Note: This is an autobiography written by my uncle, John Young, of his time in the Army Air Force during World War II. I am so grateful that he recorded the memories of his experiences, because like so many of the Veterans he never -told- us stories of his experiences (this includes my stepfather who flew PBYs and PBMs in the Navy during WWII). Until I was in high school, every summer I spent two weeks after school was out visiting the Grandparents and Uncle John’s family (particularly getting to know and having great fun with the cousins). Then in my high school years, I worked all summer for Grandpa and Uncle John, so there was ample time for him to relate his stories, but … he was engrossed in farming and feeding out cattle.
Uncle John wrote this on a manual typewrite, a copy of which I used to transpose via OCR into a text document; you will find a few editorial errors scattered through the story.
Preface
The following happenings were all told from memory. There might be small errors after 37 years but basically it all happened. These are the happenings to a Kansas farm boy. I was always well coordinated but a slow runner. I ran too long in one place. I want to apologize for using I so much but that is the way it happened.
Text
It all started in 1934 when I enrolled at Kansas State University in engineering. I left KSU in the spring of 1940 with a Bachelor’s and Master’s degree in engineering. Had been married to Eileen McGhee for one year. The reason for the graduate work was for Eileen to get at least her second year in college.
The Junior and Senior years in college I took Advanced ROTC (for the money) and was commissioned as 2nd Lieutenant in the Coast Artillery Reserve.
On graduating, applications were sent all over the United States and my first job was in the Engineering Department of Lockheed at Burbank, California.
In the fall of 1941 the government offered an expense paid course in flying small airplanes 35 hours to get a private pilots license. I applied and was accepted. I am 6 feet tall and weigh 200 pounds. I had to get down to 185 to pass the physical. A Doctor put me on a diet of steak and peas – one meal per day. The afternoon of the physical – after work I went to a Turkish Bath. I passed that evening and after getting home gained the fifteen pounds back.
We had some meteorology classes and some junky classes and started flying. The very first time I had ever been up in an airplane — my instructor Mike something or other started right off showing me the stall. I was in the back seat. The airplane was pointed at the sky – stalled and was going straight down. I lined the part of Mike’s hair straight down some Jap’s truck garden rows. That just about did me in right on the start.
We continued the course till the Japs attacked Pear Harbor. There was no more flying allowed on the coast. The first of the year they had us go to Death Valley to complete the flying. Death Valley does not have a tree growing and there was an oil highway running through it. I was flying at about 15 feet altitude — raised up to go over a car – let down again after I went over him. The car driver slammed on the brakes and nearly piled up. Needless to say I did not do that any more. Course completed — back to L.A.
An engineer with Lockheed, named Shanley, had developed what was named The Semi—Monocoque system of aircraft design. It consisted of starting at the wing tip and working in to the fuselage. The loading thrown into each segment going inboard is determined by the deflection of the segment just outboard. The aluminum skin is riveted to the main spars so it is taken into account too. By calculus computer sheets were worked up and figured out. Each sheet had a system of checking the computation. My group consisted of 12 men with Munroe calculators working out these sheets. I studied this system till I thoroughly understood it. I had minored in math. It was ingenious to the point of designing a wing with the minimum of weight. The old way was to stress the two main spars and forget the skin. We were working on the Constellation Transport.
The middle of each afternoon and morning we would take a 15-minute break. Our lead man was a New York Jew named Cozzone. One day we were talking about racehorses. Cozzone asked “How do you get a horse to run — hold a weenie in front of him with a stick?”
Reference for Shanley and Cozzone: Unit Method of Beam Analysis, Aerospace Research Central (goy)
After one year with Lockheed I was made a “stress analyst”. After two years with Lockheed I took a better job with Boeing in Wichita, Kansas After working for Boeing for one month (April of 1942) orders came to report for active duty in the Coast Artillery. Orders said to report to Galveston, Texas in 14 days.
My stay at Galveston lasted 5 days and I had orders to report to the Port of Embarkation at San Francisco in three days. It took all afternoon to clear the post. My wife and small daughter, Karen were with me. We started for Wichita, Kansas about dark. I had phoned ahead to my parents in Centralia, Kansas. They met us the next morning to take Eileen, Karen, and my car on to Centralia.
That morning I boarded the rattler for San Francisco. I barely reported in at San Francisco in time. A 1st Lieutenant Carter and I were assigned a company of men. We sat in tents for 7 days. One of our men was from San Francisco. His wife would come to see him every evening. We would hear him crying and moaning till finally he went AWOL. When we left we just turned him in as AWOL. We were all uneasy — we had no idea where we were being sent.
After the 7 days we were put on board an old freight ship named The Maui. After 2 days in the harbor — about 11:00 AM they ran all officers through a line and gave me 4 shots. We ate at noon — then the ship was going under the San Francisco — Oakland Bay bridge. I had never been to sea before so I was on the rail watching the waves — it was getting rougher and rougher. Suddenly an enlisted man on the rail of the second deck above me heaved all over me — he had been eating oranges. That is when I got sick and was sick in bed for the 7 days it took us to get to Honolulu. I was half sick for the two days we were in quarantine camp. It was a rough voyage. Carter did not get sick. I would ask Carter how the men in the hold below were. He said they were laying on top of each other heaving. I could not help them — nobody could.
My assignment was to an anti— aircraft battery on the edge of Pearl Harbor. I found out later why I was sent to the Hawaiian Islands. Three months earlier, the Japanese had made the Pearl Harbor attack. The bulk of the Pacific Fleet lay sunk around the edge of Pearl. To take the Hawaiian Islands would just take a token force. I was sent as one of 100 casual officers along with 5000 enlisted men to bolster the defense. I was trained in anti aircraft. The system used at that time was a big box mounted on a tripod with four men standing around it each sighting the aircraft cranking in their corrections which was sent to aim the gun. It was so primitive I don’t they could ever hit one.
After sitting on Pearl for 3 days fighting the mosquitoes I decided this was enough. I went to Headquarters and requested a transfer to the air force. The transfer went through the next day and I wound up on Hickam Field.
I would be living in a vacated house with two other officers.
Every officer must buy his own uniforms. This had all gone so fast I bought the rest of my uniforms in Honolulu.
My assignment was to design an underground depot with Warrant Officer P. K. Head. There were 12 wooden buildings scattered through a ravine in the middle of the island of Oahu that were ready for use at the time. Under design an aircraft engine overhaul structure up in the middle of the island. It was to have a concrete roof 10 feet thick. It was to be completely equipped with the appropriate machine tools.
The purpose of these structures was as a last ditch defense in case the Japs came to take the islands.
On fulfilling this job I did not amount to much. I did not know a brake from a milling machine but Head did. I learned a lot.
The social life on Oahu was just about nil. When the U.S. declared war all women were sent to the states. A few workers remained. A Major Winner got to traveling around with a Chinese woman. Winner was a handsome fellow and she was a looker. All the other officers knew he had a wife and family in the states. Very shortly Winner was ordered down under.
On Hickam Field there lived a pilot that I was told had been in a bad B26 accident. The loaded medium bomber was taking off Hickam to the South. They had engine failure on take off and went down in the jungle across the neck of Pearl Harbor. He went out through the front of the B26. He lived but all the rest of the crew died. His face was so disfigured he could hardly be recognized as a human being. I asked the bar—tender in the officers club about him. The surgeons were doing periodic plastic surgery operations — then give him a little time to heal. To finish it up, he was to be sent to the states. He would show up at the club about 2:00 every afternoon and start drinking. By dinnertime when I went there to eat, he was so drunk that he could not have hit the floor with his hat. He was not dead but you wondered if his life was worth living.
I have always known that during World War II, advances were made in surgery and medicine at the rate never equaled since. A man comes in that has 2 minutes to live — to save him they tried things that would have never been approved in the states. It meant — do anything they could or let him die. This was not true for the pilots. Usually when they crashed — they were dead instantly.
Colonel Tibbets was over me — I made 1st Lieutenant in Hawaii. After 10 months of this Col. Tibbets had me ordered to go through flying school in grade in the states.
After the sickness I suffered on the Maui I did not know whether I could stand flying — but never was sick again.
The trip to San Francisco was made by a troop carrying airplane — no more boats for me — have not been on another to this day.
On reporting in at San Francisco, my Preflight class would not start for a month. I asked the officer at the Port of Debarkation what he wanted me to do for the month. He said: “I don’t give a damn what you do — just leave your phone number where we can reach you”.
I got on a rattler for Kansas. My wife had not seen me for 10 months and my infant daughter did not even know me. While in Kansas, my only brother (1st Lieutenant in the Coast Artillery) died on the east coast. When I shipped overseas — my family scratched me off. I made it back and my brother in the states died.
Preflight was in Santa Ana California, due to George’s death I was going to be late for Preflight. Eileen and Karen made the trip with me in my car. We were traveling on the week end. Going through Williams, Arizona —about 2 miles west of town an old city Marshall lighted me down with a V—8 Ford for this purpose. He nearly lost it going around us on a cattle guard. When he was talking to me he nearly lost his false teeth. He took me back to Williams and said it will be $15 for doing 35mph in a 30 mph zone. I could pay him or wait till Monday morning and go before the judge I had no choice but to give him the #15. It was an obvious speed trap.
Nine months later I was flying in advanced flying school east of Phoenix. We were flying the Lockheed 322 which was the English version of the P38. It was a P38 without the turbo—supercharger. At low altitude it was faster than the P38 because of the weight difference.
We were sent to the Grand Canyon on a routine cross—country flight. I had a map spread out in the cockpit at about 6000 feet altitude and saw Williams, Arizona. Looking out the left window — there it was. Folding up the map — here is where I get my $15 worth. Diving down I saw the concrete block building where I parted with the $15. It wasn’t wise to get lower than 25 feet because I saw a saw mill smoke stack with guy cables. The 322 went over the building at about 500 mph and I pushed both props and both throttles clear forward just as the ship neared the building. The vibration probably loosened a few concrete blocks. After passing over, I kept the 322 on the deck so nobody could get my number.
One day Eileen had Karen out on the beach playing. A couple walked up to Eileen – “Are you John Young’s wife?” It was Lt. Hank Taylor and his wife Mary Jean. He had been on Hickam Field in Oahu. I did not know him there. He was going to the next class of Pre—Flight. I was in class 43—J and he was in the class behind me. He showed up at Ryan Field then Marana Field. Hank went to 4 engine advanced and 4 engine RTU. And next he showed up at Wright Field in the Engine Branch. Hank was a college graduate in mechanical engineering and I think Hank knew his business. He did not fly much at Wright.
One day at Wright, Hank called me and wanted to get his 4 hours flying so he could draw his flight pay (one and one half times base pay) I checked out a B-24 fueled with 91 octane gasoline. It had a decal across the instrument panel “Do not exceed 35 inches manifold pressure” 100 octane was being saved for combat overseas. At the end of the west runway was a hill with a water tower on it. Hank looked out his window on the copilot side and up at the water tower. I thought Hank was going to leave me right there.
In Preflight I got acquainted with a cadet that was driving a brand new convertible. I was a 1st lieutenant and drove an old 1939 Chevrolet. Most cadets had no car at all. I asked him where he got the money to buy the fancy car. He looked me in the eye and said: I was a radio operator for AVG and stole and sold black market one whole warehouse full of goods. I was selling cigarettes for $4 per pack.
He told me some very interesting tales. AVG was organized before WW2. The Japs were harassing China pretty bad with their Zero fighters. General Chenault organized the AVG to help China. He wangled P40 fighters some way. His pilots were mostly Marine, Navy, and Air Force trained. They resigned their commissions and became soldiers of fortune under Chenault. They were paid $500 for every confirmed Jap they shot down. He told me Chenault spent more time getting his pilots out of trouble than he spent running the outfit. Two would go into a bar and if a Chinaman looked sideways, one would pull out his revolver and shoot him dead. Life was cheap in China but not that cheap.
He was operating one of the three radio stations located in a triangular pattern. The purpose was to see the incoming Japs and confirm kills. A pilot he called Red Something shot down a Jap that crashed right in front of his radio shack. Red landed — looked over the wreckage —the crash had severed the Jap head — Red walked up, kicked the
We rented a beach house on the ocean in Santa Anna. After a month in preflight we were ordered to Primary. The only thing I got out of Preflight was to tap out SOS. We studied Morse Code and Meteorology. The rest was nothing.
An example of how cheap life was in China — China was building a new airfield — 200 Chinese were pulling a big heavy sheeps—foot roller with a long rope. The back man stumbled and they pulled the roller over him. It rolled him out about as thick as a waffle. They all dropped the rope — stood behind the roller in a group all laughing like it was the best joke they had ever seen.
After US declared war, the AVG was taken into the Air Force. On my 1st stop in RTU at Salinas — 40 year old Colonel Chenault (General Chenault’s son) was my CO.
On reporting to Ryan Field out of Tucson, Eileen and Karen had to have a place to live. We hunted for three days in Tucson and finally settled on a Motel that cost me $100 per month. It was infested with bed bugs and every other kind of vermin that could find a way in. However it was a roof over their head. I stayed on the base.
Lt. Jack Richards and his wife Evelyn lived in a court nearby. Jack was flying at Ryan in my group under Homer Tully.
Jack and Evelyn had a pure bred Black Scottie female dog. Jack decided to raise some pure bred pups. He borrowed a male dog from an officer at Ryan Field and kept the two of them in their court for a month. Nothing happened. One day Evelyn was out in the yard hanging up clothes on a clothes line — the female out there with her. A stray dog quietly came around the corner and before Evelyn realized it, the female was bred. Jack had a litter of Heinz pups.
During Primary — the order came down to line up for another physical examination. This was to be my 6th physical. A young Doctor caught my heart murmur with a stethoscope. Five Doctors before this had not heard it. They ordered the three most extensive heart examinations known at the time. They were the electro—cardiograph, fluoroscopic, and one other that I forgot. They decided it was “non—symptomatic” and passed me on. They told me that sometime in my childhood I had had rheumatic fever. I would have the murmur all the rest of my life — and I do have — it is still with me at 67 years of age.
Enough cannot be said of the importance of the physical examinations. Later — many lives would be dependent on that pilot. The eyes were the most important. My eyes were better than normal.
In Primary at Ryan Field just south of Tucson, my instructor Homer Tully had 5 students. We were flying about 150 HP Ryan PT22s. Single wing — two place — open cockpit trainers. All through flying school we went to class one half day and flew one half day.
Homer Tully was a small Mexican — probably 5 feet 4 inches tall but probably the best pilot I ever flew with. Homer told me about the time in Mexico there was a revolution. He and his buddy were hired to bomb a certain town from their airplanes. Open cockpit airplanes and their bombs consisted of a one-foot length of one and one quarter inch gas pipe filled with dynamite with mud in each end to hold it in. A fuse came out of one end and they were to fly along smoking a cigarette. When they wanted to throw out a bomb they touched the fuse to cigarette and chucked it over the side. Homer said they did not want to hurt anybody — they just wanted the money. The only damage was to a tethered donkey. Homer said donkey meat flew 100 feet into the air. One other casualty — his buddy dropped a lit bomb in his cockpit and blew up him and the airplane.
One day I asked Homer if he had ever done an inverted spin. All right Homer — show me. The way he got into it was right at the top of a loop, just as he went over the top he threw the stick full forward and full one rudder. We were in the spin all right — upside down — hanging from the belt. Homer held it for about three turns — then turned loose of all the controls — wound up in a dive, which he pulled out of. I never did do it.
We learned all the acrobatics. Slow rolls, Cuban eights, snap rolls, four leaf clovers, spins, and any thing we could think of. To pass the examination we had to do a 3 turn spin and pull out within 10 degrees.
One day a student was soloing and came in to land. He overshot — went around — got rattled — overshot 3 more times. Tower cleared all traffic. The PT22 had no radio. His instructor was out on the field trying to motion what to do. The student finally piled up at the far end of the runway. They washed him out.
Upon completion of Primary we were ordered to Basic Flying School at Marana Army Air Field north west of Tucson. Eileen and Karen remained living in Tucson. This was the end of 4 months — one preflight — three in primary — then three in basic — three in advanced — three in RTU — the overseas.
The first day of basic, our Squadron Commander Capt. Andrews called the three student officers to one side. They were Lt. Jack Richards, Lt. Bob Minervini, and myself. Andrews said: You men have your commission and are supposed to be officers and gentlemen. If you can fly at all we will you through. This took the heat off us. All cadets just burned to get those wings and shoulder bars. Every time they graduated from a phase of flying school, they would have a party that you would almost be ashamed to attend. Then it was all business for another 3 months.
Again we flew a half day and ground school a half. After every flying session, we would meet in the ready room and Capt. Andrews would go over the day’s mistakes.
Needless to say I laughed more in 9 months of flying school than any other 9 months in my life. Every day the goings — on would just be hilarious. Every cadet was just trying so hard they made every mistake you could think of. Almost all cadets were from 19 to 23 years of age. They came from every walk of life — bank clerks — plumbers helper —supermarket shag boy — and a multitude of other places. I was 26 years of age — older than some of my instructors. However later these kids did wonders in the outcome of the war.
Capt. Andrews had a procedure in giving somebody a dressing down. We would all be standing at attention. Andrews: Cadet Sorenson — drive up here. Driving up there consisted of doing a right face — march to the isle — halt — left face — march to the front — halt — left face —march to in front of Andrews — halt — right face — and look Andrews in the eye. Then Andrews would start in on him. Every word took off one square inch of Cadet Sorenson’s hide. When Andrews was through with him, he would say “return to the rear”. That meant to reverse the marching procedure.
Lt. Minervini was sent on a cross country flight. He got lost and landed at nearby McCloud field. McCloud tower called Marana and said: We’ve got one of your planes and pilot over here. An instructor went after Minervini and the BT13.
In the ready room — Andrews — Minervini — drive up here. He directed Minervini to make a six foot dunce cap and wear it every minute he was in the ready room for 2 weeks. Minervini did it. Our ready room was an unused wooden barracks. The ceiling was unfinished except for 2×4 cross ties every 4 feet to hold the walls in and the roof up. Every time Minervini went across the ready room he had to get down on his knees every 4 feet to get the dunce cap under the cross ties. Needless to say Minervini did not get lost again.
We flew 450HP single wing BT13s in Basic. We spent time on instrument flying — just goofing around — and other things I do not recall. At the end of an afternoon period — there would be 20 BT13 landing abreast. To land on top of another ship was a cardinal sin. The base leg from the ground would look like a flight of locusts.
Jack Richards was all the time telling me how flying scared him. One day I flew an instrument ride with him. The man in the rear pulls a hood over him and flies on instruments. The man in front takes off — is a safety observer — then lands the ship. Coming in on the base leg with all the other airplanes at the same altitude — Jack was weaving in and out like today’s working-woman driver coming home in 5:00 traffic. I decided Jack did not have a nerve in his body.
Flying took good coordination between hands and feet. In every turn the pilot applied aileron to dip one wing. The up aileron created more drag than the other down aileron. To keep the ship from yawing — the pilot must apply the correct amount of rudder into the turn. Some students wore tennis shoes to get better feel of the rudder control. Boozer was a past all American football tackle for Alabama. He just could not get this coordination worked out. The instructors washed him out in basic. The Alabama quarterback was in basic — he made it through.
We still were doing spins, stalls, and acrobatics in basic. No snap rolls. The BT13 was too heavy. A snap roll is done at cruising speed — the pilot suddenly pulls the stick clear back and applies full rudder. After rolling 360 degrees — both are neutralized and continue flying straight and level. What this maneuver does is suddenly stall one wing — the combination of one stalled wing and rudder gives it the spin. It will not work with heavier ships.
The reason for all these maneuvers is to give the student the feel of the ship. A good pilot virtually becomes part of the ship with the ability to think. The reason for the stalls—say a B24 bomber is on the base leg of the landing pattern coming in with two dead engines on one side. He should always make the last turn to the approach with the dead engines high in the turn. If he comes in the wrong was at too low air speed he can flip on his back and into a spin. There is no way he can bring it out of a spin in 500 feet altitude. If he feels it coming he can dive down and prevent the crash. Thusly we practiced many spins.
Upon completion of Basic at Mirana — I was ordered to Chandler Field south east of Phoenix. This morning I loaded up Eileen and Karen and headed for Chandler. We found a place for them to live in a small ranch guesthouse outside Tempe. I stayed in the barracks at Chandler.
From Basic some students were sent to advanced for four engine — I was sent to advanced for twin engine fighter — P38 was the only one the air force had.
We started out flying twin-engine AT9 trainers. Two pilots sat side by side. It had a wing tank for each engine and a floor valve for each engine. The ship had a door on each side of the cockpits hinged in front, and each was about the size of a car door. If you had to get out in flight — it was impossible to get the door open unless you had a car jack along. We always wore parachutes but they were useless in this ship because you could not get out anyway.
My instructor was a big good-looking fellow. We would be flying along and it was his favorite trick to reach down and turn off the gas to one engine. After a certain number of these tricks I got tired of it so I turned off the gas to the other engine. You never saw an instructor clawing around a cockpit so furiously. That put an end to his gas trick with me.
There was a group of Chinese training at Chandler. One day I went in the shower to take a shower. A Chinaman was in the shower with his wrist watch on his wrist. I called his attention to it. His answer: “It’s OK. It’s waterproof
All airplanes from Basic on have variable speed propellers. The prop pitch controls the RPM of the engine. One night I was flying co—pilot for Cadet Miksa. It was pitch dark. We were about 8000 feet altitude when Miksa went into a diving turn. I asked Miksa what the trouble was. He said: “I am lost!” I suddenly realized Miksa was night blind. I took over the ship — pulled out and flew till Miksa pulled himself together.
Later in advanced we were checked out in the 322. The checkout consisted of riding one flight in a piggy—back and watching what the instructor did.
One day I was flying a 322 toward Tucson at 6000 feet altitude. I thought: Boy — what power. I’ll bet this will do a loop from cruising speed —a 1250 HP engine on each side of me. I pushed both props full forward then the throttles and pulled the wheel back. The next thing I knew I was headed straight up — no air going around the canopy — both engines digging away. If I went forward it would be in a spin — if I went over backward — spin inverted. I had been told it takes 6000 feet to bring a P38 out of a spin. I was scared speechless. The next thing I knew I was in a dive — pulled out and was going back the way I had come from at the same altitude and same air speed. What did I do? I was so scared I had pushed one rudder and did a wing over. The perfect way to ~ out of it and I did not even know I did it. That did it for me for one day — flew on back to Chandler and landed — told nobody about my stupid trick. Never — never again did I go into a loop without having the ship boiling.
At Chandler they had a terrible time with maintenance on the 322. Very seldom did a ship come back without having something wrong with it.
By now the cadets thought they were hot pilots.
One day I was walking by the bulletin board — there was a sprig of sage brush pinned up with a note saying this accounted for cadet so and so. This was taken out of his intercooler. The intercooler for each engine is in the boom behind tie engine with scoops sticking out to gather in air. The props were about 8 feet in diameter. Sagebrush grows about 3 feet high. I never did figure out how he picked up the sage without digging the props in the sand. It must have been in a severe pull up.
An air line went from Tucson to Phoenix. One day the tower at Phoenix radioed Chandler wanting to know who was making gunnery passes on the P03 flying to Phoenix. The DC3 pilot said it was several 322s. It had his passengers in hysterics. The next ready room session the CO asked who was making the passes on the air liner? No answer. He never did find out who.
Eileen and Karen were at Tempe. When I was coming home I would buzz the house and Eileen would come to Chandler and get me.
The later stage of advanced consisted of being ordered to Ajo, Arizona. The AT6 single engine airplanes were equipped with one 30 caliber machine gun shooting through the prop. We practiced strafing mostly. I would usually come back with some ammo. There were coyotes around through the sagebrush. I would dive down and try to shoot them. They turned so sharply you just could not turn the airplane with one. I do not think I ever did hit one — I might have choked one or two with dust — I do not know.
It was miserable hot in Ajo. We stayed in barracks with the windows open. One evening we went 20 miles across the border into Mexico — one of the boys had a car at Ajo. We were just killing time. I bought a bottle of Tequila and took it to the base. We each took a drink out of it and I set it in an open window and leaned it up against the screen and forgot about it. About four days later I noticed a hole in the screen. The tequila on the outside of the bottle had eaten a hole in the screen and it fell out on the ground.
After completing 3 months of advanced, the Cadets all received their 2nd Lieutenant bars and their wings. Boy — that party was something.
I had my wings and two degrees in Engineering so I made out an application to go to The Material Command at Wright Field, Dayton, Ohio. It had to go through channels of course. Nothing was heard from it till 3 months later when my outfit was going to ship out for England. Then orders came through. By this time I wanted to go overseas with my outfit. I went to the Commanding General — he said I cannot help you. The orders came from above me.
The first step of PTU was flying out of Salinas (just south of San Francisco Colonel Chenault was the CO. He was General Chenault’s son. The General was CO of the AVG in China. We flew some but the winter weather was so bad along the coast we flew very little. We virtually wasted that month playing limit poker and anything to kill time.
Eileen and Karen lived in a motel in Salinas. We had lived so many places of short duration — we did not carry a baby bed for Karen. Eileen would pull out a dresser drawer — empty it — and make a bed for Karen in the drawer. The drawer became like home to her. In the duration of flying school and TRU we lived in 11 places. Part of the time I was paying double rent.
The next step of PTU was at Van Nuys (just across the mountain north of Hollywood).
For some reason I do not remember, we found Eileen and Karen a place to live at Hermosa Beach (30 miles south of Los Angeles). It was a basement apartment dug into a cliff on the seashore. It had a blanket fastened up for a front door. You could part the blanket and look out to sea.
In the month at Van Nuys I was driving 50 miles across the city to fly and 5 back that evening — across Los Angeles. In those days it took ration stamps to buy gasoline. I was running out so one afternoon
I stopped in a ration office in Santa Monica. I had on my uniform with the wings as usual. An elderly woman was alone in the office. I told her what I needed and she gave me enough stamps to last the rest of the war. I think that if I had asked — she would have given me the whole office.
Flying out of Van Nuys was more or less uneventful. Bad weather again.
I was told that one pilot from the class ahead of me dove on the Van Nuys tower with both props feathered — pulled up — started one engine — then the other one. When he landed the instructors had his belongings all packed and setting on the parking mat. He was told to clear the post and disappear — you are washed out. The reason this was so foolish — there was one battery about the size of a car battery in the back of the left boom. To start an engine— the battery would speed up the inertia starter till it whined — then the pilot engaged it with one of the 1300 HP engines. With one running — its generator would run up the other inertia starter. What if one battery post corroded in flight — no engines? The pilot would have crashed a $50,000 airplane and lost a pilot that it cost $50,000 to train. The war could not be won that way.
The last step in PTU was Lomita. This was a field north of San Pedro and south of Los Angeles.
We practiced aerial gunnery. A Ventura transport would pull a sleeve about 100 yards behind it. We would come in – in a curve and down on the sleeve firing the 50 caliber guns as we made the pass. it was usually a flight of 4 fighters at one time. We each had different colored projectiles. When we got back to Lomita we would examine the sleeve for hits. If you hit 2% of your shots it was pretty good. It just took one in the right place to down an enemy.
One day we were out over the ocean firing at the sleeve. We were coming in from the right — suddenly to my left I saw a shell explode in the air. I looked down to my left and there was one of our ships. We were laying those 50 caliber slugs right across the deck. I radioed the tow plane — we broke it off for that day.
The P38 had a box below the guns to catch the spent casings and links that held the shells together. By pulling a lever located down between his legs the pilot could dump them out into the air. I was told — it was a favorite pastime for the pilots training out of Payne Field, Washington on the way back from gunnery practice at sea to find a ship at sea — buzz the deck and dump their spent junk across the deck.
Lt. Olson was a big good-looking Swede. In civilian life he was the manager a Safeway store in Washington. He was single and about my age. He went out about every night and was dead on his feet the next morning. Every misfortune conceivable happened to him. He would forget to lock his canopy and tear it off on take off — he blew tires on landing – and many other things I have forgotten.
One day the whole squadron went to Payne Field, Washington for two days. The CO would not let me go — I was Engineering Officer of the squadron. The morning of departure — all the rest of the squadron had gone. The other 3 airplanes in the flight Olson was to go with were circling overhead. Olson’s crew chief called him three times — had his ship all warmed up. Olson decided he better get with it — hastily put on his flying suit — ran for his ship took off and headed out to sea. The other three circling above saw him disappear, so they went on to San Francis to refuel. When they got there Olson was sitting in the PX drinking a coke. On the way back from Payne Field, Olson blew a tire on landing at San Francisco. Olson bummed a ride in a Piggy Back to Lomita. The CO would not let Olson go back to S.F. to get his ship — he sent one of the flight leaders.
When my outfit went to England — they went through the invasion of Normandy. There were 47 of my flying school class in the outfit. Six months later I was at Wright Field. I was told by a returning pilot that knew them that 3 were still flying, 4 were prisoner of war and all the rest dead. Olson was still flying. Percentage—wise what would my chances have been?
The best pilot in the outfit was Lt. Wallace. He was a tall lantern— jawed Swede. He was just simply part of his airplane. When he got on your wing in formation — he was always right there no matter what you did. He was single and a close friend of Olson. Later Wallace married just before going overseas. All the higher-ranking officers wanted Wallace for their wingman. I thought I was second best — maybe I wasn’t. I never got to go across to find out. Out of England, Wallace lost his life on the very first mission from ground fire.
One Sunday afternoon Olson and Wallace were goofing around in a Super Market and ran into two girls whose husbands had just gone overseas. One of them had a nice apartment with 2 weeks paid up rent. They were going home back east. Olson and Wallace immediately got the girls and me together. I paid her the two weeks paid up rent and moved Eileen and Karen off the cliff to this apartment. I did not think any more of it until the landlord came around to collect the rent. Eileen answered the door. He said: Who are you? I live here. WHAT? Eileen asked him in and explained. He told her: All right but when you leave let me rent the apartment. This is typical of how fast things were moving in those days.
One day I was heading out to sea to do some strafing. The guns were armed on the ground before takeoff. If the pilot touched the trigger, they fired. I was flying along about four miles from the ocean — half asleep — and touched the trigger on the wheel. It was a momentary burst. Then I began worrying. What if I hit somebody on the ground with the 50 caliber slugs. I watched the paper for 3 days — nothing— I lucked out. I never did that again.
Another day the CO sent me out to sea to do some strafing. When I came back the crew chief found a hole in one wing. A ricochet from the water had hit the wing. The fuel tanks in the wing were rubber bags. The bag sealed the hole so no fuel was leaking out.
We were taught combat landings. The object was to be on the runway in the least possible amount of time. An airplane in landing is a sitting duck for an enemy fighter. A flight of 4 would buzz the runway — the way they were going to land — at about 300 mph — pull up in single file— do a loop — put down the wheels while upside down — run out part flaps —on the way down — full flaps — pull out of the dive and land. In landing, one would take one side of the runway and the next the other side to stay out of each other’s turbulence. If done properly — all four airplanes are on the runway at one time. The P38 landed at about 85 mph. Then taxi quickly to the bunker. It took some timing to work this out. The first time — some overshot — some fell short —some missed the runway etc.
I was going overseas so I had my parents drive from Kansas to take Eileen, Karen and my car to Kansas. Dad wanted to take a flight — he had never been up in an airplane before. We had one piggy—back P38. The CO would not let me take Dad up. He had my flight leader — Grossenbacher take him up. A piggyback had the radio behind the pilot removed and a small seat installed. The passenger squeezed in first and had to ride with his head over the pilot’s shoulder. They started down the runway and about one third of the way through the run — the strut holding the nose wheel broke off. The ship went down on its nose bending up both props and some aluminum. They got out and walked back to operations. I was around Dad for the next 25 years till he died. I never heard him mention the incident. I figured that somebody had to clean up where he sat. Finally I took him up in an AT6 we had — to give him a ride.
Just before overseas sailing time — my orders came to report to the Material Command at Wright Field. My family had all gone to Kansas so I rode the rattler to Dayton, Ohio and reported in.
My assignment was to the Production Engineering Division which was later renamed The Procurement Division.
Colonel Mitchell, the CO put me in charge of the Bell P59 and the Lockheed F80 projects. First thing Mitchell ordered me to Muroc Dry Lake in California (100 miles north east of Los Angeles) to spend two weeks flying the P59 to become familiar with it.
When I first reported to the office at Wright, Major Freddie Jenks (who administrated the P61 night fighter project) advised to not spend much time on the P59 project. The F80 is THE airplane.
The air force had one P59 at Muroc. It was a twin-engine jet with the engines in the root of the wings. It was single wing and single tail. It was a little faster then the P38. It was the most beautifully balanced ship I ever flew. All other ships were nose heavy in inverted flight. Maybe it was because the guns were removed from the nose of the fuselage. The P59 could fly upside down indefinitely.
One day as I was boarding the P59, Kelly Johnson walked up and asked for a ride. Glad to take him. We went into operations — checked out a chute for him and I saw that he was fastened in.
The passenger could ride in the nose of the fuselage ahead of the cockpit. The guns had been removed and a little plywood seat installed with a safety belt. The passenger rode out in the open air. A small 6 inch plastic windshield cantilevered out of the fuselage.
I did not know Kelly personally before, but had known of him ever since I worked for Lockheed as an engineer. Kelly designed the P-38, which was a fighter ahead of its time. If it had gone into production when it should have, it would have been way—way ahead of its time. Then Kelly designed the F80, which was also ahead of its time. If the F80 had gone into combat before the war ended, it would have done wonders. As far as I am concerned, without Kelly Johnson, Lockheed would not be where it is today. He was a design genius.
Kelly would come up with an idea — make a mock-up and a small model to use in the wind tunnel tests. When it was finished it seemed like he always had a top performer. He did not do the structural design — that was done laboriously by the engineering department.
I had watched Kelly go up behind a Lockheed test pilot. I knew he had flown. So I proceeded to show him what the P59 would do. It could be valuable to him for design in the future.
We did a stall — no spins or snap rolls— slow rolls — Cuban eight —chandelle — lastly the 4 leaf clover. To do a good 4 leaf clover — the sun must be shining — you are upside down so much it can’t be done well without the sun to go by. You do a loop to the south — loop to the east —loop to the north — loop to the west — then as you come out of it you do a slow roll by eighths to the south—west. We were doing the slow roll— when we were upside—down I saw a hand in front of me with the thumb pointing to the ground. First thought — Kelly is sick. We landed —Kelly jumped out of his seat and disappeared before I could get out of the cockpit. He even left his chute in his seat.
I did not think any more of it till three weeks later I saw him at a Lockheed meeting in Burbank. I overheard him telling someone else about the flight in the P59. He said: “That Young was trying to kill me!”
There were only about 11 P59 airplanes built. The F80 was coming up which was far superior for the air force.
After a while in the office my rank went to Captain. After several months, as the F80 project was becoming hotter — Major George Selvin was assigned to the project over me — then months later Bird Colonel George Price came in over both of us. We all worked together in harmony. I was the most active flying officer in the office. Major Webb and Capt. Roger Stemen both flew some. Colonel George Price, Lt Col. Bill Council, and Lt. Col. Carter were pilots. The rest were non—flying officers. I preferred to do my work in the office in the morning and test fly something in the afternoon.
The regular air force pilots told me that in the late 1930s the air force ran low on money. They limited each pilot to 4 hours per month. That killed more pilots than a war. I believe every bit of it. To this day I will ride with any air line pilot, but avoid the privately owned airplanes whose owner flies once a month.
After about a month in the office, Bomber Flight Test called and wanted a B24 copilot to go to Pratt—Whitney in Hartford, Connecticut to run some high altitude tests. Col Mitchell said I could go and cut the orders. I wanted to check out in the B24 anyway. Capt Shields from Bomber Flight Test was the pilot.
Four Pratt Whitney radial engines powered the B24. The engine consisted 9 cylinders in one circular row and another 9 behind, making a total of 18 cylinders. They were cooled by air flowing through fins around each cylinder. Every nacelle was surrounded by cowl flaps. On take off the pilot always closed the cowl flaps to reduce air resistance. The cylinder temperature would heat up — then at about 100 feet in altitude he would open the cowl flaps up some to cool off the cylinder heads —called faieing the cowl flaps. As I remember, this engine would develop 1800 HP.
Shields and I flew the B24 to New York — landed at LaGuardia Field. Two WACs heard Shields filing his flight plan and hitched a ride to LaGuardia. I thought Shields was a little interested in one of them but they walked out of the airplane — said: “Thanks boys” and disappeared so that was that. We checked in a hotel room — ate — and decided to look New York over a little. We went in three places — one of them was Jack Dempsey’s bar. A cute little girl came up “Picture sir?” Shields said “Sure”. She raised her camera — went— snap— $15 please. Shields said “Pay her John” — Boy! That evening we were propositioned three times in one block. New York is too rough for me — I have never been there again.
The next morning we were on the way to Hartford and ran into icing on the leading edge of the wings. The B24 has rubber boots that you can expand with air pressure. That just cracked the ice right off. You do not dare let too much ice build up on the wing or it destroys the airflow by changing the shape of the wing. Then down you go. This is the only time I ever got into wing icing. A fighter can change altitude so fast deicers are unnecessary.
Later we found out that the AF would have loaned Pratt Whitney the airplane but none of their test pilots were checked out in the B24 and the insurance to cover them was going to cost $100,000. By having us fly it, all it cost the company was our hotel bill and the gasoline.
We were put up at the Bond Hotel — Pratt Whitney footed our room, board, and bar bill.
Shields stayed two weeks and was ordered back to Wright and Capt. Lyle Ryan was sent in his place. We stayed the 2 months till all the tests were completed.
Lyle became a close friend. In civilian life, Lyle, his brother, and his Dad ran a painting business in Chicago.
I failed to mention that when I went to Wright, Eileen was expecting our second daughter, Janie so she stayed in her home town. I lived with Lyle Ryan and George Selvin till Eileen was ready to come to Dayton.
Back to Hartford, while we were there Pratt Whitney’s Chief Test Pilot wanted to check out in the B24. Ryan said “sure”. I was just observing all this from behind the cockpit. I had already checked out but Lyle was checking him out. They were shooting landings. He bounced a little but not bad. This man had 5000 flying hours but all in small planes. Ryan could not get him to throttle clear back, then in taxiing he kept inching the throttles forward and riding the brakes. The brakes on the main gear could not stand the pull of 7,200 HP of engines. We were taxiing and Kincaid, the crew chief yelled: “Fire”. We all jumped out and ran off the runway into the weeds. The right wheel was on fire. Pretty soon after it did not explode, Kincaid ran to the ship and came out with a fire extinguisher and put out the blaze. We went back to the ship and were climbing in when “Whooom” it caught fire again — back to the weeds. After this it did not catch again. After parking the man asked Lyle “How about it” Lyle answered: “ I think the ship is too much for you”. That is all it took — he was not checked out.
One day one of us bought a fifth of rum. Lyle and I were sharing the same room. We took a drink out of it and set it on the dresser and forgot it. After several days I noticed the level was going down. Ryan — are you hitting the rum? No — aren’t you? We decided it was the Hotel help —so we marked the level with a pen. Next evening it was down 2 fingers. Evening after that – down 2 fingers again. Each check we would mark the level again. This went on till it was empty. Then we put a note on it “Please take your empty with you” — it disappeared. The maid or somebody would have a belt every day.
While at Pratt and Whitney they showed me a new engine they were developing. It was an air—cooled radial — 9 cylinders to the bank and 6 banks deep. The trouble was in cooling the back two banks.
This engine had a total of 54 cylinders. By the time the air flow went over the front four banks and cooled them — the air was probably heated so much it could not cool the back two. I never heard any more about this engine that they called “the corncob”. If it developed HP according to the later souped up 18 cylinder radials did — the “corn cob” would have developed 6000 HP. There was no known aircraft engine — either radial or in—line that developed anywhere near that HP. The jet engines were coming along so I would guess the “corn cob” was scuttled.
In flying — rank was usually ignored. A Colonel’s life was dependent on his enlisted crew chief.
Ryan told me that one day he was flying co—pilot for a bird colonel. On take off, the Colonel would not push the throttles clear forward. Co—pilot Capt Ryan hacked the Colonel’s wrists to get his hands off the throttles and Ryan jammed them clear forward before they ran out of runway. Nothing was ever said about it. Ryan’s life was at stake too. Everybody that ever flew with me was on a “first name basis”. On the street — enlisted men always saluted an officer and the officer returned it. In the air force — the street was the end of that kind of stuff.
On returning from Hartford, I lived with George and Betty Selvin and Lyle and Dorothy Ryan till Eileen was ready to come to Dayton. George Selvin was a natural comedienne. – he just kept people laughing constantly.
When Eileen was ready to come to Dayton, I went after them and drove my old Chevy back. We had two daughters now — Karen and Janie. I rented a house and became acquainted with the owner — named Young. He rented his houses with the stipulation that the renter would maintain the drains. Upon inquiry as to why, he said that 98% of the time he would dig up a clogged drain and find it clogged with Kotex the wife had flushed down the stool. By having the renter maintain I drains, the husband would have to dig up the drain and he would see that this did not happen.
I lived at home in Dayton. I was gone about half of the time. When I was going to be gone, Eileen would drive me out to Wright so she could have the car. When I returned home, I would buzz the house and she would come to Wright and pick me up.
All 4-engine bombers had an instrument panel that reached across in front of both pilots.
The B24 had a fine automatic pilot. It was a Minneapolis—Honeywell electric. Someway the automatic pilot was tied in with the turbo— superchargers. Every pilot carried a small screwdriver in his flying suit. Before the take off run — taxi to one side — multi-engine aircraft are easy to taxi — you turn with the outside engines. Holding the brakes — run #1 prop to full RPM — advance #1 throttle clear forward -turn the automatic pilot dial to the stop —put the screw driver down the #1 hole in the automatic pilot box and turn it till you read a manifold pressure of 65 inches mercury. Back off #1 and do the same for #2 — #3 — and #4. Taxi out on runway — close all 4 cowl flaps— run down a few degrees of wing flaps —all props clear forward —all throttles clear forward (this just gives 28 inches manifold pressure till you cut the turbos in with the automatic pilot)— then rotate the automatic pilot dial to the stop (65 inches mercury) — get off the brakes and you are off.
In flight — the way I always synchronized the 4 props was to synchronize #1 and #2 by looking through the propellers. Then #3 and #4 visually and get the two sides together by ear. If the props are not synchronized on a lo trip they will drive the occupants crazy.
Most aircraft had electric props but the B17 had hydraulic props. The electric automatic pilots would hold the altitude within 25 feet —the hydraulic autopilots that I flew would vary by 125 feet.
The air force issued a directive that all pilots would use the checklist for preflight checks — take off — and landing. It was a plastic covered sheet hung beside the pilot in every ship. I decided the best way to get killed was to have my head down in the cockpit reading the check list I never looked at one of them. I wound up with a library of books on the airplanes I flew. I knew everything about an airplane and all its auxiliary systems before I ever got into it.
I wanted to check out in the B25. One weekend I went with Capt. Horn from Bomber Flight Test in a B25. We started from Dayton on Friday morning. Friday afternoon, Horn took care of his business in Los Angeles and we spent that night in L.A. Saturday morning we flew to Seattle and Horn took care of his business there. Sunday morning we took off for Dayton, Ohio. About noon, we refueled at Salt Lake and took on 25 enlisted men hitching a ride east. Wing tanks were all the fuel we had. I was flying and I climbed up a ravine at minimum power to get over the Rockies. Going over Illinois it became dark. Our radio compass quit working. In the dark you can see no railroad tracks and the towns are all so close together you can work out no pattern of towns. Horn and I agreed to stick close to the magnetic heading. To add to the situation, we were about to run out of gasoline. If we missed Dayton we did not have enough gas to hunt around. We sent word back to the 25 passengers “Put on your parachutes”. We hit Wright dead center — we had no cross wind. We landed about 9:00 PM. The 25 passengers piled out of that B25 and by the time Horn and I got to the operations room — the 25 parachutes laid in a pile. Nobody in sight — not one of them thanked us. I was checked out in the B25. this week end — we traveled about 5000 miles. The B25 cruises like a fighter.
A number of interesting tales came back from the combat zones. Major Barsoti was chief of Fighter Flight Test the latter part of the war. Barsoti was a college graduate of engineering like me. I thought Barsoti really knew what he was doing. Barsoti flew his allotment of missions in a P40 in North Africa. He told me that oneday he was coming back from a mission and he developed engine trouble. He landed on a dry lakebed and got the engine fixed. He took off and headed home. Pretty soon a rattlesnake came crawling from under his seat up between his legs. The cockpit of every fighter is so tight — the pilot cannot swing his elbows outward. Nothing but controls in front and on both sides of him. I asked Barsoti: What did you do? He answered: I pulled the P40 up in a near stall and slid him back. The snake showed two more times before Barsoti got to the field. After landing, he jumped out of the cockpit and ran as fast as he could go.
Now — how could this happen? The P40 had a tail wheel. When the Gear was down for landing, it left a hole in the bottom of the fuselage. The fuselage of many single engine fighters was an open tunnel from the pilot’s seat to the tail. While Barsoti was working on the engine — the snake crawled up the tail wheel and into the fuselage. BRRRRRR.
Capt Lyle Ryan my close friend, flew all his missions in North Africa in a B24 bomber. One day he was coming back from a mission with his crew and Lyle decided to buzz the supply officer’s tent. The supply officer was his drinking buddy. The tent was a vertical pole with tarp going to the ground on 4 sides — held down with stakes. Lyle fot a little too low and ran the pole into the fuselage underneath the Bombardier. The pole, tent, and stakes all went along with the bomber. Looking back — there sat his buddy at his desk and typewriter out in the sun. I asked Lyle if the pole bothered him on landing. “Naw, the pole just broke off”.
Ryan was coming back from another mission flying on the deck. Everybody all relaxed when his waist gunner spied an Arab leading 2 camels some distance away. His 50-caliber gun went Pat—a—tat and one camel flipped on his back. The last they saw of the Arab he was shaking his fist at them.
Ryan was one of the B24 ships on the Ploesti raid. They took off in North Africa — flew across the Mediterranean Sea — on across Europe to the Ploesti oil field in Rumania. The distance was so great —it was questionable if they all had enough gas to make the return trip.
Lyle said they came in at hay stack level and just blew the Ploesti oil field all to Hell. Lyle made it back to North Africa but a number of them went down in the Mediterranean. They were picked up by the Navy.
The Ploesti oil field was supplying Germany with oil. I have always thought this raid had a lot to do with bringing Germany to their knees.
I proceeded to check out as 1st pilot in the B17, A26, C49, C53, navy PBY, P51 P47, P61 night fighter, F80, C45, AT27, and all the variations of each model.
When I went to check out in the C49, I called up Lyle Ryan in Bomber Flight Test. It was a big hulk powered by two 2000 HP Radial Pratt Whitney engines. It would not even maintain altitude on one engine with no load in the ship. It had a conventional landing gear — main gear and tail wheel. I was told it was a ground looping so and so. On landing I nearly let it get away from me. We parked, Ryan says: “ Do you think you can handle it?” I said: “Yes”. He signed my papers and I never got in it again. I do not understand how those guys made it over the 18,000 hump into China with a load on board.
I flew a PBY in Niagara Falls — one flight. It had a floating hull and a retractable landing gear. It cruised at 90 knots and stalled at 70 knots. I never flew that one again either.
I was used to having some HP at my fingertips. These airplanes that just marginally flew did not impress me at all.
The AT27 was an interesting airplane. It was a plywood ship powered by two inverted—V Ranger engines. All the other engines took off at 2600 RPM to 2800 RPM. The Ranger engines took off at 3550 PPM. Going down the runway they sounded like two chain saws. I only flew it locally — a nice flying airplane.
At Wright they all knew I liked to run test flights — I got calls from Fighter Flight Test, Bomber Flight Test, Armament Branch, Instrument Branch, Engine Branch, and others. When coming back from the test flight, I would write up exactly the way it looked to me. Barsoti was a flying engineer. I was the only other active one that I knew of. I think my write—ups were accurate, to the point, and appreciated.
It was a winter day with ice all over the runways and parking ramps. I flew copilot in a B29 with a pilot from Bomber Flight Test. I never did check out in the B29. This one was the only one on Wright. They were all going overseas as fast as they were built by Boeing. I could see it was a real good airplane. The only mishap was on parking after the flight was over. The aircraft on Wright were parked in rows. We were parking next to a transport — the pilot put on brakes to stop. The ice was so slick, the airplane slid sideways a little and clipped wing tips with the transport.
I had checked out in the Northrop built F61 — the night fighter. It weighed around 27,000 pounds but was stressed as a fighter. The fighters were stressed for 8 G with an ultimate of 12G. The bombers were stressed for 6 G with an ultimate of 9 G. The F61 was powered by two 2000 HP Pratt Whitney radial engines. The pilot rode in front — an observer just behind him — and a radar operator behind the radar equipment riding backwards.
Two non—flying officers from the office wanted to go up — so I checked out a F61. I showed them some simple acrobatics when the man in the rear riding backwards got sick. Wright Field had a rule that if anyone gets sick — the pilot must clean it up before leaving the ship. It seemed like I was always cleaning up a ship.
Price ordered me to make a trip to Burbank. Rather than fly myself, I bummed a ride with Major Newby who was flying a F61 to Los Angeles anyway. Approaching Oklahoma City the left engine started running real rough. Newby shut it down — feathered the prop and landed with one engine. It was Saturday afternoon about 4:30 PM. There was a Modification depot there — we requested somebody to look at the engine. We were told: “We are just leaving — see you Monday morning”. We did not want to be stuck there over the weekend. I hunted around — found a tray of tools unlocked outside the locked doors and found a ladder outside — the engine was about 12 feet in the air. The distributor was about as big around as a dinner plate and had 19 wires coming out of it — one hot wire and 18 wires going to the cylinders. It was at the bottom with a stainless steel hose clamp. I loosened the clamp and started rotating the distributor (just like on a car engine). Then after each adjustment — told Newby to start it and run it up. It was a night fighter and had dampers on the exhaust so the fire from the exhaust could not be seen from ground. At first the flame shot out a foot. After about six tries —we had it running smooth and no visible flame. We returned the ladder and tools — spent the night — next morning Newby flew it to Los Angeles with no more trouble.
We had a lot of ice at Wright in the winters. I came in to land a B24 on a sheet ice runway one day — on touching I noticed it was quite a while before the wheels of the main gear started turning. After parking I looked at the tires. Where the tires touched the runway and slid — it had burned a spot through the tread clear down to the cord. It had ruined a good set of tires.
One day I came in to land at Wright with a B25. Immediately on touching, the main right tire blew out. Immediately (traveling 85 MPH) the casing started twisting in knots. The first thing I knew there was fire shooting out from behind the instrument panel in front of me and it was so rough it felt like the landing gear was running over 18 inch diameter rocks. All instrument panels were suspended from rubber Llord Mounts to absorb the engine vibration. It was pounding up and down so bad it was shorting out some instruments behind the panel. I wondered if the landing gear strut could take it but it did. There was no danger of ground looping because the B25 had a tricycle landing gear. I taxied it to one side of the runway and walked to operations. The crews towed it in. My only blowout.
On most airplanes, the fuel tanks were filled from necks in the top of the wing. I was flying a B24 and saw gasoline coming off the trailing edge of the right wing. A mechanic had left the filler cap off on that tank. The airflow over every wing creates a vacuum on the top and was sucking the gas right out of the tank. The lift on every wing that supports the aircraft in the air is dynamic (impact) pressure on the lower part of the wing 40% of the lift) and vacuum on top (60% of the lift). The leaking gasoline had not caught fire. If it did, gasoline fumes burn at the rate of 90 MPH. The fire would not have caught up with me in flight, but would have caught up on landing. It never caught fire. Hereafter I checked the filler caps more closely.
Lieutenant Bill Owens was in the office — a good friend. He was married to Sally. Every time I was at his house, he was giving Sally a rough time. One day I asked him why he was so rough on Sally. His answer:
“What do you think is — a good husband?” One day at lunch, Bill was grumbling: ”I do not know why I ever got married. I do too— there wasn’t any blood left in my head”. Major Sam Bishop (bachelor) laughed for 5 minutes.
One day Bill told me he wanted to fly. All right, I’ll teach you. I checked out a 045 and we went to Vandalia to shoot some landings. Bill was flying on the first landing. He bounced 75 feet into the air. I immediately took over — added throttle to the two engines and nursed it down. Lets take off and do it again. Bill said “No thanks, that did it for me. Let’s go home” A short flying career.
Nearby Patterson Field had a nice golf course. I played a lot of golf with Bill. When he flubbed a shot, he would curse and throw his club as hard as he could. He always threw it the way he was going to walk — pick it up as he went by. One day he was counting his irons and he was one short — he had forgotten to pick one up the last time out. He broke up a matched set of irons. I never saw him throw a club again.
Bill’s Dad was Brigadier General Owens. He came to Wright to see Bill. I went to lunch with them. I asked the General: “Do you like to fly?” He answered: “You bet. I like the smell of gasoline fumes and horse manure equally well.”
When Bill was a boy, the family was stationed in the Philippines. Their house was built up on stilts. Underneath the house Bill kept his zoo. He had monkeys, lizards, and what not.
When the air force was going to build Clark Field, Lieutenant Clark was out in the jungle horseback looking over the location when a large python swung down from a tree limb and knocked Clark out of the saddle. Apparently, the python dropped to the ground, threw coils on Clark, squeezing him out like a spaghetti, and tried to swallow him. Clark was too big for him to swallow, so he departed. The horse came running into camp wild-eyed. They back tracked the horse and found the dead Lt. Clark. They named the field after him, Clark Field.
On Saturdays Bill liked to go to the zoo and watch them feed a big python in his cage. They fed him once a week. They picked up a stray dog out of the pound and put it in the cage with the python. The snake would slowly follow him around the cage — the terrified dog running ahead of him. Finally the snake would become exasperated, whip his tail across the cage, knock the dog stem—windir quickly throw coils around him, and that was his meal for the week.
1st Lieutenant Paul Hollowell was in charge of the P51 project in the office. He came to me one day — the P51 project at North American was held up by the lack of landing gear ingots. The steel mill would cast the ingots — then North American would machine them into the finished landing gear castings.
By phone, Paul found them at a little town in Pennsylvania — they had just been made but it would take a week and a half to freight them to California. I checked out a 055, flew to Pennsylvania, landed at a nearby little field. Major Sam Bishop wanted his 4 hours; he went with me. The company had the ingotsat the field in a truck. We put an ingot in every seat — fastened them in with the seat belt. Then the problem was take-off. ingot weighed over 100 pounds — we were loaded. It was a little short runway with a row of trees on the far end. We sat there looking at it — I asked Sam if he wanted to fly it. He said no — you do it. I taxied to the fence at the far end — held the brakes tight — ran the engines up to full power — then turned the brakes loose. As soon as possible I raised the tail to cut down drag. We made it. From Wright they sent the ingots on to California in another ship.
One weekend I had some minor business to take care of in Kansas City. I figured that while I was near, it was a good time to go to my hometown, Centralia, Kansas, to visit my folks. I took off I took off from Kansas City — flew to Centralia — so they would drive to Topeka to pick me up. The P51 was full of fuel so I gave the little town my acrobatic routine. The P51 was a good acrobatic airplane. They were all out in the streets watching. The Congregational Minister lived next to my folks. The Minister walked over to my Dad and asked: “George — what have you been feeding that boy?” It was just a weekend visit.
In flying school we were taught to stall every airplane on landing. This is a must on the deck of a carrier — but I was not flying off a carrier. I got so I just “flew in” every one of them.
My office job consisted of a number of business trips to Niagara Falls and Burbank. For the trips, I preferred flying a fighter of a B25. The B25 was powered by two 1600 HP Wright engines. The Wright engines were two banks of 7 cylinders each — radial engines. The B25 would cruise at 200 MPH and had a good supply of fuel. I would take off from Dayton, Ohio at 8:AM and land in Los Angeles before dark.
Colonel George Price was a large full-blooded Indian. His buddy was Colonel Moe Bradley. They were both Regular Air Force. (I was Reserve Air Force). George was a bachelor and Moe was married with family. One day Lt. Bill Owens (my age) went to George and said “George, I think I will get married”. George said: “Bill what do you want to do that for? I have a ranch in Virginia with sheep on it, why don’t you make a trip there instead?”
Time went on. Bill married Sally. Moe was killed. Later George married Moe’s widow. Bill went to George and asked: ”George, what happened to those sheep?” George in his deep gruff voice said: “What do you mean?”
This is all hearsay with me. It all happened before I was ordered to Wright Field. George and Moe would walk down the Flight Line at Wright and each pick out the plane they wanted to fly that day. Up they would go in different kinds of planes. Both were superb pilots.
George administrated the bell P39 project and Moe administrated the Curtis—Wright P40 project. They would frequently make business trips to Niagara Falls together. After their days business was taken care of— often they would go to a bar to consume a few. Before they left they would throw everybody else out.
One day George was talking to Larry Bell, the head of Bell Aircraft. George said: Larry, the biggest thing wrong with your company is that you have too many Chiefs and not enough Indians.
Bell Aircraft had an air field adjoining the Bell Aircraft property. It also served as the Niagara Falls Municipal airport. When Larry bought the property, there was a house on the line between the Aircraft Co. and the airport. Bell kept the house for lodging transient Air Force pilots.
One Sunday morning we were all asleep in this house when a WHOOOM that shook the house woke us up. Bill Owens was there with me. Bill looked out a stairway window and saw flames shooting 400 feet into the air from a burning plane one-fourth a mile from the house on the runway. We put on our uniforms and went to see what it was all about.
A Major Redans was taking off for New Jersey in a B25 with several radar experts and other important designers on board. Niagara Falls was Redan’s hometown. He landed to have a short visit with his wife, his children, and his parents. He took off, made a left circle around the field, and came down the runway buzzing the tower for his family’s benefit. When he pulled up hard to clear Bell Aircraft, he high—speed stalled it right on the deck. It hit the ground cooling almost straight down and of course the 700 gallons of gasoline burned.
The police kept every one else off the field. Five pilots that were staying in the house went to work.
We got Redans flight plan that he had filed with operations. It listed all the people on board. We commandeered 12 peach baskets and put a name on each one from the flight plan. Anything we could find in the wreckage would go in his basket. It took us till 4:00 PM to do all we could. Some baskets were empty, so to send something to the family, we transferred something with no identification.
Redans and three men in the nose went right out through the front and were neatly lined up 100 feet in front of the wreck — head first. I had never seen human brains before. Beyond each head was a streak of orange colored material. Those four were easy to identify.
The two Wright engines and landing gear were each buried in 4-foot holes in the asphalt. Two men were riding over the main gear. Down in each hole was the remains of a man. All that was left looked like a 10 pound roast. The remains of the other six were scattered all over the wreckage in pieces and bits. This was the worst crash I ever had anything to do with.
Now to go back to flying school days. This is exactly why they taught us stalls, spins, and snaprolls. If Redans had of instantly felt the stall coming, he could have eased forward on the wheel and the crash would never have happened. Most airplanes can be stalled at a little under cruising speed if you pull back hard enough on the wheel. Fighter pilots, in the heat of battle will do about anything to avoid being shot up. They have to know their airplane.
The B25 that Redans was flying was a beautiful flying machine —no bad traits. I never did figure out how this could have happened.
In Niagara Falls, often all the transient air force pilots were invited to parties. Once in while we went. One Saturday night we were going from bar to bar and wound up at one of the girl’s residence. They had a swimming pool with guest bathing shorts. Mine was too large for me. I dived in, came up, and my suit was floating about 10 feet from me. The guests thought it was a good joke. That night, a Bell Helicopter Test Pilot left his motorcycle somewhere. He hunted all the next day to find where he had left it.
About this time the Bell P59 was scratched and all the heat was on the F80 project. The ship was powered by a General Electric I-40 jet engine that had 4000 pounds thrust at the beginning of the take off run. Empty, the ship weighed about 6000 pounds. With full wing tip tanks it held 750 gallons of JP-7 (kerosene) fuel. It was armed with 8 each 59 caliber guns. The ship took off at 11,500 RPM and cruised at 10,500 PPM It cruised at 470 MPH compared to 210 with the prop fighters. At the 470 MPH on the deck the power poles went by like a picket fence.
The engine was mounted behind the pilot like the P51 and Pj59. The air came through a scoop on each side of the fuselage, went through a blower that was driven by a common shaft through the turbine from the rear, then through 7 tubes on the outside of the engine, back —then forward — then back again into the turbine and out the tail pipe. I do not remember just where the fuel was injected.
When the engine is run up on the parking ramp — people must stay clear of the air intake ducts I was told that one mechanic was sucked partly into one duct and boogered up pretty good. The air stream coming out of the tail pipe was nothing to be trifled with. If you stepped into it, you wound up scorched and going head over heels down the parking ramp — and skinned up.
Of the horsepower developed, 15% went to propel the aircraft and 85% went to drive the blower. I knew at the time the engine was inefficient because of two reversals in the high speed airflow, but it was the best we had and we were fighting a war.
If the aircraft took off and stayed at low altitude at take—off power, in 35 minutes you were out of fuel. It it were climbed to 50,000 feet altitude it was good safely for 90 minutes.
The engine idled at 6000 PPM. In the early models, the problem was descending from 30,000 feet without coming too close to the speed of sound and without running out of fuel.
George Price, George Selvin, and I talked it over and decided the pilot needed what we called a Mach—meter. We directed Lockheed to start installing them in the F80. They developed one that worked perfectly. They had this same trouble with the p38 (they called it compressibility). In simple terms, the instrument showed the percentage of the speed of sound the ship was traveling. It took into account the air pressure and the speed of the ship. We never exceeded the Mach reading of 85. That meant 85% of the speed of sound. The speed of sound at sea level if about 750 mph and at 35,000 feet of altitude, it is around 550 mph. This step helped in descending.
Lockheed, on their own, came out with a dive flap. It was located underneath the fuselage about even with the middle of the wing. It was about the size of the top of a shoebox. It was hinged in front and actuated out in the rear by a small hydraulic cylinder controlled from the cockpit. It was unbelievable what a help that little plate was in descending.
Another early problem was experienced in descending the engine would die. The fuel mixture was controlled by a barometric control that leaned the mixture at higher altitude and on descending, richened it up again. The barometric control on descending would stick in the lean position. On descending, with all that air going around the cockpit at an air speed of Mach 85, the pilot could not tell whether the engine was running behind him or not. I never did have an engine accidentally die on me.
The way an 1—40 was started was to push the start button and hold it down. The blower (and turbine of course) would keep going faster and faster. In (approximately 30 seconds as I remember) the PPM would reach 6000 PPM — then you turn on the fuel. When it catches —get off the starter button. The battery was supposed to have three starts. Lockheed knew it did have on the ground. In a flight over Muroc — I purposely shut off the engine and let the blower come to a complete stop three times in one descent. The battery had the three starts.
All the chancy tests are run at Muroc. As I have stated before —Muroc is about 100 miles north east of Los Angeles. Muroc is a dry lake bed about 3 miles wide and 9 miles long. The length of it is divided by a rail road bridge — leaving about 5 miles unobstructed on the north. In effect it is a landing field 3 miles wide and 5 miles long. No vegetation ever seems to grow on it. If a pilot could not hit this, he is not going to live long anyway. I think Muroc has a little water in it in the winter which evaporates and soaks away, then the floor is made of curled plates about a foot square – like any mud that has dried up. You read in the paper that the last space shuttle landed on Muroc. A perfect place for that.
The P51 was a single engine fighter. Empty, it weighed around 6000 pounds. It was powered by one 1400 HP Merlin (English) engine mounted behind the pilot. In flight, the engine behind you sounded like it was grinding rocks — but it sure put out the HP. The Allison was patterned after the Merlin but it always seemed to me that the Allison ran a lot smoother.
As time went on, I was test flying out of Wright. One day the Armament Division called and asked me to fly a P51 on a gunnery test. They explained that the rate of firing a standard 50 caliber gun was 750 rounds per minute. They had someway stepped these guns up to 1200 per minute. The P51 had 8 guns, 4 in each wing. I was to fly up to one of the Great Lakes out in nowhere and try them out. Lake Eerie was about an hour away —I found a little deserted island with nobody near. I came down on the end of the island in about a 45 degree dive and fired a 2 second burst with the 8 guns. The 2 seconds fired 320 shells. In the 2 seconds — the air speed of the airplane had gone from 450 MPH down to 200 MPH – I was hanging from the shoulder harness. It nearly tore the end off that little island. A cloud of rocks and dirt was flying 150 feet in the air. I had strafed with 8 ea. 50 caliber guns before but never saw anything like this.
Another time the Instrument Branch called and wanted me to fly a P38. They had mounted a new antenna on top of the fuselage — right in front of the pilot’s eyes. They wanted me to take it up and see if the antenna would stay on. This time I nearly lost me and the ship both. It was in a dive (at about 6000 feet), the air speed was going on past 550 MPH. I felt a quiver in the tail and right quick pulled it out. The P38 was well faired and heavy — it did not take it long in a dive to get right up there. That was a close call — all over a stupid little antennae.
Another time I was ordered to go to an assembly plant near New York, pick up a new P47, fly it to San Francisco and leave it for tests. In these cases travel to and from was any way we could but I hated to ride the rattler and next to refused to board a ship on the ocean. I hitched a ride to New York in another airplane.
Early on Sunday morning – we worked 7 days a week — the country was at war — I picked up the P47. It was full of fuel (no drop tanks) and filed a flight plan from New York to Memphis, Tennessee. The weather was supposed to be clear all the way. The P47 had one Pratt and Whitney 2000 HP engine and conventional (tail wheel) landing gear. I was going to be in the air for around 5 hours. The first thing that happened over the city of Baltimore I was leaning out the mixture to save gasoline. Every time it would near the cruising mixture the engine would go “BLOOOOOMP and start to die. It only had one engine so I had to fly 4 hours with a richer mixture —more gas consumption. After several hours the cloud cover was becoming lower and lower — obviously was approaching a cold front. I kept on heading for Memphis figuring maybe I could squeeze under it. Nobody intentionally flew a fighter on instruments. Bombers were equipped for it but not fighters. Finally 100 miles short of Memphis, (running low on gasoline) I made a 180 degree turn so low that I dragged one wing tip through the tops of the pine trees.
Now where was I? I got out a map — Smyrna, Tennessee had a field. It was ahead — but here. Every fighter was equipped with a little radio about the size of a soda cracker box. This one was mounted on the floor by my right elbow. Most of them did not work but this one did. I found I was on an airway of beacons leading right to Smyrna — I followed it. On sighting Smyrna a bunch of B24 bombers were shooting touch and go landings. I radioed tower on VHF that I was coming straight in — no landing pattern or anything — I am running out of fuel. If need be I’ll land right on top of one of those B24s. B24s were doing chandelles and every maneuver you could think of to get out of the way. They did not know just where I was but heard me tell the tower on their VHF. I landed and did not have enough gasoline to taxi in. They had to tow the P47 off the runway.
It was in the afternoon. I got my B-4 bag — got a room in the BOQ— went to bed without eating and did not awaken till mid morning the next morning. That was a close call.
The front brought an ice storm. I was weathered in the three days. I was eager to go on so I could get back to the office. The third morning I filed a flight plan for the next stop. The B24s were still not moving. The pilots gathered outside operations to see this fighter with a tail wheel take off on a sheet of ice. I made it.
The characteristics of the different landing gears are as follows: The conventional gear has a main gear and a tail wheel. The center of gravity of the aircraft is behind the main gear. Very little happens in take off because the pull of the prop tends to pull you straight. But in landing — if the tail wheel gets a little to one side — the center of gravity being behind the main gear tends to swing the airplane on around into a ground loop. This condition is aggravated even more if brakes are being applied to the main gear. In the two lower stages of flying school there was one or more ground loops every day. Sometimes it skinned up the wing tip — sometimes no damage.
The tricycle landing gear like the P38 has (nose wheel) has the center of gravity ahead of the main gear. — in between the main gear and the nose wheel. There is no way this arrangement can be ground looped — no matter how hard you try to ground loop it.
One day my drinking buddy and next door neighbor, Navy Lieutenant Sam Monnahan wanted to fly to his home town from Dayton and spend the week end. I tried to check out an air force ship but they were all tied up. Sam checked out an AT6 the navy had (two place trainer). It would make the trip. His hometown was just south east of Baltimore. We made it there all right and he saw his buddies. In civilian life Sam managed a Department Store. We flew to Baltimore Sunday afternoon and stayed there that night.
Monday morning we started for Dayton. Again he forecast was CAVU (clear all the way). Pretty soon he had a low overcast. The farther we went the higher it became. Next thing, the radio quit working. We were becoming low on gasoline — we needed to land. But getting down through that solid overcast with no radio? We kept flying west and suddenly we came to a hole through the overcast created by the heat from one of the steel mills in Pittsburg. I told Sam we were going down by circling within the hole. I knew where the airfield was. I had landed there a couple of times. The fog was almost right on the ground over Pittsburg. We were flying down low over the river trying to find the airfield when we came to a bridge. He had to climb to get over the bridge and there we were right back in the soup. All we could do was to climb up on top again. We continued flying west. I asked Sam if he was ready to jump (we both had parachutes) — he said: “You’re flying”. If anything happened, we could have been court-martialed on 6 counts. Sam had a box of dressed chickens on board that a friend had given him. About 35 miles west of Pittsburg, the cloud cover broke up and there was a little auxiliary field. I speared the AT6 onto it right quick. We taxied in and parked on a cinder parking space in front of operations. Sam got out first, got down on his hands and knees on this cinder parkway with his full dress uniform on and kissed the cinders. All the field had was 91 Octane gas — we filled up with it and flew on to Wright Field with no mishaps. I was sure when Sam took the chickens out of the airplane.
By this time I was doing quite a little high altitude flying — between 30,000 feet and 39,000 feet. The standard parachute is 24 feet in diameter. I weighed 200 pounds and if I ever had to jump, I would thump the ground pretty hard. In addition, at 35,000 feet it is 35 degrees below zero — winter and summer — seasons make no difference. From a jump at 35,000 feet I could pull the rip—cord after jumping — freeze to death on the slow decent — pass out from lack of oxygen — or delay opening the chute and fall freely till I fell to heavier air and open the chute — if I passed out and did not come too in time to open the chute — curtains. I did not want any part of either case.
The parachute room dug up a 28 foot chute and sewed a small oxygen bottle into the harness of the chute. To use it I poked the end of a hose into my mouth and pulled a small wooden handle on the bottle. I wore this outfit the rest of my flying career. I never had to use it. When I got out of the air force, I took the chute home with me. Finally one of my daughters cut up the silk to make a dress.
All Parachutes were turned into the parachute room to be opened, inspected, and repacked once every 3 months. Once a year they were drop tested. To drop test a chute, they fastened a 200 lb. dummy in the harness and pushed it out of an airplane flying about 1000 feet in altitude.
One day at Wright, 2 pilots were taking off in a Lockheed Ventura transport. They had a load of dummies and parachutes to drop test. One man was in the back to throw out the dummies. The pilots had failed to neutralize the tail trim tab. The trim tab on this airplane was so severe — the pilots could not overpower it. It was cranked to full tail heavy trim tab. As they cleared the runway the nose of the Ventura went right on up into the air. The ship immediately stalled and fell of on the left wing,
When the nose came up — all the load (dummies and parachutes) went to the back end of the fuselage. Then neutralizing the trim tab did not make any difference anyway. The ship crashed and slid in the open door of a large hangar — throwing flaming gasoline all over the hanger. As I remember — 13 men lost their lives in this crash. It burned several airplanes that were in the hangar also.
One Sunday, Wright had an air show. Eileen and the two girls were there with me to watch it. There were a number of experimental aircraft at Wright. One was a pusher type (engine in wing with the prop pushing behind the wing) — tail in front. With conventional aircraft — the lift is upward on the wing and downward on the tail —for stability. The pusher had lift upward on wing and tail both. I knew the pilot flying it — Fighter Flight Test. He flew over the field and started circling like he was landing. Instead the ship went into a gentle dive and right into the side of a hill. The crash killed the pilot and a family in a car that it hit. The family was coming to watch the air show.
I was ordered to fly an F80 to Eglin Field, Florida and leave it for tests. On the way at about 8,000 feet altitude I ran into sprinkles of rain. The ship was cruising at its 480 MPH. I noticed that every littl bit a puff of steam came off of the leading edge of the wings. This was one of the first few F8Os built. Lockheed painted on 11 coats of lacquer and each coat was rubbed smooth with crocus cloth. After landing and examining the leading edges, every raindrop had made a pit in the lacquer clear down to the aluminum. By this time all aircraft rivets were flush rivets. George Price told Lockheed to try one F80 with no paint. The performance was exactly the same. Lockheed never painted another one.
From Eglin Field, the only way to get back to Dayton was by the rattler (much as I detested it). The north and south travel in those days was very minimal. Most of the travel was east and west. I still remember the negroes rode in the back of each car or in a car behind and had separate rest rooms.
I was ordered to fly an F80 to Allison at Indianapolis for Allison’s pilots to test fly. Allison was going to start building the I-40 jet engine. The flight was uneventful, George Selvin went with me but he flew airline to Indianapolis.
We were to stay there for about 3 days. We noticed the F80 never moved out of the hangar. On inquiry, the test pilots said they did not want anything to do with the ship — that Young didn’t hardly get stopped in landing. I explained that the brake system on the main gear was ample (spot brakes pressing against a turning flat plate), I always use the whole runway to save brakes.
George and I decided the only thing to do was for me to take it up and do some demonstrating. I took off and was doing some acrobatics over the field when the tower called: Capt. Young, do you know you have one wheel hanging down? First thought was: “Boy, I’ve torn off the fairing”. The ship had been up to 550 MPH in doing the acrobatics. I slowed down — put the gear down— all the lights showed it was down and locked so I landed all right.
Upon examination, in the wheel well there was a pivoting U shaped yoke that came up and locked the gear in place. A lot of people had been looking this new kind of airplane over while it set in the hangar. Somebody had reached up and flipped the uplock to the up position. When the gear came up, the left yoke was up so it could not receive the gear. In doing the acrobatics from the G forces, the gear had come down. It did not even damage the fairing.
To illustrate the winds at higher altitude, one day I was flying a P38 north of Los Angeles at 35,000 feet. I was headed northwest. First thought — I am sure not getting anywhere. I picked a spot directly below me — flew 30 minutes at 200 MPH — looked down and I was over the same spot. I came to the conclusion that I was flying into a 250 mph head wind. The air was smooth as sitting in a rocking chair — no turbulence whatever.
Lt. Colonel Carter had become head of our office at Wright. Col George Price had brought in Lt. Colonel Bill Council — we called him Gyro Bill. Council out—ranked Carter. One Friday afternoon after Council had gone home, Carter came out of his office and started moving desks around. Council wound up facing a wall in a corner. Monday morning Council sat down and to my knowledge — he never said a thing. He sat there till we went to Muroc for the F80 accelerated service test.
I heard a story on Lt. Col. Carter. Whether it is true or not I do not know. About all the airplanes had a “down lock” on the landing gear so it cannot be raised when the weight of the ship is on it. This B26 did not have a down lock.
Carter was flying copilot for a General. Carter was fooling around with the controls and raised the landing out from under the B26 setting still. It totaled the B26 right there in its tracks.
I never flew a B26. It had the highest wing loading of any flying plane — 80 pounds per square foot of wing surface. The P38 was 72 pounds, but the farther the war went, the heavier they were loaded. In cases the P38 probably got up to 80 pounds per square foot.
One day I had flown a piggy—back P38 to Burbank. Jerry McBrearty had been my boss when I worked for Lockheed. Walking through the engineering room, I thought Jerry would sure like a ride in the P38. He had never flown that I knew of. He was riding behind me with his head over my shoulder. I was showing him how it flew — no acrobatics — then a simulated engine failure. When one engine was shut down — the ship yawed pretty bad. That was when Jerry pitched his cookies right in my lap. He was such a nice guy — he hated it but I figured he just could not help it.
In our dealings with Lockheed, we always wrote the letter saying: “you will do such and such”. Hall Hibbard (Lockheed chief engineer) was at Wright one day and he asked: “Why do you fellows always order us to do such and such — why not ask us if we want to do such and such”? George Selvin answered his question:” Hall, we are at war. Men are dying every day for the lack of your product. We don’t have time to even discuss it with you. When you get one of our letters, we want it done yesterday”. Hall said “OK”.
In another P38, I was trying out a pressure oxygen mask. At 39,000 feet altitude, the carbon dioxide pressure out through the lungs is equal to the oxygen pressure from breathing pure oxygen. That means the lungs are not assimilating any oxygen. The mask fit real tight —and put the breathing oxygen under pressure. I went up to 43,000 feet — the mask worked. That was the highest I ever flew.
At Wright, I took up a P51 that had some modifications. I wrote the ship up as having such and such characteristics at 6 G. Barsoti chief of Fighter Flight Test called me on the phone — “You can not stand 6 G — what do you mean writing the P51 up like that”? We got into an argument. I bet Barsoti $10 that I could — we made an appointment with Aero—Medical lab to use their centrifuge. The centrifuge was about 20 feet in diameter with a seat for the subject on the outer perimeter. The centrifuge would rotate faster and faster to acquire the desired G loading. At 6 G I sat there and talked to Barsoti and at 7 G, I blacked out. Barsoti paid me the $10.
I was told that one day Tony Lavier was flying an F80 about 6000 feet altitude when one blade flew off the turbine. That threw the turbine out of balance and the other blades flew off, cutting the airplane in two just behind the cockpit. The front part where Toni was immediately started tumbling violently — threw Toni out right through the canopy and burst his chute open. Toni floated down but it broke his back.
The F80 project was becoming hotter and hotter. The 429th Group was training at Muroc (a field on the west side of Muroc) waiting till we could equip them with F80 to go overseas to the European Theatre (we thought).
Every new model of airplane is subjected to what is called the “Accelerated Service Test”. What it amounts to is devoting 3 airplanes with enough pilots to keep them in the air every possible minute —running various tests. It virtually means wearing them out. All the findings are written down and gone over with the manufacturer several continuous days. Some things call for changes — some do not.
When we went to Muroc for the Accelerated Service test —“Gyro Bill” Council was in charge. Pilots from Wright were Capt. Steve Pissanos and myself. Steve had flown his fighter missions in the European Theatre as Gentile’s wingman. Gentile had the most victories in the European Theatre. Steve was sent to Wright and Gentile was ordered to go on a speaking tour to bolster public morale. Steve said that after 3 weeks on the speaking tour Gentile was not able to fly any more. After knowing Steve, I figured it was Steve as wingman that kept Gentile alive — Gentile was probably a superb gunner. Steve was a Greek about 5 feet 8 inches tall — a superb pilot — and sharp as a tack. After knowing him as part of the two man team, I could see why Gentile was a big ace.
The other five pilots were from the 429th.
The tests began. It finally wound up — any test over 30,000 feet —the 429th pilots said “We pass”. Steve and I wound up running all of those tests. Altitude did not bother us any.
One day “Gyro Bill” sent me to the south end of the lake to fire the gunnery test — strafing some junk airplanes. The reason for this test — on every gun, the ammo is fed up to the breech of the gun —then on the other side of the breech, the spent casings and clips fall away. Often under high G conditions — the weight of the ammo coming up will jam the gun.
I had on a G-suit. This was a tight fitting suit around the upper legs and torso — where most of the body’s blood is — then a tube went to a control on the right side of the seat that blew the suit up with air according to the Gs. This served to hold the blood up in the brain to prevent “black out”. Between my legs mounted on the center stand was a G meter. It looked like a Big Ben alarm clock that showed the Gs being experienced.
I dived onto the target and fired on the pull—out. They were short bursts simulating fighting conditions — so as not to get the barrels of the 8 ea. 50 cal. guns too hot. According to the G meter —I never reached over 8 G. The guns fired out completely and I went to the other end of the lake and landed. I was rolling to a stop when people came running out of every hangar — even General Wolf from Wright. Kerosene was leaking out of both wings. Later it turned out that the left wing tip had a permanent set upward of 8 inches — the right wing tip 7 inches. I was standing there when an enlisted man was poking around in the right wheel well. Upon asking what he was doing — he said: “You guys did not know it but we have a V—G recorder in each of these three airplanes”. He tooddk the film out and into a hangar and developed it. The damage was done at 490 MPH and 11 and one—half G. All fighters are designed for 8 G with an ultimate of 12 G. In other words — at 12 G, everything is supposed to fall apart. This sure proved out this gun installation but now we only had 2 airplanes. Council said it must go to Lockheed. I asked him if he wanted me to fly it down? He said: “I\lo! I will take it. You are not qualified”.
One day during the accelerated service test, a Congressman flew into Muroc in an air force B17. Council sent Steve Pissanos up to show him what the F80 wound do. The prop planes gained about 2000 feet in altitude in a loop. That is from level flight to when you go over the top. The P80 gained 8000 feet. Steve did a loop and when he went over the top, the airplane was a speck in the sky. I was standing beside the Congressman and heard him mutter “Jesus Christ”. He climbed back into the P17 and left.
An anti—aircraft outfit were on maneuvers in the desert south of Muroc. They came to Muroc and wanted an P80 to fly over their location on the deck to see if they could track it. Council sent me. I came over their location at 550 MPH. I hit a down draft that banged my head against the canopy. If I didn’t have a crash helmet on it would have knocked me out. That would have been the end of John Young and the second of the three P80 airplanes. I never – never before experienced such a severe down draft at such a low altitude. Up on calling Antiaircraft, I asked them if they could track me. The answer was “Hell no — we just heard you go over”.
One weekend on the test, we all decided to knock off for the weekend and go to Los Angeles. There was a C45 on the field so all 9 of us got into it (Barsoti was here). The C45 had conventional gear (main gear and tail wheel). We were landing at Northrop’s air field. Council was flying (for a change — I do not remember him flying any of the P80 tests) and I was flying co—pilot. Council was about 10 feet above the runway when 4 pilots from the 429th ran forward. Council banged the runway and bounced pretty good. He added power to nurse it back down and these guys ran to the back end. This happened one more time and the guys finally stood still and let Council land — he was running out of runway. Till later Council did not know what was going on — he was busy fighting the airplane trying to get it on the ground. I saw it all.
We requisitioned cars from operations at Northrop to go where we wanted to go. Barsoti and I went to a Mexican restaurant. We had a couple drinks and decided to eat. They brought me a Mexican dinner— Boy it was seasoned hot. I had spent 3 hours that day at 35,000 feet on oxygen. Oxygen makes you just ravenously hungry. I ate the first meal and ordered another just like it. I put that away too. My digestive tract took it all right but my a-— ho—— burned for three days. I was afraid to fly high altitude because of stomach gas.
Shortly after the test, Price, Council, Selvin, and I met at Lockheed with Kelly Johnson, Hall Hibbard, and their engineers for three days going over it all and deciding what to do about it. As I remember — the gun installation was never discussed — I had proved that out 110 % The ultimate purpose of every fighter is being a gun platform. If the guns do not work or malfunction, the plane is useless.
As you have judged from the tone of my writing — every pilot must feel he is among the best. If he does not have that confidence —he is not much of a pilot. I never knew a pilot that would not take a drink. But they never, never drink before or while flying. A good pilot must profit by little mistakes. One serious mistake and he is dead — like Major Redans and Major Bong.
Lockheed began turning out P80 airplanes in numbers. There was still not enough to equip the 429th to go overseas.
By this time I had more hours in the air in the P80 than any other living pilot. 13 top-notch pilots had been killed in the P80. Some of it was a malfunction but most of the trouble was in becoming accustomed to the speed.
One day I was ferrying an P80 somewhere. I had just filled up the wing tip tanks and the wing tanks with fuel. After take off it looked like something was wrong so I went back to the field and landed. With all that load and little wings, I knew it was going to stall fast. I came in hot and it stalled out at 135 MPH. This was the only time I ever landed with a full load. The P80 usually stalled out at 90 MPH.
The P80 always flew with wing tip tanks. There is always a “spill over” on the wing tips. Lift is created by vacuum on top of the wing and pressure on the bottom. The tanks prevented most of the spill over. The tanks added enough lift to offset the added drag.
One day I had just taken off from the field at Oklahoma City when I heard a commotion over the VHF radio. I made a turn so I could see the field. A B25 was making a landing roll when a figure jumped out of the top hatch (15 feet from the ground) lit on his feet and outran the airplane. Something sure spooked him.
Wright Field directed Lockheed to pinch down the tail pipe on the F80 to increase the thrust. There were 27 modified that had not been accepted by the air force. Price sent me to Burbank to find out what was the matter.
The air force maintained a flight operations office at Lockheed to administer and make acceptance flights on the P38 and P80. I checked into this office about 8:30 one morning. Major Bong had just been made operations officer at Lockheed. Bong was the biggest ace in the Pacific Theatre — some 40 Jap planes shot down. I knew Lt. Jones but he said to talk to Bong. I told Bong why I was here — he asked: “Who are you?” I showed him my orders —he said to just sit down a while — none are up for acceptance flight yet.
Noon came and Bong, a CAA pilot named Williams, and I went out to lunch with Jones in his convertible. On returning, three F80 numbers were on the blackboard for acceptance flight. Bong wrote down Jones for the first, Young for the second, and Williams for the third. Bong laid down on a davenport saying “1 will take the fourth one”. Jones and I were getting into our flying suit — picked up our parachutes. Williams had been called to the phone and was still talking. Bong jumped up saying: “I will take his ship and he can have the fourth”. We three walked to the parking area together. Jones and my ships were blocked in by other ships that had to be moved before we could get out. Bong’s was in the clear. We saw Bong go by (between the hangars) from our waiting airplanes. As he went by, I saw a small burst of smoke come out of the tail pipe. Pretty soon people were running by — Jones yelled: “What is the matter”? Reply: “Major Bong is down.”
Jones and I commandeered a mechanic’s jeep — Williams jumped in with us. Going around the corner of the hangar, we saw a column of smoke. We got on the street and headed for it. Bong was a charred mass. The ship had crashed by him and burned. We took him back in the usual peach basket.
The F80 had a fuel pump on the accessory case (mechanically driven) that developed 450 PSI pressure at take off. All this ship had in the way of controls was a stick, rudder controls, and throttle. Real simple. The throttle controlled the fuel pressure for different power. In case the pump malfunctioned, Lockheed mounted as electrically driven pump beside the pilot’s seat. If the main pump faltered —the electric pump automatically took over — BUT it would only develop 90 per cent of the take off power.
On Bong’s take off run, his main pump quit and the electric pump took over — that was the puff of smoke I saw. After the loss of power, Bong panicked and tried to climb. The F80 was very slow to climb anyway —observers said he bailed out at 500 feet just as the ship stalled. His chute never opened.
I found out later that Bong had less than 4 hours in the F80. Now — if Bong had cleared the tree tops at 90 percent power he could have gone on around the San Fernando Valley and come back in and landed with no sweat. Climbing was exactly the wrong thing to do. Bong simply did not have enough time in the ship to know that.
The next day President Truman grounded all F80 airplanes and not one flew for 3 months. Consequently the 429th never did go overseas —the war ended too soon.
The newspapers all said — the top ace of the Pacific was sent back to the states and assigned to a more hazardous assignment of test pilot.
The afternoon of the accident I called George Price and told him —his gruff answer was “Well ——— G—— Dam— Back at Wright — I told the boys how it went. I offered to take an F80, cut off the main pump on take off and show them. George’s answer was “John, I believe that for a bottle of whiskey and a good meal, you would do anything”. It was out of the question anyway because the model was grounded.
One day, Colonel George Price wanted to log his 4 hours to draw the month flying pay. I checked out a C53 (civilian DC3 air liner —at one time the DC3 had flown more hours than any other model of airplane). George was flying pilot —I was co—pilot. On landing, George bounced it a little. Later (kidding him) I told George. “You bounced the landing”. In his deep gruff voice he took offence and said: “What do you mean?”
Based on the airplanes I flew, I considered Lockheed, Boeing, North American, and Consolidated — Vultee to be the top airplane companies.
The war was obviously coming to the end. From my position at Wright, I knew about everything that was happening. When the first atomic bomb was dropped on a city in Japan, I had never heard so much as a whisper about such a thing. I never understood how it was kept so secret.
Hall Hibbard was the Chief Engineer at Lockheed and you know about Kelly Johnson. They were at Wright and stopped by my desk. The air force had sent out a directive that forbids any personnel dealing with a contractor during the war to take a post—war job with said contractor. Hall asked: “John, when the war is over, what are you going to do?” I caught Kelly kicking Hall on the leg where I could not see it. I told him I did not know.
At the end of the war, there were about 5 Japanese and German airplanes stored at nearby Vandalia. It was my idea to fly them all to glean their good characteristics for the use of our aircraft designers. The only problem — no instructions on the emergency systems — all decals were in Japanese and German and I could not read either one. But somebody flew them into Vandalia — there had to be a way. Before I figured it out— my discharge went through — the war was over.
Before I left Wright, I went to Cincinnati ant took and passed all the CAA examinations to be rated as First Pilot for an airline. This includes flying and instrument tests.
With my family of wife and two infant daughters we moved out of Dayton. We went to my hometown of Centralia, Kansas for a week visit. In that week I did some soul searching. Originally the plan was to follow Lyle Ryan to San Francisco. He had a job flying converted B24s to Japan. This would be just like a truck-driving job and surely safe enough. While waiting on the airline, the air force had ordered Lockheed to do a flight destruction test of 3 flights on the F80. I had already done it all accidentally. The Lockheed test pilots refused to do it. I figured I could pick up $35,000 pretty quick.
Never did I apply at Lockheed again. I could probably have had a real good job with them — but, the way I liked to fly, I knew I would be test flying again. Something mechanical could go wrong at any time. I had seen it happen too many times before. I would be a dead provider.
I had a wife and two children. Without me, Eileen would have to provide for and raise the kids alone.
I decided to scuttle the whole thing. I stayed in Centralia and went into the farming and livestock business.
If any of my friends of the past see fit to read this epistle, I would sure appreciate receiving at least a post card from them.