crew members he worked with, along with the grounds crews. “When we brought the planes back beat up, their job was to work on them and get them ready for the next day,” Homan told an audience of friends, colleagues and officials. “So I give them a lot of credit, too.”
Homan’s medal comes a year after the publication of his 384-page memoir, one co-authored with Penn State Altoona associate teaching history professor Jared Frederick. Homan’s story eventually reached the ears of advocate Eric Montgomery, who’s made it his life’s mission to get recognition for veterans like Homan.
Frederick and Montgomery put in an application for the Legion of Honor in May. And, by the fall, the application was granted and the ceremony scheduled — a fast turnaround reflecting the importance France places on the medal, which cannot be awarded posthumously. Other Americans to receive the award have included Dwight D. Eisenhower, Douglas MacArthur and George Patton.
“John’s story is representative of so many people who weren’t honored; that’s really how he looks at it,” Frederick said. “This is a means of remembrance for everyone who didn’t write a book, who didn’t share their story or who was never interviewed. And, really, he’s somewhat of an anomaly among World War II veterans because he’s always been so open about sharing his story — because he wanted his grandchildren to know what he did.”
At least a half-dozen officials took turns Wednesday honoring the man who was part of the fierce fighting in the four months after D-Day, the Allied Invasion of Normandy. An artist whose subjects are often of the military, Larry Selman, called Homan “a true hero.” Frederick said Homan “inspires.” Homan’s daughter, who noted he’s written several political letters to the editor, said the first lieutenant was, “Antifascist then, now — and always.”
One way or another, they all expressed hope that Homan’s recognition would serve as further reason to remember those like Homan — everyday Americans who were called to stand up for freedom and liberty, and never flinched.
“There is so much selfishness that hinders every generation of American society,” Frederick reflected. “And, really, what that generation did; they were not the perfect generation — even though they may be the greatest, no generation is perfect — but, for four desperate years, they showed us the closest thing to unanimity and collective sense of purpose that we’ve ever seen in American life.”
This story was originally published December 11, 2025 at 12:44 PM.
